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d3add0vedonoteat · 4 months

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Chicken Soup for Carmy

⚠️ Content Warning ⚠️ harsh language, sexism and violence in one scene (not from Carmy). Hurt/comfort, fluff.

A/N: I’m literally feral for this man. I’m sick atm and I started thinking about taking care of Carmy while I was making chicken soup. Bonus combo with Carmy protecting you from an asshole customer. Not proofread bc my brain is rotting. Plz be nice this is my first time posting a fic 🥺

It was cold. You braced yourself against the harsh Chicago wind as you made your way briskly down the street. After a late night phone call from your brother sent you into a spiral, you couldn’t sleep. You’d been tossing and turning all night until finally, at 4am, you flung off the covers and got dressed. It wasn’t a surprise that you’d come here. This place consumed all your mind and your heart since you started working here a few months ago. You used your key to unlock the door in the alley, sighing with relief as the warmth of The Beef welcomed you inside. It was quiet, the lights were down, it was peaceful. You slipped off your sneakers trading in your kitchen clogs and tucked your things safely away in your locker. You tied your handkerchief on your head as you moved. It was so comforting, the routine of The Beef’s prep work. You felt so at home, moving from the prep area to the walk in, diligently beginning the tasks that didn’t need to be started for a few more hours. He would understand. You thought to yourself as you began to prepare fresh stock for the day. He was a man after your own heart, your boss, Carmen Berzatto.

Avoidant, chaotically emotional, one wrong thing away from a complete meltdown, that you both disguised as workaholic tendencies. As you finely chopped onions, your mind quieted. Everything was shut out except for the task at hand. Your brother’s angry voice on the phone accusing you: “you never come home! You don’t even care about us! You can’t take come take care of your own mother?!” was drowned out by the rhythmic pound of your knife on the cutting board. You were in the zone.

Until a voice startled you out of your bubble. “Chef?” You jolted, looking up at the man before you. Carmy’s hair was messier than usual, the bags under his eyes were deeper and more purple. His lips were parted with each soft breath he took. He gave you a quizzical look. “What are you doing here?”

“I uh-” your mouth felt dry and you tripped over your words, as usual when he set those intense blue eyes on you. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Carmy nodded, not pushing you any further. All he said before moving toward the office was a simple: “Heard, Chef.”

You watched him go, noticing the slump of his shoulders and the labor of his normally spry step. There was no mistaking it, Carmen was sick. You stared at the office door for a long moment before you made up your mind.

You set a heavy bottomed pot on the stove with some olive oil. Your hands moved with well practiced efficiency as you chopped garlic and onions, celery and carrots. The garlic and onions went in first. Then the celery. A sprig of thyme and a dash of white wine. While that simmered you quickly seared some chicken breast and chopped it into perfectly bite sized pieces. All into the pot with chicken stock and water, tightly covered to develop the flavors. Next came the pasta. You cracked eggs into the well of flour, mixing and kneading until it became a smooth golden dough. You carefully, tenderly rolled the dough and cut it into thick, short noodles. A bath in hot water to cook, then they too joined the pot. In no time at all, you were ladling a generous portion into a bowl. You set a toasted piece of chibatta on the side, grabbed a spoon, and took a deep breath in an attempt to settle your nerves. Softly, you knocked on the office door.

“Yeah?” His voice responded.

“Chef?” You entered, nervous. Words failing you as they so often did in his presence, you set the bowl before him. Carmy’s eyes widened. The aroma made his mouth water. He looked to you, gaze softening. “You made me chicken soup?”

Your cheeks grew warm. “Y-yeah, I mean chicken soup always makes me feel better when I’m sick.”

Carmy couldn’t believe you. You noticed? He smiled at you. You were so beautiful. You were always so confident and sure on the line, delegating with efficiency, respect, and authority. He had hired you the second you stepped into The Beef. Your resume was impressive but there was something in the way you carried yourself that truly earned the golden reputation you had in the culinary industry. But you were different with him, in the occasional moments like this where it was just you and him. Shy, almost bashful, gentle, and soft. He loved it. He wanted more of it. He lifted the spoon, bringing a bite to his lips.

“Gotta get a little of everything.” You muttered, eagerly awaiting his response.

Carmy shot you a sideways smile. It was good. No, it was better than good. The warm broth slid down his throat and each bite exploded with a depth of flavor he couldn’t believe. It was pure comfort. It reminded him of being a little kid staying home sick from school. Curled up on the couch while Jerry Springer played, eating crackers and ginger ale until his mom would bring a bowl of chicken noodle soup. But this soup, your soup, was more than that. People always talk about cooking with love but he swore he could taste it. Each ingredient had been so carefully handled. Perfectly chopped vegetables, moist and flavorful chicken. The warm feeling in his chest grew as he inspected the bowl.

“Did uh, did you make this pasta fresh?” He asked, eyeing you.

“Yeah, it’s better that way.” You blushed.

“Thank you, chef.” He said. “It’s really, really good.” Carmy looked down, suddenly feeling heavy. The fear of closeness set into him and all he could think about was how he’d fuck this up. “You-you didn’t have to make this for me.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” You insisted. “It was no big deal.” You began to leave, giving him one last truthful smile. “I like taking care of you.”

“I like taking care of you.” Your words rattled through Carmy’s mind all day. Throughout all of lunch, prep, and dinner he couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d said. The soup you had made was the first thing he’d eaten in too long. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked for him and you’d just done it because you noticed he wasn’t feeling well. No motive, no games, just tender love and concern.

Love.

Carmy shook his head to try and shake the thought from his mind. No, no, no there was no way you actually cared about him. Not like that. You were just being nice.

That’s just who you are; nice. You were always so kind. The way you’d help Marcus workshop pastries, the way you’d make Tina laugh and listen to her talk about whatever trouble Louis had gotten in, how you’d encourage Sydney and remind her that she can do this. Even the way you’d throw snark right back at Richie or how’d you’d always set aside a portion of Family for Fak and Sugar, even Pete. You were always thinking of others. Carmy wasn’t special.

Yeah. Not special.

Carmy insisted the thought as he scrubbed the grill. Not special. Not special. Not special.

“Carmy?” There you were. You were always there. You had a thick denim jacket on, bag on your shoulder, knit beanie pulled down over your hair. Your brow furrowed at the sight of him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Carmy shook his head. “I’m fine… you uh- you heading out?”

You shrugged, hoisting your bag a little higher on your shoulder and eyeing him skeptically. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah, in a bit.”

You chuckled, more exasperated than humorous. “No.”

“What?” Carmy asked, confused.

“No, you’re leaving too.” You insisted. You were feeling bold. Months of long looks and his hand on your lower back every time he passed you had culminated tonight.

You had taken over the front for Richie while he ducked out to take a call from his daughter. You’d insisted. It was slammed for dinner but everything was going fairly smooth until an irate customer approached you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He’d asked, slamming his plate onto the counter.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean are you retarded or something?” He continued. You were stunned into silence. You had never had anyone speak to you like that. “How hard is it to make a fucking sandwich? I know your tits are bigger than your brain but Jesus fucking Christ it’s not hard!”

“I-I…” you were shaking. “I’m sorry that you’re not satisfied, sir. If you like, we can-”

“Not satisfied?!” He screamed. “How can I be satisfied with this piece of shit!”

He hurled the sandwich at you. It hit you in the chest, toppings and sauce splattering everywhere. Before you even knew what was happening, a blur of messy curls shot past you. Carmy launched over the counter, tackling the man. His fist collided with the man’s face over and over while Richie and Fak rushed after him. There was a cacophony of yells as Richie pulled Carmy back. “Get your girl!” Richie yelled. “Cousin! Go get your girl!”

Fak and Richie dragged the man out and threw him into the street. Carmy’s hands grasped your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” He wiped the sauce splatters from your brow. “Look at me.”

Carmy burned with anger as he watched you shake. Your white shirt and blue apron were covered in the sandwich. He imagined what you would do for him if he was in your position. How you’d care for him, how you’d tend to him… so he tried to do what you would. Gently he guided you to your feet and wrapped his arm around your waist. He practically carried you to his office where he sat you on the couch and quickly went to grab a clean shirt from his own locker. You were in the same place he left you when he returned. Carmy knelt before you, taking your face in his hands once more.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Tears welled in your eyes and you collapsed into his arms. He smoothed his hand over you back, repeating “it’s okay” over and over again. He felt like he was on fire. The feeling of you clinging to him, nuzzling your face into his neck, the smell of you, how you fit in his arms… it was too much. He wanted to run away and never speak to you again. He wanted to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of his life. He wanted to scream. He wanted to feel your lips against his. He wanted to find the piece of shit that yelled at you and rip him to pieces. He wanted your chicken soup every time he was sick.

All those feelings were closing in on Carmy once again as he stared at you across the kitchen. You still had his t shirt on. You were looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry, uh… what did you say?” Carmy’s voice was softer than he expected.

“I said I’ll walk home with you.”

“Oh, no that’s okay. Ive got to-“

“Carmy,” you stepped closer. Your voice was firm but so tender. “You need to get some rest. Come on, I won’t take no for an answer.”

He couldn’t help but smile back at you. “Alright…” he conceded.

The two of you braced yourselves against the cold and hurried down the sidewalk side by side. You argued about who would walk who home. Carmy insisted on walking you to your apartment but you protested on the grounds that he’d just go back to the restaurant once he dropped you off.

“Fine,” you gave in. “But you have to call me when you get to your place so I know you made it home!”

Carmy looked at the ground, smiling. The warmth in his chest from your soup was steadily turning into a molten pool of lava.

“Heard.” He grinned. You wanted to know he’d made it home. You wanted to make sure he rested. I like taking care of you.

“Well, I’m just up here.” Your voice stopped his thoughts from spiraling before it could even start. Carmy’s brow furrowed. “What?” You asked, puzzled by his sudden change in demeanor.

“You live over there?”

“Yeah? Like a block down?”

There was a beat of silence before Carmy let out a breathy laugh. “I live right there.” He pointed to the building on the other side of the street.

“No shit!” You laughed in earnest. Your hand came to rest on his arm. “Guess I’m gonna be walking you home more often.”

Carmy’s entire body was on fire. He could imagine the tingle of your soft hand on his skin through all the layers of clothing. He wanted to hold you close again like in his office, but this time you wouldn’t be crying. A deep pit opened in his stomach. How long before he made you cry? How long before he fucked it all up? Until you hated him and quit the restaurant and everything fell apart because he-

“Hey,” your voice. Always your voice that brought him back. When he looked over at you it was like everything but your face faded into a blurry background. You were all Carmy could see. “Do you want to come to mine? I haven’t eaten and I KNOW you haven’t either.”

Carmy’s heart fluttered. “O-okay.” He started, his confidence rising when he noticed your hand was still in his arm. “Only if you let me cook you something.”

“Ooh,” you smiled. “I’d never turn that down!”

Carmy chuckled, feeling lighter for the first time in years as he walked so close beside you that your shoulders brushed. “It won’t be as good as your chicken soup.”

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader #hurt/comfort #sickfic #carmen berzatto fluff

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jimblejamblewritings · 14 days

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love letters and second sons | part 1.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Author's Note: Hello! Yes, I'm here with a wip before finishing my other stuff. The Bridgerton girlies have got me. Congratulations to you all. So before you read this, please read: I Hate Accidents by @i-hate-accidents AND Over The Garden Wall by @homeofthepeculiar AND The Ultimate Deception by @maximoff-pan. These stories are some of my favorites and really inspired this fic.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Author's Note: To those who have read my other works, you'll notice that the author Mercutio's stories are something special

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,

I am pleased to welcome you all to the start of another social season. Of course, people love and look for love all year round but each year the season just seems to invite love to blossom. I hope all of you find the match to your souls. Marriage is a business but can it not have love as well? A business built with love surely must be a business that tries to last. I ask our respectful citizens and subjects of the United Kingdom to make love a part of their search.

I would also like to ask about businesses that do not involve marriage or love. How are you? In the business of health, is everyone safe from all sickness? In the business of finance, does everyone have enough to eat and clothe themselves without falling into poverty? Are businesses afloat even if only by a small margin? How are you? Truly, I want to know. If you would like to write to me, please do so. The royal mailboxes should still be in perfect condition.

Of course, if you have something urgent then I am sorry but you must come to the palace and request an audience. My valets hold all letters for a day or a few out of safety for everyone. But rest assured, I read every letter once received.

I would also like to say that I can feel the winds of the ton calling me to grace their presence and to stop being rude by ignoring them. Naturally, the wind is very rude to say this and then cut through my dress and chill my bones even when it is snowing. But I digress, the wind is right. The time for introduction must be soon. And a lovely time that will be. I cannot wait to meet you all.

Yours truly,

A Not So Young Anymore Youngest Princess Y/N Hanover (Truly, I need a proper surname and not just the name of my father’s house)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,

Would you like to know what I have learned yesterday? I know the Americas are still a touchy subject for some but I hope you don’t mind me talking about it, just to share my studies. Philadelphia is the center of American debate. So many great men (and women that have probably gone unnamed but aided their counterparts in their quest of education) have lived and are currently still living there.

Going to America simply for a debate sounds terribly dreadful. But what if we had one here that wasn’t relegated to just the universities. An entire city becoming a center of debate seems incredibly foolish, not to mention disruptive to its current residents, but buildings of debate do not seem like a bad idea.

Even if some feel like they aren’t smart enough, they should participate. Ideas are nurtured by sharing them. May some debates lead to great compromise and understanding and maybe even propositions for laws.

I, for one, debate with my father every day on which science is the most important to teach to young children and which science can wait until university should they like to pursue that path. He believes all of it. I believe that medicinal science is too much for a young mind and they only need to be taught how to mind their health until they can understand better. What do you think? I am delighted to hear your opinions. Maybe mine will be swayed.

Yours Truly,

Youngest Princess Y/N Buckingham (I am trying out new surnames until one I like sticks)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom,

I apologize if my stance may be radical but nothing in society ever got done if the start wasn’t a little radical. I believe that young women should be properly taught about relations… let me just say it, sex. Not when they are children, no, but when they are about to debut. Consider it. You all know that as a royal, despite being a woman, I have been taught all things. Everyone is aware that I know what sex is. But if I and my sisters were taught sex so that we may be aware of malicious advances and be able to protect our virtue first rather than waiting for our virtues to be saved by someone and risk them being too late, then others should as well. Therefore, I implore all mothers and governesses to teach their young ladies about to debut what sex is. And to fathers who may be without wives, please find any woman to teach your daughters.

I shall return with more radical ideas for a better and more prosperous United Kingdom.

Yours truly,

Youngest Princes Y/N Kew

The printed letters delivered to London, had everyone enthralled in the early morning. Some people that lived close enough to the central town square didn’t bother with the prints and went straight to the wooden pin board there to look at the princess’ handwriting on the original letters. Whenever the Young Princess or the author Mercutio Quick wrote, people stopped and paid attention.

Princess Y/N was the people’s princess. The one who listened to their complaints and wasn’t cheap on her charitable acts. She was so much like her father, Farmer George. Even with his illness he still ran a good country… when he was in charge. So much better than her eldest brother, George IV. Then again, any royal sibling was better than their eldest brother, even if only by a very small percentage. Everyday the public hoped another child would challenge George the Younger. They would rally their support behind them.

They were hoping that any day George IV’s daughter, Charlotte, would have an heir. If she was pregnant then it would be so easy for the public to support her and convince either George IV to step down or convince Parliament to present a motion to King George. They would have a ruler and an heir. Charlotte the Younger would be the easiest transition for George IV to understand.

But neither her father nor husband seemed to care about the lack of heir. But the thought of succession and coups and duels was forgotten for a moment to read the Young Princess’ letters welcoming them to the new social season with new balls, debutantes, and drama.

In the Bridgerton house, the family ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. They were trying to get ready to present Daphne to the Queen while also trying to read the Young Princess’ letters. Benedict laughed as he slapped his copy of the letters.

“Mother would have a fit if she had to speak with Daphne about sex.”

“I’m surprised she would even suggest such a thing,” Colin said as he returned to reading the first letter, thinking he might actually write to the Young Princess about his familial concerns and wanting to travel desperately but being unsure about leaving them.

Eloise finally smiled as she came downstairs with the rest of her siblings. “I for one think it’s rather refreshing. She is right. Our mamas should be teaching us more than just how to meet the Queen… Daphne! You must make haste! Do you think she heard me?”

Colin rolled his eyes. “She most certainly did. But on the matter of the princess, what is wrong with a woman’s husband teaching her about sex?”

“Everything is wrong with that.”

“Hmm.”

He looked down to reread the paper, wondering if he could understand what the princess actually meant. Even though the letters were left at home, talk of the princess never ceased. How could it? The monarchy’s youngest princess might actually be joining them. Everyone wanted to know what she would look like, not in the face of course. Even her fourth brother didn’t take off his mask until after five months of being introduced to society and he was the shortest time it took to see the royal children’s face.

“Do you think she will be tall like her eldest sister or short? Plump?” Eloise asked as their carriages started their way towards the palace. “I’d imagine I’d be very lovely and plump if I could be stuck in a palace all day with the most wonderful food imaginable. Not that anyone should ever value a woman based on her body but Penelope has stated that her sisters are terribly upset because all the dress makers have started saying that plump is going to be in fashion once again in only a few years time and by the time they become plump it’ll be out of fashion again.”

Daphne looked out the window. “I wonder if she’ll look like the Queen or the King. Oh, what makeup do you think she’ll wear? What mask did she have created for herself? When do you think we’ll actually see her face?”

Violet touched the knees of all her girls. “Whatever she is like, do not be rude and gawk. The poor thing will already have the vultures’ eyes on her all night. If she even comes out tonight. Perhaps it will be at a ball this week. That would be quite a fantastic introduction. I do hope she at least meets us this season.”

Francesca smiled. “I imagine her dance card would be quite full.”

“She’d have bracelets of dance cards going up to her arm,” Daphne agreed.

“But she isn’t coming into society yet. She’s just introducing herself to us,” Eloise said.

“She’s still a princess royal. A very well-known one at that. There’s no way the men would pass on an opportunity to dance with her. They’d want to start making their intentions known now, get ahead of everyone else.”

The boys’ carriage was speaking of a different matter entirely. The princess and Mercutio had written to the ton at the same time. With the presentation to the Queen taking up so much of the day, most people wouldn’t be able to read his work until later that evening. Colin and Benedict simply couldn’t wait. Colin sat with his brother as he drove the carriage and read the story out loud:

“Arsehole,” Cecilia muttered.

Ignoring the sharp stinging of her backside, she hopped off the bed to find something to put on. All she needed to accomplish was getting back to her room, clothed. She knew there must have been some spare clothes in their dressers. It was just a matter of sorting through which garments were hers and which belonged to the others. She had been sorely mistaken to ignore the three members of nobility behind her, thinking they hadn’t heard her.

Lovell scrunched up his face, resembling a rat. “Is receiving another punishment something you really care for? Because this attitude you’ve acquired is going to earn you one.”

“Piss off.”

“Is that any way to talk to your dominants?” Madison asked, adjusting herself in Tommy’s arms.

Cecilia scoffed as she walked towards the door, placing one hand on the doorknob. “Lavender.”

The other three faces fell at the use of that forbidden word. Cecilia’s hand reached up ever so gently and wiped away tears. She wondered if the tears were for her former lovers or for finally realizing her mind was deluded to think she would be with anyone above her station such as Lovell.

“I don’t want this anymore.”

“Cecilia.”

“You never believe that I don’t enjoy breaking our established rules. You only listen to Madison.”

“Cecilia.”

“It is clear you both like her more than you desire me. I am down.”

“Cecilia.”

“You shall see me around this manor, doing my job as I always have. But that is the extent of our relationship.”

“Please, just give u—”

“Good day, Lord Parham. Lord Newall, Lady Wilcher.”

“Riveting,” Colin said as he finished reading. “Mr. Mercutio has done it again.”

Benedict nodded. “Indeed he has. I was a bit worried when he announced that he wanted to dabble in the themes of erotic pleasures in his stories but this was just as enjoyable as all the others.”

“Agree… Oh, it says here that they have earned a publishing deal. The penny stories will still come out once a week, chapter by chapter but readers can also purchase a book if they would like to keep the story properly or are in a rush to read it. I for one will be buying the books.”

“I second that.”

“I wonder what his next story will be about. Actually, no, I wonder what our dear sisters and mothers can be talking about.”

“The princess, no doubt.”

”Do you think any of our brothers will approach?” Eloise asked in the women’s carriage, more to herself than anything.

That made Hyacinth’s face light up. “If one of them marries the princess does that mean we get to be princesses too?”

“As if any of our brothers even could or want to.” Francesca pulled her face away from the window.

“If anyone is going to bring them to the marriage mart,” Daphne started as she fanned herself. “It would be the princess. Anthony would be a good match for her.”

Violet laughed, thinking of the idea. “A viscount and a princess are a perfect match.”

All talk of the princess stopped as they approached. The worst thing that could happen could be a footman overhearing them and mistaking their speech for malicious gossip rather than light-natured and report it to the princess or the queen or even worse, King George himself. They would forever be ostracized from society.

From upstairs, you watched from a window where you knew no one could see you even if they looked up. How you desperately wanted to be down there. All the men were dressed up and looking like penguins. Handsome they were but still penguin-like in silhouette. And the women’s dresses. Some, while upper class, were of a lower social standing and wore older dresses that looked just as gorgeous as the empire and rather shapeless dresses of today.

But today was not your day. You actually weren’t sure when your day would be. Your mother and father let their children choose when they would be introduced to society. Of course you all had to wait for a certain age and it had to be a date at the start of the social season but you could pick the day. And unlike your last sibling, you wanted it to be at a ball instead of the selection of the Diamonds. You didn’t even care which ball it would be. Perhaps it was selfish but you did want a day all to yourself or at least a day with you as the main focus. But that wasn’t this year. Or any year perhaps.

You were excited to finally leave the walls of the palace if you were allowed, having proven yourself capable of not causing an incident. Unfortunately, you couldn’t say you had proven yourself without illness. You weren’t that lucky. You and all your siblings were locked inside until the royal physicians could observe and confirm that you weren’t sick with whatever madness your father had. They didn’t have to observe you. That was also why you picked a ball instead of today. You wanted to prove you didn’t need a chaperone literally holding your elbow. You wanted freedom like your siblings. Freedom to explore that you weren’t sure would get because of your illness.

After a nearly fatal drowning in the lake — an event your siblings still get chewed out for at least once a month — you started showing symptoms like George did. For you it wasn’t about if you would be as sick like your father. It was about how bad and how quickly the illness would get.

You didn’t get to see George as often as the others. The doctors thought you shouldn’t be around him for prolonged periods of time unless it was after an episode. They thought that too much exposure would make you more like him instead of better. They wanted to send him to Kew but you promised that you wouldn’t go to his quarters as long as he got to stay at Buckingham.

Charlotte, silly as it may have been, had hope. They caught your sickness early. Nine was a very young age to almost go mad. Maybe you could be saved from a cruel fate unlike George. They were too late for him but not for you. Of course this only brought jealousy from your siblings who didn’t feel like they got as much affection anymore. Every time you even twitched, it became about you. They could never hate you. It wasn’t like you asked to be sick. But it was hard to be around you. Everyday visits became once a week. Still, you cherished those visits. Like the one yesterday. They expressed their sympathies and hopefulness that you would get to introduce yourself and maybe it could even be this year or maybe this month.

You could have scoffed. After what you did just two days ago, you were unsure. The daylight came into your room before you were prepared for it and you had been convinced that Buckingham was on fire. You couldn’t be calmed down until you jumped into the water fully clothed. Immediately, you pulled yourself out of the trance but no one really cared. The royal physician had been called anyway and you had ruined all chances of attending the presentation to the Queen.

“Your Highness!” a voice disturbed your thoughts and your eyes from looking at your siblings’ carriages leave in the morning. Your lady-in-waiting approached you with a paper, an entire pamphlet. “It’s already spread through the ton like a fire. We haven’t read it yet. We figured new literature would be a treat for you.”

“Thank you, Pandora. Shall we read it in the kitchens this morning when we return home?”

“Not your room?”

“I’m so terribly sick of my room and the washroom and the balcony and the bedroom.”

“You are getting restless.”

“It’s only a matter of time. Maybe even tomorrow it’ll happen. And soon it will only be a couple of years at most before the mask is gone. By the way,” you said as the two started to leave. “Did you hear about the Feather girl that fainted? Is she alright?”

“Oh yes, she’s fine.”

“Good. Have someone send flowers to her tomorrow with an inquiry about her wellbeing after taking such a tumble. Oh and no flowers to the Diamond. I want to meet her myself one day. Now, let’s read about this… Lady Whistledown. She already sounds like an interesting woman.”

Interesting it was indeed. The maids and kitchen staff hung onto your every word as you read the pamphlet. You weren’t exactly sure how you felt about the pamphlet yet but Pandora was right about one thing. It was literature. Lady Whistledown seemed bold enough to list subjects by name. By their entire name as if she wasn’t afraid of any repercussions. You supposed she wouldn’t be since Whistledown was obviously not her real name.

It wasn’t the subject of what she published that bothered you. A lot of it was standard gossip that goes around during the social season but it was her personal opinion. She almost seemed to want the ladies she wrote about to have miserable ends like inquiring about Daphne Bridergton’s flame burning out quickly. The lady must know that what she published could ruin a reputation. Gossip is no longer gossip when publicly written down. It has the potential to become fact.

You slapped the pamphlet against your hand. “Well, I suppose Mercutio Quick from York will no longer be the entertainment of the ton. Sad, and right as I earned a publishing deal too. Perhaps, I should take up a different art. Like making dresses for all my days or learning to play the harp and cello properly so it sounds better than a dying whale according to my brothers.”

The cook shook his head. “Your stories are very entertaining. Even Lady Whistledown couldn’t stop that.”

“Thank you for saying that. I am rather jealous that she is penning under a woman.”

“But you have chosen a name based on your favorite characters, have you not?”

“I have but maybe I should’ve chosen better. This Lady Whistledown might be making more change for women then I hope to accomplish.”

At this, the staff scoffed. Pandora cleaned up your dishes from the kitchen island in front of you.

“Your Highness, with the utmost respect, you are the one who is going to do more for women than this Whistledown. Everybody already wants someone other than your kind brother on the throne. They’re all praying your niece gives them any child so they may protest for her with the added benefit of an heir. They love her and what you write about in your letters make her seem even better. Hell, they love you and they don’t even know you. They listen to you. And with your words, Princess Charlotte the Younger will be on the throne and you will prove women are more than capable of whatever and we might have real change. Is she still on board?”

“Yes. She hates her father as much as anyone else does. George is nice once you get to know him… sort of. But Lettie approves as long as I agree to be in her court. I said yes of course.”

“Then it is settled. Thank God we might actually get change in our wretched lives. Now you must wash up and oversee the Bridgerton gowns before they are sent off. Shall we pick certain ones from your wardrobe?”

“Give the Diamond the one with lace and her family’s colors. Pick whatever you want for the rest of them. Oh and patterns must be on the Feather mother’s dress. I noticed she wears the most ill-favored ornamented dresses but she seems to like them. And put in an order with the modiste, I should like to do this often if this first gesture goes well and the gift wardrobe will need more clothes than it has at present. Clothes for the lower classes as well, nothing that could get them attacked and the clothes stolen off their bodies.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And, by the way, I already washed up.”

“Yes, but now you’ve been sitting amongst smoke and smells.”

You gave up your fight and nodded as you jumped down from your stool and began the walk to your room. No one was around today. They wouldn’t be for most of the social season as they had other duties, including watching your siblings. Despite your madness, you weren’t the biggest concern at all. It was your rakish brothers in brothels, your sisters constantly leaving their husbands or suitors, and all of them sneaking away. You paused for a moment before walking quicker until you reached your room.

Why couldn’t you sneak out? Now would be the perfect opportunity. And no one was looking for you. It would be so easy to scale the vines up the garden wall and just have fun for a moment. You washed up quickly and put on a very simple dress — one more like the style of today rather than your father’s time. Grabbing a cloak and your mask, you put them down on the bed before sitting down at your writing desk to pen a letter. The slam of the door nearly made you jump out of your skin. You calmed as you realized it was just Pandora.

“Oh, good. It is just you.”

“I have the Bridgerton and Featherington dresses but what do you mean it is just me, Y/N?”

You stood up, abandoning the letter now that someone was around. “I am going out to see the ton.”

“What?”

“It is still dark. I have a map, my cloak, and the mask. And I have a very clear destination with vehicles that will get me back in the most discreet of ways should I need to use them.”

“Your Highness.”

“Pandora. I am nearing my introduction to society. You will all have to let me go at some point. I know everyone cares for my wellbeing but my happiness is gone. I am seen as nothing but my illness. Before I have an episode in public like the king, let me meet the ton. Let me not be Farmer Y/N for a brief moment of my life before I am a farmer forever, before I stay in that garden just like Father.”

Pandora’s mouth shut. She simply locked the door and unlocked the window. “You must return before your midmorning promenade and snack. Since you ate downstairs, I can convince them to overlook your absence of a breakfast request. And don’t take your mask. It’s better if they don’t know who you are at all.”

She gasped as you hugged her.

“Thank you, Pandora! Thank you! You are truly the bestest friend a woman could have.”

“Just go so you can come back quickly and I can have my sanity back.”

You closed the window, shocking Pandora as you pulled a picture frame off the wall to reveal a staircase that led outside. The door was hidden behind the trellis covered in vines and flowers. You pulled the hood over the cloak over you. The last thing you did was check for your bracelet and if your papers were inside. Until you were introduced to society, all the royal children had bracelets that couldn’t come off unless cut off. There were just in case measures with the eldest two but became necessary after so many nights sneaking out. The bracelet wasn’t going anywhere but you didn’t want to lose your birth certificate. It was your first safety measure. Even if you were kidnapped or harmed, you’d be returned to the palace for a pretty penny. You did pull your sleeves down so your bracelet wouldn’t be noticed.

You couldn’t contain your smile at the excitement of being out. London was so different without all the noise. The brothels and pubs were starting to close down for their few hours of rest and relaxation. You stuck to streets where you could see all the action but wouldn’t be easily spotted. No one bothered you until you arrived at your destination.

The footman stood to attention. “May I help you?”

“Yes, hello. I bring a package from Buckingham House for the Bridgertons, courtesy of Princess Y/N.” You handed him a letter with your official stamp at the end of it.

The footman’s eyes went wide as he handed you back the letter and ran inside. The Bridgertons looked up at the frantic knocking, pulling slips over Hyacinth and Daphne before telling the footman he could enter. The Bridgerton boys came upstairs after hearing the heavy pounding of their employee’s footsteps running up the multiple stairs.

“Is there a problem, Marshall?”

He panted before taking in a deep breath. “The Young Princess’ lady-in-waiting is here, bearing gifts.”

“WHAT?!”

The Bridgertons collectively yelled before the scramble happened. You tilted your head when you saw the windows open and a maid shake out some bedsheets. She squeaked when she looked down to see you. You laughed as she ran back inside. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before you were escorted into the house by a very out of breath footman. The Bridgertons stood on the steps at the end of their entrance hall in chronological order with their mother starting the line at the very bottom step. Nervous smiles graced their faces when you finally reached them. You curtsied to which they curtsied or bowed back.

You gave them a second to assess you before speaking. Even though it wasn’t true in the slightest, everyone thought the ladies-in-waiting and manservants were reflections of the royals themselves. Not in character or value but in appearance. They figured they could form some sort of picture as to what the young masked royals looked like. If you were ugly then surely the princess was too. You hoped they at least found you to be average looking in appearance.

Anthony Bridgerton — the new head of house from what you remembered of your studies — stepped from behind his mother to greet you formally. He bowed once again, deeper, before offering up his hand. You settled yours in it to receive a chaste kiss.

“To what do we owe this sudden pleasure, Mrs…”

“Keaton,” you lied, just using Pandora’s last name.

“Mrs. Keaton?” He didn’t recognize the name as one belonging to an upper class member of the ton. He wasn’t sure he recognized the name at all.

“Apologies, I should explain. The princess doesn’t distinguish in her court, we are all there to work. All women are ladies-in-waitings, all men are valets. Regardless of station, regardless of marriage.”

“So, I am to take it that my earlier statement was incorrect.”

You nodded. “Simply Miss Keaton.”

“Well that sounds like very forward thinking actually. All the same, it is our pleasure to meet anyone in her highness’ court.”

Violet smiled as she watched the interaction. If her son was close to anyone in the princess’ court, especially someone that seemed so close to the princess as to be sent here, then he would be able to meet the princess with good graces. He’d be ahead of any man by leagues.

“Princess Y/N has sent me on her behalf. She extends warm greetings to the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons whom I will meet after our encounter. The princess congratulates Miss Daphne Bridgerton for earning Diamond of the Season as well as congratulations to the Dowager Viscountess for raising such a fine woman and to Viscount Bridgerton for chaperoning and keeping the family together therefore allowing his sister to shine.”

He cleared his throat and started to smile. “Please give the princess all of our thanks for the most kind of compliments.”

“And she would like to assure Miss Bridgerton that I have not been sent on behalf of any princes. Her brothers will not be bothering you today.”

They all chuckled when you laughed.

You set the first box down on the table next to you and opened it. “The princess has brought new dresses for the ball. The Diamond and the rest of her family should have the opportunity to shine with the utmost and wholehearted respect and support of the Crown. Please, enjoy them.”

The family ran to the table, picking out dresses and suits and matching them to the person’s name on the paper pinned to each garment. They kept singing praises and admiring the outfits. Violet turned back to you.

“When are you planning on visiting the Featheringtons?”

“In an hour or so, I must be back before the princess’ morning promenade. She has a very busy day afterwards.”

“Will the princess be introducing herself this season?”

“Hyacinth!” Anthony and Violet yelled at the same time.

You laughed. “It is no trouble. I’m at liberty to answer as the princess’ head valet.”

“Valet? I thought you said they were all men. They are usually all men.”

“If the princess should become heir to the throne then she will receive a male valet alongside me. For now, it is just me. The Crown believes someone of the same gender should always be with her should she need to confide in someone about very personal matters.” You took a breath before testing the waters. “Such as affections of the heart.”

It had dawned on you in that moment that you could spy on the ton. When the time came, you would still have to dance with all the bachelors of the United Kingdom but you at least you would have a better picture of them. You’d have to apologize to Pandora for the countless strokes she was about to earn from you but you couldn’t make this your only time sneaking out.

Violet smiled, knowing she was right. “Well, would you like to stay for breakfast?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It would be no trouble at all. We have more than enough room. Eloise, dear, if Penelope is to come over please request that she do so now.”

(part 2)

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@venomsvl @peaches-n-sunscreen @summerellaz @supernaturallover2002 @sambucky8 @9daykrisr @thebitchinleo @23victoria @scarlets-widow @pagetpagetpagetpaget @lovexnatasha @awesomebooklover17 @1234-angelika @imatrisk @blackreaderatrisk @princess-jules47 @alexloveskili @a-marie-a @siriuslysirius1107 @i-have-no-life-charlie @daykrisr999

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton x princess!reader #benedict fluff #bridgerton fluff #fic

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silvantransthranduiltrash · 4 months

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Honestly:

Headcannon that Legolas 100% knew Eowyn was disguised as a soldier in the army when they ran for gondor, but not mentioning it to anyone bc “of course she should be here, have you seen those muscles and callouses? We can use such skilled warriors”

He 100% didn’t know theoden and even aragorn wanted her to stay behind bc she was a woman. Eowyn being on the battlefield was such an obvious choice that, for a second, he forgot sexism existed and thought that everyone else knew she was there too.

Legolas, post battle when he hears about Eowyn killing the witch king: NICE

Idk who, some guy maybe: *to Eowyn* what are you doing here? You were supposed to stay behind!

Legolas, abruptly reminded that sexism exists:

#lord of the rings #lotr #silmarillion #the hobbit #lotr elves #legolas #eowyn #sexism in lotr #bamf Eowyn #< that needs to an official tag #silvans aren’t sexist #silvans are feminists #incorrect lotr quotes #incorrect tolkien quotes

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but-a-humble-goon · 6 days

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Really trying not to be the toxic fan here but there's a new Therapy Dog/Cass post in her tag every single day and a lot of it is legitimately just thinly disguised fandom sexism/racism/ableism at its worst. And it's really hard to come up with polite ways to tell batboy stans 'you neither know nor care enough about this character to even understand what you've done wrong' over and over.

#cassandra cain #cassandra wayne #batgirl #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin

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che-bur-ashka · 6 months

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who holds the mask? designing the Disguise

For the record, all of the playbooks in Beneath Pirate Flags are trans. Gay ass trans ass pirates. I mean, they don’t have to be — the magic of character creation means that you could make anyone, even (!!) a cis person, if your imagination can handle that. But they’re all more or less about being trans, or about types of trans people I know, anyway. Maybe none of them is as trans as the Disguise, though.

I don’t mean that, of course. The Disguise isn’t “more trans” than any of the others in any way that matters. What I mean is that the Disguise is maybe the most “obviously” trans, the most “typically” trans. The Disguise deals with a narrative that people see and go oh, oh, I know this—that one’s about being trans.

The Disguise is a pirate “on the run from at least two things,” inspired by tales of putting on a (you guessed it) disguise and escaping to adventure. There’s a lot of Jim from Our Flag Means Death in there, of course, as well as a good amount of Eowyn and not a small percentage of Alanna of Trebond. The Disguise is playing in a lot of tropes that make people conscious of the play of genders—which, for complicated reasons, reads as “more” trans than, say, The Hunk, The Dandy, or The Legend (even though all three of those are, to me, far more fundamentally drawn from my own trans experience).

One of the big things I wanted to do with the Disguise though, was offer more nuanced understanding of the work masks and disguises can do than we usually get in these types of stories. In the most traditional—the most recognizable—version of this narrative the Disguise is a cis woman who, frustrated not so much with her gender as with institutional sexism, takes on a mask in order to “play” as a man and trespass in the wider world (the historical erasure of transmasculine people into the cis feminist figure of “the woman in pants” looms large here). In this narrative, there comes a point where—as in Mulan, Eowyn, Alanna—she is unmasked but accepted as, to borrow a term from Tamora Pierce “a woman who rides.”

Here’s the thing: That’s a valid arrangement of what’s in the Disguise. There’s no reason the Disguise couldn’t be used to tell this kind of story—but I think there’s a more interesting version of this character out there, probably most clearly expressed (in popular media, anyway) by Jim Jimenez in Our Flag Means Death who, critically, does not return to their assigned gender after removing the “mask.” After all, there’s no reason to think that the mask must be something taken on (as opposed to, say, assigned). Rather, I like to think about the Disguise as playing across a border—dealing in multiple frames and knowledges, and trying to make space for themself between them. One day—if all goes well—they won't need the mask anymore. The playbook could equally viably tell the story of:

A cis woman under patriarchy, “playing a man” so she can run away and be a sailor (like Eowyn does).

A trans person, “playing” their assigned gender as they work to find out who they are really (like... most if not all trans people do, at one point or another).

A trans person, “playing” their true gender (or at least a new gender) as they build a new understanding of themself in a new context (this is the reading I think is closest to what happens with Jim, fwiw).

A person whose disguise has nothing to do with their gender at all—maybe they’re a prince in hiding, or they're pretending to be a prince in hiding, or there's something else.

There’s also no reason that the playbook couldn’t combine these stories—or even reach for new ones that haven’t occurred to me. The possibilities are endless. The core of the Disguise is not about secrets and falsehoods (although secrets and falsehoods certainly play their part), but rather performance and autonomy over your own presentation. The mask is a tool to control that presentation.

This brings us to the saddest part of the playbook—the ending.

Every playbook in Beneath Pirate Flags has three prewritten endings (although you’re naturally welcome to come up with your own). Each set of three has two happy endings and one sad one— sometimes bittersweet, sometimes tragic, and sometimes just bad. For the Disguise, that sorrow is all about the loss of control. The worst thing that could possibly happen—the most upsetting ending, which I want players to be aware of even if they aren’t interested in it—is not just the removal of the mask, but the removal of the mask without the Disguise’s permission or control. The world longs to control our presentations and, by doing so, control our lives. There is magic in a mask, and in the autonomy it provides—but there are people who want to rip both of those away. They want to hurt you, to control you, and to make you hurt yourself. That’s what we’re fighting against. Anyway, there you have it. Go hug a trans person—and check out Beneath Pirate Flags.

#beneath pirate flags #our flag means death #ofmd #jim jimenez #eowyn #alanna of trebond #trans #indie rpg #indie ttrpg #ttrpg design #gay pirates

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assortedseaglass · 7 months

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Borne & Bound

Aemond Targaryen X Geowyth Beridan (Shieldmaiden!OFC)

[Masterlist]

Story Content: Strong Language, Violence, Slow Burn, Smut, Canon-typical Sexism, Mentions Canon-typical of Incest

Notes: Aemond and Geowyth meet in the training yard.

Mearl thundered across the glade at the edge of the kingswood. A flash of green whirled in the dark aspect of his eyes, and his long mane of raven hair flew in the wind. So dark was his coat that the very landscape seemed to tear as the great beast cut his way across the green.

Geowyth knew she was driving him hard. He hadn’t been ridden since their arrival into King’s Landing, and she was permitted to visit him only twice during her busy stay at the capital.

It was easy to exit the keep that morning. A great many attendees of the King’s council and feast were leaving for home, and in the hubbub of servants preparing their house’s journeys, Geowyth was able to slip into the stables and saddle Mearl in the awakening dawn.

Across the Blackwater estuary and away from the city, from her brother, she drove him hard as dawn turned to day. In the few days since she had ridden, Geowyth had not forgotten the thrill of speeding across grassland, coast or cliff with her mighty companion, but memory and dreaming could not quite equal the exhilaration of the real thing.

The cold air of the morning chilled at her face as Mearl’s unbraided mane whipped before her in long tendrils. Her knees were tucked into the round barrel of his ribs, and with every stride she felt the ripple of muscle there. Occasionally, he cast his head side to side as he ran, huffing and whinnying as he did so. It was in those moments, that Geowyth knew he had missed this as much as her. Together, they flew across the grassland, their two bodies alert utterly free.

Geowyth’s angry tears had dried the moment she rode Mearl over the shallow water of the estuary’s opening. What a difference fresh air and freedom makes. In truth, when Geodred told her that she would be staying in King’s Landing a while longer, she hadn’t been entirely angry. Staying with Helaena was the primary reason, in fact, that Geowyth hadn’t taken her dagger to her brother’s throat. A companion to a princess. She’d be lying if the little girl within her didn’t jump with pleasure when she heard those words.

No, it wasn’t that which made her angry. It was the way Geodred skulked to her chamber door late in the evening to tell her. That he had not consulted her before arranging it with the Queen. His reasons, that she could learn about court life from such a household, remain with Helaena and have the freedom to be a young noblewoman that life in Braedel had not, and soon will not, afford, did little to quell Geowyth’s anger. It seemed that despite their brief stay in the capital, Geodred had learned much about the way things were done here. Namely, duplicity, secrecy and order that relied not on the merit and skill of a person, but their gender.

‘Tis no wonder Princess Rhaenyra left.

When Geowyth flung these accusations at her brother, he’d softened. His bright eyes darkened and he’d held a hand to her face. It was no use, trying to hide herself from the person she loved most.

“I should have told you, but when confronted with the Queen and her machinations, ‘twas hard to back down. I am just as nervous here as you, sweoster. I know,” he had continued lowly and stepped into her room. Alma had left only a few minutes before, and Geowyth had half hoped she had seen Geodred on her way to the servant’s hall. Alma was not good at disguising her appreciation of Geodred. “I know that you are worried about our uncle. But I swear to you, I will send for you the moment our father beckons him home.”

Tears threatened to fall once more, and Geowyth blinked a few times against the wind, focusing her mind on the stamping of Mearl’s hooves. Somehow, the earth beneath them sounded different here. In Braedel, beyond Eobarrow, across the mor and harad and along the brimlad, Geowyth knew every knoll and mound like the back of her hand. Here, the land was a stranger, just as she was.

The sun had risen yet the chill of night remained. From atop Mearl, Geowyth looked at her surroundings. The trees on the edge of the kingswood were dark, their boughs tinted pink by the early morning sun.

Red sky at morning, shepherd’s warning.

Deeper in the wood, she saw some of them rippling, like wind across water. Mearl veered suddenly to avoid a trough in the land and Geowyth looked forward. Ahead, hills covered the horizon like sleeping green giants, and Geowyth wondered how long it would take to ride there. A day, at least. Perhaps she could convince Helaena to take her there one day. Helaena and Dreamfyre, she and Mearl.

Though she was yet to see the dragon, Helaena had told Geowyth much about Dreamfyre. Of her silver and blue scales that shimmered in the sun like the fish of Blackwater Bay. How she flew with grace and speed, and that her spirit possessed a lightness that seemed to soar when in flight. When Geowyth remarked how well matched Dreamfyre and her rider were, Helaena had blushed proudly. “I will introduce you to Mearl before we leave,” Geowyth had told her. Helaena shook her head furiously, fear flashing in her eyes. “Princess,” Geowyth took her hand. “You are a dragon rider.”

Geowyth smiled at the memory, and patted Mearl’s strong neck. “How could anyone be scared of you?”

At once a great roar, like the felling of a great tree, split the air. Mearl bolted, and Geowyth fought to calm him, all the while looking around.

“Sy swige, Mearl, y heore!” “Be still, I am here!”

He stopped his weaving course and settled into a steady run, yet Geowyth could sense the tension humming throughout his body. The very air around them seemed to swell under the weight of their worry, pressing down on them from the skies. Geowyth rode Mearl to small tor on the edge of the wood, and together with heaving breath, they waited for the storm to pass.

If the air had been chill on the ride out of the city, it was nothing that compared to the cold that swaddled them now. It was just as Geowyth leant over Mearl’s sleek neck, attempting to soothe him with whispers of home when a great shadow fell across the valley. Mearl whinnied and rose onto his back legs, spooked by the sudden blackness that swept across the ground.

In terrified awe, Geowyth looked up. She had heard rumours, of the beast that lived beyond the city, too large for the dragonpit and ridden by the bravest and most merciless riders. But to see her on the wing, a goliath against the sky, eclipsing all light as she flew, was another matter entirely.

Vhagar.

Excitement and terror prickled Geowyth’s skin in equal measure, and a shiver ran down her spine. The same seemed to have happened to Mearl, for the shackles of his neck and mane were alert to the creature overhead.

Geowyth watched as Vhagar rose higher into the sky, her bulk never seeming to diminish. From her battle-worn belly to the holes of her wings, the great she-dragon was utterly beautiful, and Geowyth felt an instant kinship to the dragon. Mearl bristled restlessly as though reading his rider’s thoughts, and Geowyth patted his neck once more as they both watched the sky.

Time stilled as Geowyth watched Vhagar circle ever higher. She was transfixed by the slow beating of her wings, the elegant way she glided through the air, her tail cutting the cloud like a knife. Of his own accord, Mearl moved off the tor and onto the plain of grassland. He stopped in the centre of the glade Geowyth had ridden him through, as though the open landscape gave her a better viewpoint to watch the dragon. Still, he pawed at the ground impatiently.

“Ungeara, min lufu,” “Soon, my love,”

Geowyth returned her gaze to the sky just as Vhagar turned sharply on her wing. The sleek hair of her rider caught fire in the pink morning light and Geowyth’s excitement turned to envy. For those fleeting minutes, Geowyth had forgotten that Prince Aemond Targaryen was Vhagar’s rider. How lucky of him, to be so entwined with the dragon. She wondered if he new how lucky he was. Judging by the attitude he had displayed throughout her stay, she doubted it.

By some strange coincidence, the prince seemed to have spotted the Braedel shieldmaiden far below at the same time she noticed him. There was a distant cry that Geowyth knew to be High Valyrian, and with surprising speed Vhagar changed direction and entered a dive towards the earth. Reacting instinctively, Geowyth kicked her heels into Mearl’s side and the stallion galloped into action.

The shadow Vhagar cast grew larger as she approached the earth. So too did the echoes of her rider, laughing and shouting words Geowyth did not understand. Mearl, sensing the dragon’s approach, ran harder in the direction of the keep. It was about time Geowyth made her way back to her duties, but why not have a little fun before she did so?

She wasn’t scared. Quite the opposite. Geowyth knew she was safe. The prince may not be able to hide his dislike of her with the skill that she managed to hide hers, but it wouldn’t do for a prince of the realm to kill one of their visiting guests, let alone one with whom his family was trying to make an allegiance. If not for the political fallout, the terror of his mother’s fury was surely enough to put that idea from the young prince’s mind.

And so, beneath the shadow of Vhagar, Mearl and Geowyth rode with freedom until the breath from the beating of the great dragon’s wings whirled around them. Geowyth cried out with glee, her shriek transforming into raucous laughter when Vhagar flew low overhead before sweeping away towards the capital.

Just to witness her in flight was to feel a freedom unlike Geowyth had ever known. Onward she rode, basking in the path Vhagar had flown, toward the city with a renewed vigour in her spirit. Perhaps staying in the capital would not be so bad.

People nodded and smiled to Geowyth as she strode through the keep’s corridors towards her small guest chambers. Alma would be there now, drawing a bath and fresh with gossip from the other servants. Some were surprised to see her awake so early, such was the life of a noblewoman, while others glanced at her dishevelled state. When she gave them a broad smile, her amber eyes alight with happiness, they either looked away, startled by their hue, or beamed back. Whatever their reaction, Geowyth found she did not care.

After her early morning ride, felt almost herself again. The smell of sweat and early morning dew clung to her cloak, and her riding boots left a muddied trail in her wake. It was like being at home; up before her uncle and Geodred rose, taking to Mearl with other riders of the Renward.

By the time she reached her chamber doors, a few other visiting ladies were leaving their rooms for an early breakfast. One of the Baratheon girls, the timid one, smiled to Geowyth as she passed, and a beautiful Tyrell girl swept after her.

“Morning, Alma.” Geowyth smiled as she entered the room and removed her riding gloves.

“Morning, Geowyth,” Alma had been instructed to abandon formalities almost at once.

“What news?”

Alma sprang to life in an instant. “It’s been such a night! Willow, one of the scullery maids, said that Rouncewell, one of the grooms, disappeared in the middle of the night. How she knows, I can’t guess,” Alma clicked her teeth and hurried to add rose petals and rosemary to Geowyth’s steaming bath. “And then Myonette, she’s a lady’s maid, said that she saw him sneaking off from the Tyrell lady’s room!”

“Well don’t you go revealing anything to anyone, other than me of course,” Geowyth had removed her dirtied outer layers and was making away with her undershirt.

“Course not.” Alma held her hand and helped her into the copper bath. Geowyth sighed as the warmth eased her aching muscles and Alma continued her tales. “Maryam, the cook, said that Barbary was in such a state yesterday evening. Barbary’s another scullery maid,” Alma added, moving somewhere in the room. “And then, guess what!? This morning, she was gone. Bed turned down, no note, nothing. Maryam reckons she’s got herself in a bad way and done a runner. You wouldn’t catch me losing my virtue and doing a moonlight flit-” She tutted again.

Geowyth leant an elbow against the bath and looked to where Alma stood by the writing desk. “Not all women have a choice, Alma. Surely, your mother told you about the evils of men?”

Alma hung her head. “She did, my lady.”

“And let us not forget,” Geowyth turned around in the tub. “Women are hot-blooded creatures too, with wants and desires. Why are we not allowed our share of fun for fear of tarried virtue?”

“My lady!” Alma gasped and Geowyth giggled. There was silence a while, and Geowyth could almost hear Alma thinking over her words. Suddenly, the maid gasped. “I almost forgot, this arrived for you not long before you got back,”

Alma appeared before Geowyth and held out a folded piece of parchment. Geowyth took it hastily from her hands and water sloshed over the bath’s side. “Sorry, Alma. Pass me the knife on the table there,” Alma made to grab a cloth and returned to clean the mess, handing a small dagger to Geowyth. With one fluid motion, Geowyth broke the wax seal and settled the dagger on the edge of the bath. It had once belonged to her mother, Finwyth. Geodred had inherited their father’s sword and rank, Geowyth, her mother’s dagger and countenance.

She need not read the signature to know who it was from, she recognised the writing and the seal emblazoned with a horse’s head.

Deorling maeg (darling girl),

You will never know the joy your council brings me, whether in person or written form. I had not expected to hear from you so soon into your stay, but by all above and below did it lift my spirits. I would happily read pages of your account of life in the capital.

All is well here. Folchild and her parents visited from Stanas Isle to go over what remains of the wedding. Remember you and I talked of how she seemed brighter and happier each time we saw her? Well, she seemed reserved these last few days. I put it down to her missing Geodred and the worry of the wedding and all that it will bring, but her father was in foul mood and her mother barely spoke. Hrodan suspects her father is regretting her betrothal to Geodred. I can’t see why, Stanas Isle is a place of little influence and her marriage to Geodred will see her elevate her rank while having to fear in the way of war. And anyone can see how she adores your brother.

Hrodan has been helping me run things in Geodred’s absence. I know you do not like him, Geowyth, but he is a shrewd and astute fellow. Let this be my next lesson to you. Not all people you dislike are the enemy, their flaws my even work in your favour.

Perhaps this is something to put to the test with your new acquaintances. You were right in your assumption, Geodred had not written, though I received word from him not two days ago about your extended stay. While it seems you need no help with the princess, why not be more attentive to the princes’ merits? The heir apparent you say is a wastrel but bonny fellow, and Geodred tells me that Prince Aemond has been giving him private tutelage in mainland history. List me two more of their virtues with your next letter.

I will miss you, deorling maeg, but I cannot tell a lie. Geodred and the queen are right that you should stay. I want you time to be a young woman of the realm before taking Geodred’s place as commander. We do not have long until that day comes, and I will not have you waste your life on this ill old man. I am in good hands. The cooks keep me well fed, I take a walk with Galepan each day (even if I am not fit to ride anymore), and Hrodan oversees the council. Mawe has even taken to sleeping by my bedside. It is the chicken you told me to feed him. Straight from the table, just as you said. He shall be my companion when you return, not yours!

I will you see you soon, do not worry. And if for whatever reason my forebears come to take me early, know that it is with you in my heart. I will tell your father of your grace.

Merits, my deorling maeg, and manners.

Eower tyme eam, (your devoted uncle)

Galan, Cyng (Gallan, King).

Geowyth stared at the letter. Silently, she held it out for Alma to take. Merits and manners? Not a thought for her wants, just like Geodred. The moment Alma turned her back to place the letter on the writing desk, Geowyth stood, bath water rippling around the tub.

Alma hurried over with a cloak. “You’ve been in not five minutes-”

“A walk,” Geowyth said to herself. “I’m sorry, Alma. I need a walk.” With no other word, Geowyth redressed in a clean smock and a tunic of Braedel blue and brocaded bronze. Tucking her mother’s dagger in the hidden pocket of the tunic, Geowyth put on her muddied boots and made for the gardens. It had worked that morning and it shall work again. Fresh air would set her mood right.

Gallan had said nothing untoward in his letter, yet Geowyth felt he was scolding her somehow. Surely, if he had met the princes he would be in agreement? They were two people about whom there was little good, and even “good King Gallan” would not be able to find such.

As she stormed towards the gardens, her footsteps became heavier. How dare he. How dare they. Geowyth’s cheeks flushed. Not two nights ago she had boasted that Braedel did things by merit, not gender. And here she was handed off to be a royal plaything by her brother and uncle without so much a thought to her feelings.

The day was bright when she forced open the door to outside. The sun was not quite at its zenith yet. Before noon. Geowyth still had a few hours until she was to meet Helaena. Perhaps this would be the day she introduced her to Mearl. It seemed as though an entire day spent out of doors was the remedy Geowyth needed.

Geowyth made directly for the Godswood, yet something paused her steps. The dagger tucked in the secret pocket of her skirts. It burned there, the cold metal. Turning swiftly on her heal, she made instead for the armoury and training yard. If Herumbrand and Geodred were not there, and the Seven knew she wished to fight him, then some other rider of the renward surely would be. All she needed was an hour to exorcise her frustration, and a partner with whom to do so.

Cole was slow that morning. Unusually so. Aemond could see his attacks coming almost before the knight had decided on them. When Ser Criston swung his morning star in the prince’s direction, it slipped from his hand and plummeted into the ground.

Aemond hissed in annoyance.

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” Cole’s sentiment was quite at odds with his face, which was stony as he glared at Aemond. The prince hummed in reply and swung his sword as he jumped from foot to foot.

Aegon had retired a few minutes ago and was currently stood beside his wife. Helaena, for all her angelic beauty, seemed despondent as she listened to him prattle on in her ear. A few metres off, Ser Harrold stood in conversation with Ser Herumbrand, who was flanked by riders of the Renward. Each watched the prince and Cole with interest.

There was something about Ser Herumbrand that Aemond found disconcerting. From his battle-scarred visage to his imposing height, there was much to be wary of. But Aemond was not intimidated by the brute’s size. It was the slow way his eyes followed Aemond’s every move, a smile playing at the corner of his thin mouth. Beside him, Ser Harrold was indicating certain movements and whispering to this counterpart, who nodded, his eyes never leaving Aemond all the while.

While Cole regathered himself, Aemond’s eyes cast around, and landed on Helaena. She’d turned away from Aegon, who uttered one last sentence and made his way up the steps to the royal apartments. Helaena’s seemed to follow him, but when Aemond looked they were not on her husband, but the woman passing him.

Aegon took a step closer to the shieldmaiden but she stepped away. As she stomped down the stairs, Aemond was reminded irresistibly of his nephews. Of the petulant way they stomped about the keep, longing for it to be theirs. Her dark frizzy hair, usually hanging long past her shoulders or in front of her face, flew behind her. The bronze brocade of her skirt caught light in the midday sun and her eyes blazed fire. She was angry.

When she reached Helaena, Geowyth bent down and whispered in her ear. Helaena smiled kindly and took Geowyth’s hand as if to calm her, running her thumb across the back of her hand. Just as Aemond did to soothe her. Helaena too came alight before Geowyth, but due to happiness, not anger. Aemond huffed and bounced more vigorously on the balls of his feet. Cole was taking forever.

His eyes followed Geowyth as she let go of Helaena’s hand. She made her way to stand next to Ser Herumbrand. In a move Aemond had not seen between a noble and a knight, at least not in view of others, Herumbrand placed his arm around the young woman. Ser Harrold and Ser Criston both bowed, and together the four talked lowly.

Aemond hissed again. He was anxious to spar. He was in full swing just as Cole dropped the ball and, as yet, did not have another partner.

“Cole!” Loathe as he was to admit it, Aemond wanted the attention to turned back to him, not the angry woman Cole now conversed with. The knight looked in his direction. “Another spar?”

Ser Criston placed his hand against the breastplate of his armour. “My Prince, you are becoming too proficient a fighter for me. Soon we will have to find you a new partner!”

Ser Harrold smiled. Ser Herumbrand continued to stare. Geowyth had moved to talk to some women of the renward. Aemond scoffed. Then, an idea swam into his mind. Spinning his sword elegantly in his hand, Aemond stood still and called across the yard.

“Lady Geowyth,” he watched as she turned slowly to face him. Her amber eyes still blazed with agitation and he knew he was right in his idea. “Your brother commanded I spar with you, owing to your ‘wits’, as he put it. And you yourself demanded I owe a spar or dance.”

As he spoke, Geowyth picked a sword from the armoury rack and slowly approached him, nostrils flared. She raised the weapon as he continued.

“The latter of which I wish to avoid,”

“I shall ignore that, Your Grace,”

Aemond laughed, though it did not reach his eyes. Instead, he watched how she held the sword. Certain, strong. At that, she was confident. He looked for other weaknesses. The lady was nearly as tall as him, but still smaller. Geodred had said he outranked her in strength, not wit. Even if only a spar, he had betrayed his sister. Aemond would make quick work of this.

Geowyth had stopped in her tracks and the sword she held was now at her side. It was a long, its pointed tip just scraping the yard dirt. The way she held it there, loosely in her hand was almost nonchalant. Her eyes had shifted from that blazing fury to something more dangerous. Confidence. She leant against the weapon as if leaning on a walking stick, waiting for Aemond to strike first.

Her second weak point; complacency. Aemond made a plan. A defensive attack, playing on her confidence. Let her think she was winning. Then, launch a dominant offence when her guard comes down.

Aemond’s biggest advantage was his eye. Or lack, thereof. Since the very incident that struck it from him, he and Cole trained tirelessly to develop a combat style unlike any other. Let no opponent underestimate him; two eyes or one, Aemond Targaryen was one of the best swordsmen in the realm.

It seemed, however, the Braedel’s did not know this. Geodred was confident in his sister’s abilities, and stood as she was, the maiden seemed to agree.

Aemond raised his sword. So too, did Geowyth. For a while they circled each other slowly, and the surrounding crowd stirred with excited anticipation. A prince fighting a lady! From the corner of his eye, Aemond saw Harrold and Herumbrand still watching. Cole, too, had his eye on the prince, though this was more of an assessing gaze than admiring one. Let’s see how well I’ve taught him.

The air stilled. Geowyth’s eyes narrowed to slits. Aemond heard the faint caw of a rookery crow. Senses alert to all around him. This was it.

With one great stride, Geowyth swung the sword above her head, bringing it down hard over Aemond. He blocked it just in time; he hadn’t expected an attack such as this to open their spar. No matter. He pushed her away and once more they circled. Geowyth span the sword in hand and made for him again.

Much like his own fighting style, Geowyth’s was not like any he had encountered. Though she was tall she was slighter than Aemond, and compensated with a light-footedness to match his own.

Over and over their swords clashed. Aemond spinning away so that his good eye was always trained on her, the action causing Geowyth’s arm to twist uncomfortably. She in turn span circles around Aemond, making sure to dizzy him as he fought to keep her in focus.

On and on they fought, so long that a few uninterested onlookers left for other activities. The renward remained to watch their future commander, and so too did Cole and Princess Helaena. Far from being worried for her brother and newly found friend, a delighted smile crossed her face as she clasped her hands happily.

Geowyth was charging at Aemond now, all her might focussed on putting him on the back foot. He let her. It would not do to embarrass is parents’ guests, even one so irksome as this.

Underestimating your opponent is a mistake. In battle, a fatal one. In a spar, embarrassing. Geowyth was so forthcoming with her quick attacks, and Aemond so keen to fool her, he had not noticed she’d pushed him to the edge of the fighting circle. His foot slipped on the well-worn path that cut around the training yard and he fell to one knee. A few things happened simultaneously.

Just as she had begun, Geowyth swung the sword high above her head. Some watchers in the crowd gasped, one woman let out a faint cry. Ser Criston drew his sword. Aemond, from his position on the ground watched, as if in slow motion, as Geowyth brought her sword down above him. With one arm, the muscle burning with her weight, Aemond managed to block her. To hold her off. They were both panting, neither sure who would make the next move. When Aemond looked up into her red face, he was astonished to see her smiling. His dragon blood boiled. Does she really think it over? That she has won?

With great effort to push her off, Aemond tried to stand. Geowyth’s small laugh prevented him and he looked at her in anger.

“Be careful, my Prince,” she whispered, looking down. Following her eyes, Aemond glanced at her other hand. A dagger, glinting in the midday sun, was held beneath his ribs. “You can yield to me,” Geowyth said in light tone. “Or I can save your blushes and pretend you have bested me. Maybe a little more fight for show-”

Geowyth was not allowed to finish. With a ferocious growl, Aemond pushed himself to standing and ended their dance. How dare with horse maid mock him. Assume to think she is better than he, a prince.

Aemond wasted no time. The barrage of hits he bore down upon Geowyth were relentless, brutal. Madness flared in his eyes as, teeth bared, he struck the sword from her hands. She stumbled quickly backwards, a flicker of fear flashing in her mesmerising eyes.

“My prince!” a voice was calling out to him but he did not hear it. “Prince Aemond!” He had her. She slipped on her skirt and Aemond took his chance. With his own hand he knocked the dagger from hers. It clattered to the ground and all was quiet but for its metallic ringing and their panted breaths.

They stared at each other. Aemond’s eye fuelled by hunger and pride, Geowyth’s with shock and consideration. He raised his sword perilously close to her neck. She did not budge.

“AEMOND!” The voice bellowed. Ser Criston was at his side. “They are watching,” his eyes gestured to the crowd, staring with horror and trepidation. Aemond shrugged him off and lowered the sword. Still, the prince and the shieldmaiden stared at each other.

Then, slow as time turning, Geowyth curtsied, her eyes never leaving Aemond. “Well fought, Your Grace,” she said quietly, turning her back and leaving the training yard as though nothing had happened.

The bustle of the yard resumed, and a few people glanced at Aemond warily as they went about their business. All, except Ser Herumbrand, whose pointed stare was unrelenting. Unnerved, Aemond watched him.

“She had you rattled there, son.”

Tags: @arcielee @mefools @bladeofdreadfort @glitterandgoldfinds @heimtathurs @ewanmitchellcrumbs @babyblue711 @wingeddeliciouscanonrebel @greenowlfactif @fantasias-creativebubble @httyd-marauders @sirenangelroyal @theoneeyedprince @fyeahhotdfics* @persephonerinyes @humanpurposes @exitpursuedbyavulcan @elizarbell @el-is-green @booghostii @myfandomprompts @castellomargot @trashcanrat @boundlessfantasy @aemonds-fire @barbieaemond @bookwyrmsblog @herfantasyworldd @unheardnerd

*unable to tag

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond kinslayer #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #hotd fanfic #ewan mitchell x reader #ser harrold westerling #helaena targaryen

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femsolid · 2 years

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"Students in our “Psychology of Women'' classes have routinely argued that the act of a man opening a door for a woman has nothing to do with sexism. It is simply one person being polite to another. If they are right, then men should feel complimented when women (and men) open doors for them. To test their presumption, we ask the women in the class to open doors for men and the men to wait at doors until a woman opens the door for them. We also ask them to record the responses they receive. (We invite readers to do the same.) The women learn that there is a sizable minority of men that refuses to go through a door held open for them by a woman, becoming irate if the women insist on “just being polite.” The men report that women will open the door for them, but that the women frequently give them disapproving looks or say unkind things “under their breath” to them. These class observations are somewhat similar to the findings of Ventimiglia (1982): the most confusion by male recipients of door-opening by females, and the most disapproval and avoidance by male recipients of door-opening by other males.

Social norms are often invisible to us until we violate them. And social norms regarding what is considered polite depend on the sex of the individual, which suggests there is more going on here than people “just being polite.” What could it be? We then ask students to look for underlying themes regarding what is considered polite for each gender. Do the behaviors considered polite for men have anything in common? Do the behaviors considered polite for women?

Social norms of politeness for women require women to wait for men, the actors. We are forced to conclude, then, that social norms regarding politeness in males and females are not just about being polite: they operate to maintain sex roles that champion action in males and passivity in females. One has to question the psychological healthiness of social norms that oblige women to be passive if they are to be perceived as polite. Pitting action against politeness affords women no real, or healthy, choices about how to behave.

It is not a cultural accident that the personality traits associated with a male’s performance in rituals between the sexes are precisely those traits which this culture values the most and considers socially desirable and mentally healthy activity: efficacy, authority, prowess, independence. Nor is it a cultural accident that the personality traits associated with the female’s performance are exactly those that our culture writes off as immature and childlike: passivity, dependence, weakness, frailty, ineptitude. The effect of chivalry, then, is to reinforce sex roles, a system geared to the creation of dominant males and submissive females.

Though it is apparently ironic, the man who insists on opening doors for a woman often is the same man who argues that a woman should not be considered for a high-level job and that women should make less money than men. Similarly, it is entirely likely that the man who marries his wife to protect her from harm is the same man who beats her. Ted Bundy, a mass murderer of women, walked women to their cars at night to protect them from violent males. This behavior made it difficult for his friend, Ann Rule (1980), to believe he could have committed atrocities against women. Acts of protectiveness appear inconsistent with acts of violence. However, there is another way to look at this behavior: male protectiveness embodies an admission by men of men’s malevolence toward women.

These kindnesses wrap in a chivalric cloak the misogynistic core of our culture, disguising the actual situation of women. If men’s kindnesses toward women were really only kindnesses, a man would be pleased if another man or woman offered these kindnesses to him. He would be pleased if another man or woman lit his cigarette or pulled out his chair for him. He would be pleased to derive his income, prestige, power and even his identity from his partner. He would take pride in another man’s or woman’s offer to walk him to his car at night. But in fact, “one of the very nasty things that can happen to a man is his being treated or seen as a woman, or womanlike” (Frye 1983, p. 136).”

- Loving To Survive by Dee L. R. Graham

#quote #loving to survive #chivalry #gender

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notyouraryang0dd3ss · 17 days

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📓anon here. one thing I've noticed recently is that there are a lot of male swifties these days, who use Taylor swift to further their sexism. like there was this video of this black woman talking about not liking Taylor Swift and her music. Rather than letting her just have her own opinion, this man started trying to call her out on her so-called misogyny and started making claims that people only complain about taylor swift.

a lot of male swifties use liking taylor swift as a safeguard to their own sexism. like as if liking taylor swift immediately makes you this feminist king and if anyone says anything about her it gives you the right to be an asshole. and it's especially common among white men on the internet, who attack women of colour.

imagine liking taylor swift to prove yourself as a #feminist (esp as a white cishet man doing jt for swiftie p*ssy) oh we are in the pop culture dark ages right now aren’t we…

swifties always use feminism as a deflection for their racism when they harass black women and women of color who critique her. im sure white ppl are critiqued but not the point or level black ppl especially women are. so many gay men are straight up MISOGYNISTIC AS FUCK but think bc theyre gay theyre not??? mental gymnastics.

tldr (white) men pretending to like the most milquetoast white female celeb to get away with harassing women of color is part of this larger trend right now of reframing/disguising racism, misogyny, etc. as justified and progressive. swifties doing this are echoing taylor’s behavior of branding herself this way. disgusted but not surprised

#📓#anti taylor swift #ask #notyouraryang0dd3ss #anon #anti swifties #white feminism #racism

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cutepastelstarsalior · 18 days

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Helluva Boss watch though part 2

Episode 3

Blitzo has an ex, and he also has a sister. 👀

Verosika. That like a weird mashup of Veronica and Vriska….But she was in rehab?

Ok Veroskia’s design is so pretty. But man she and Blitzo do not look like there from the same universe. Made it’s the color palette, or the lineart, it they kind of collide.

Oh, she’s a succubs. Neat.

Loona has a human disguise? Do all Hellhounds have one, or just her?

Verosika human design is very pretty.

Loona having a crush on Vortex is cute. But man Loona human design is god awful when she’s standing next to Vortex. Her head is too big in some frames, and her anatomy looks off.

Moxxie and Millie team name is M&M, that’s cute.

Oh, Blitzo adopted Loona, who was almost 18 and almost aged out of the orphanage. Interesting choice. I wonder when that decision was made from the pilot to the actual show? Because in the pilot, Loona was just a snarky rude teenager receptionist. Here in the show, she insincure angry teenager.

So human alcohol can make imps drunk, but demon alcohol can make animals into violent mutants monsters..cool.

Vortex has a girlfriend, but it’s cool that he wants to help Loona make some friends!

Scale of 5, I give this a 3. It was just an ok episode.

Episode 4

Ok this version of heaven is very different then the Hazbin heaven. Maybe this is because this show was created when Hazbin was still a pilot? But there a a Cherub version of the Imps. AKA 3 angels trying to save people’s love ones. Ok that a cool premiere! Assassin group vs rescue (?) group!

Oh seems like Blitzo’s sister is his twin! Again, are they human that turn Imp or a hell-born demon?? It’s also cool how in the background they show small but important details. Like in a few episodes ago, they had a bunch of ads and poster of Fizz the clown robot.

Heheh her name is a play on barwire.

There 3 trilionaires in the human world??

Blitzo does have a point, when they kill somebody for hire, the victim gets sent to hell. Why is that? If it’s like a murder and the victim wants revenge that’s understandable. But in this case, the client wanted to kill the guy because he doesn’t want the person to have the inheritance. Why would that make the potential victim be sent to hell? Why would the clients want the people to be in hell anyway? To physically torment them? Like the episode where the teacher wanted to kill the girlfriend, what would she do once the girlfriend is in hell? Kill her again? Torment her?

Idk why, maybe it’s the lighting, or maybe it’s because Blitzo out makeup on, but in this episode he’s like a weird pale pink color then his normal red. I noticed this too with Moxxie in the beach episode. It’s kind of distracting.

Little pet peeve; I feel like there too much cursing? Like I can toon it out, but still. That and the causal fatphobia, sexism, and slur shaming..😬

Seeing 2 out of the 3 cherubs getting angry and curing, make me wish that when an Angel starts to do that, they start to fall. That the hate and stress corrupt them. It would be so cool to see.

Oh!!!!!! OMG the cherubs accidentally killed the old man, and now can’t be allowed back in heaven!!! Though the little deer girl didn’t actually explain what the rules are? BUT JUSTICE FOR LITTLE GOAT BOY HE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG HE WASNT STARTING TO GET CORRUPTED. Goat boy is my son now. And I’m taking him as mine now.

Scale out of 5. I give it a 5. I love this episode, it shows a deeper worldbuilding of how heaven and hell operates and how both sides try to get humans on their side.

Episode 5

Ok, so the deal Stolas and Blitzo had was about having casual sex. Thought Blitzo can’t really do his job without the grimoire, but neither can Stolas. So what does it do?

Blitzo’s co-workers are from the ring of Wrath. 👀 interesting.

Yooooooo Millie’s parents!!!! Oooooo a lore episode. Ok so Millie has parents, so I guess Imps are born in hell? Then what’s the difference, the physical differences, between a human turn demon, and an Imp? Maybe it’s the white spots/marked they have??

Moxxie infodumping about war and the history is cute.

Millie moved to Imp City. I guess that’s either the capital of the ring they stay at, or like an area only for Imp???

In Dante’s Infero, Wrath is the 5th circle of hell. There 2 groups of sinner in this circus, those who anger is expressed, and thoese who anger is internal/repressed (sullen). The groups have different punishment. Thoese who express their anger fight one another on the surface/side banks of the Styx, and the repressed are underneath the river Styx, in the swampy mud.

What Vivzie does here is have the Imps play games an annual Pain Game. I’m getting the Imps here are just farmers??

Moxxie feeling insecure about not being physically strong is neat. I like his and Strikers dynamic.

Blitzo having some insecurities is odd, idk if feels way out of left field? But Striker does have a point, why does Blitzo stay or keep going back to Stolas if he needs the book? Can’t he find a different way to get to the human realm?

👀 stolas’s wife hired Striker to kill somebody. My guess it’s Blitzo, since I don’t think She would kill her husband, and especially not tell her plans when they’re at the dinner table.

Score out of 5, I give this a 4.

Episode 6

So the government as been noticing and keeping track of the Imps. 👀. Blitzo and Moxxie were kidnapping and Millie became extremely overprotective and while Loona was concerned. Nice that the girls are going to help.

Moxxie making an extra long and complicated code order, and then laughing at the humans and just being chill, is a bit odd. I’m use to him either being angry, insecure, or being empathetic. So seeing this side of him is new. Also, I feels like Blitzo, Stolas, and Moxxie and the ones that have the most screen time/character development.

“I’m like 5 years older than you”. If Lonna is 18, that means Millie would be 23???? Idk if that’s true or not but if it is….WHAT?????

👀 yoooo higher animation for the hallucinations scenes!!!

Ok, wow. I love this?? Moxxie hallucinations is him and Blitzo dress as phantom of the opera, and Moxxie is questioning his “friendship” with Blitzo. Asking him why he keeps pushing his friends away, why he alienates other with his toxicity. Meanwhile Blitzo is dress in a clown outfit, in the mud, seeing shapes. The hallucinations of Moxxie telling him that Blitzo needs him and that he doesn’t want to be alone. He also hallucinations Striker, Fizz, and his ex. Saying that people resent him. And that he doesn’t understand relationships but also craves it. Moxxie wants to speak his mind and be a better friend to Blitzo.

After they hallucinate, Moxxie tells Blitzo what he said to Moxxie on their first day together. Blitzo also compliments Moxxie and tell him to use his name instead of sir.

This is a sweet bonding between the two. I don’t know how to feel about it though? Like it feels like progress and to make the two characters that fight and argue at lot to finally come together…But at the same time, it feels a bit too soon? I don’t know…

The fight scenes are very good! Lots of camera movements, fluid animation, and fun angles. Thought at some parts when there wasn’t that many characters and it only focused on one person, the space of the room felt too big and the animation felt slow.

“HEY THE ENDO PERIOD WAS BADASS AND YOU KNOW IT” haha nice.

Uno oh spaghetti O….the gang is traps by the two governments agents……and they….cant get out with the book because the room is too dark? Seriously. Guys, there like, 4 of you and 2 of them. You literally massacred a room full of agents…

Oh well, Stolas came and save the day. That little horror scene is neat, I like his monster demon bird form. But also how did he knew what was happening????

Oh…Blitzo kissed Stolas…are they a thing? Just friends with benefits? I don’t ship them so I don’t care. Well, besides Stolas’s cheating.

Dang the government guys have evidence now!!!

Score out of 5. I give this a 3. The fights and hallucinations scenes were cool, but that all that was interesting.

Episode 7

For some reason this episode is title as final but there also an episode 8?????

!!!! Well dang, Blitzo is having a character growth. He acting nicer to Moxxie and Millie. Also, it’s Moxxiea and Millie anniversary! Demons can get married. They’re also going to the Lust ring.

In Dante’s inferno, Lust is the second ring, but the first sin. Sinners are punished by being whipped and hurled around tornado and violent winds. Dante also thinks lust is the least serious sin. Also King Minos is a demon who judge and listens to sinners and send them to their correct circle. Btw, Dante infero hell has 9 circles; Limbo, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Anger, Hersey, Violence, Fraud, and lastly Treachery.

In the Christian mythology, the seven sins are lust, pride, greed, gluttony, sloth, wrath, and lastly envy.

It’s interesting to see how Viv will combine or different the seven sins vs Dante inferno…

“Boring as fuck monogamy” 👀 Blitzo polyamorous real.

Blitzo asking Stolas out of a date, just to spy on Moxxie and Millie, but then end up actually talking to Stolas, is interesting. I just the having a slow burn from friends with benefits to being an actual couple??

ALEX WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE????

Fizzarolli…..that’s his name….baby why does your name sound like a weird soda or pizza knockoff???

Why does Fizz have robots of him? Also the one at LULU Land made more money entertaining kids than the robots that do sex work. Interesting. Also are all the robots alive??? Are they a hive mind???

Moxxie sing a song he wrote for Millie is cute. To bad fizz and Ozzie interrupt him…Asmodeus is the embodiment of lust. So is he a prince/represent of lust??? Also I heard a few covers of this song…and this is like literally the only sing from this show I enjoy.

Ozzie commenting that Stolas gave up his life, his kid and wife to be with Blitzo. Yeah. Like the dude literally cheated on his wife??? Why is the show trying to make us feel sympathy for Stolas??? Dude a homewreaker.

Aromantic Ozzie. To MEEEE.

“Octavia is with her mother this weekend” 👀 oh they did get a divorce!!! Got for them. Well, like, not. But I’m glad they decided to end it instead of staying together and keep fighting every day. I guess Stolas can now try to be with Blitzo since he and his wife broke up?? But I still think it’s not good..

Scale out of 5. I give it a 2.

#my thoughts #helluva boss #long post #review #helluvaverse #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism

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freefallintothevoid · 21 days

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I'm so freaking tired of seeing the same handful of tropes and storylines in isekai because it often boils down to: regular guy ends up in fantasy world and immediately gets a) op cheat skill. b)healing magic. or c) the ability to punch/use a sword really well. Regular guy runs around the fantasy world alone at first because hes been abandoned or accused of a crime he didnt commit, completely oblivious to the harem of very diverse but ultimately the same hot women he's building along the way. Regular guy is also weirdly fine with medieval fantasy slavery, discrimination and thinks he's edgy and cool just because he's being kind of an asshole.

so here are a bunch of story ideas that I came up with.

1. When a reasonable adult discovereds that rhe Chosen One (who they didn't even want to summon anyways) is a teenager, they proceed to just defeat the evil threat themselves and adopt the teenager in the process while figuring out how to send the poor kid back home

2. MC doesn't realize he's got a harem because he's very gay for a side character/villain

3. The Villain and the Hero are stuck in a timeloop that resets to the day when the Hero is summoned. This is because during the first loop there was a prophecy that was subverted by summoning the Hero to change the worlds fate. Now they are stuck in an eternal loop until the prophecy is fulfilled.

4. The summoned 'Hero' isn't granted op power upon arrival to the fantasy world. Instead they are the latest in a long line of the kingdoms failed attempts at creating a living superweapon to defeat the Villain via winter soldier style human experimentation. The villain could even be the original experiment that escaped.

5. Instead of the MC being a regular human tossed into a fantasy world with 237 different magic races, they're a non-human tossed into a fantasy world with way less variety. They might not even have other members of their race in the new world, making them unique in that way. Allows a more indepth look at fantasy discrimination and racism and could create some interesting world building implications.

6. The fantasy world and modern world are universe counterparts. Doppelganger shenanigans.

7. The Chosen One is summoned decades or even centuries before they're actually needed to save the world.

8. MCs freshly departed spirit slips through a crack between worlds into the fantasy world. Ghost shenanigans. The reason they decide to seek power and learn magic is because they want to become strong enough to be seen again by other people.

9. MC comes from another fantasy world with a magic system that no longer works at all. They have to learn the new worlds magic system in order to be able to do magic again.

10. MC is reborn into another world because their worlds deity hates them and because they don't want to deal with MC anymore, they just decide make the MC another world's problem.

11. The summoning ritual gets hijacked.

12. MC is summoned from a distant point in time rather than from another world.

13. MC is actually the deity in disguise because they couldn't find a suitable person to isekai.

14. MC is a highly successful Chosen One, to the point where they offer up their services as a Hero to desperate gods who want to save their world/chose the wrong person to be the Hero and need to fix it before its too late.

15. Instead of just joining a guild, the reincarnated MC builds one and becomes the Guildmaster.

16. The MCs modern opinions on slavery, the class system, sexism and equality in general lead to them kickstarting the fantasy french revolution.

17. MC actually liked their life in the modern world. They had a good family, healthy friend group, worked their dream job and all that other happy jazz. They really don't want to be adventuring in a fantasy world -their entire goal is getting back home.

#writing #writeblr #writer stuff #isekai #fantasy #please im begging on my hands and knees #isekai has so much potential im going insane #why is it the exact same plot with 6 tropes that get randomly rotated #if youre gonna have 6 tropes at least twist them around a bit #writing trope #tropes #even if the ideas on this list arent very good i still think theyre a bit different to the normal stuff #if anyone uses these ideas at all pls someone tag me #suggestions feedback and ideas very very welcome and requested #before anyone tells me i know there are very good isekai and i love them with my whole heart #i just want a little more variety outside of the power trips and the harems

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morgenlich · 11 months

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have I ever posted here about my hc that one way feliks disguised himself in the 1800s was by dressing as a widow

pros:

-excuse not to talk to anyone

-able to cover his face (from the met)

cons:

-sexism ://

-he’s in some deep shit if anyone does catch him dressed like a woman tbh

#hetalia #hws poland #heta meta

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jimblejamblewritings · 12 days

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love letters and second sons | part 2.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

Eloise left to go right across the street while you followed the rest of the family into the dining room. It had been so long since you had a formal sit down breakfast with your family. Your siblings just couldn’t be bothered to come from wherever they were — sometimes in the same house but they still didn’t show. Your father and mother couldn’t make it most of the time. The dining room table could be very lonely sometimes.

You thanked Colin as he pulled out a chair for you before sitting down. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you passed the decorated teapot to Daphne before reaching for the small jug of cream. The Bridgertons were very invested in palace life and wanted to know whatever you were allowed to tell them about. You looked up from your coffee when Eloise came back with Penelope Featherington.

Smiling at Penelope, you handed her the box so you wouldn’t forget before you left. Her face dropped.

“What is it?”

“Oh, I don’t want to burden the princess with frivolous matters. We have an addition to our house. My cousin, Marina Thompson has come to stay for the season. But no matter, she can wear my dress. I have plenty already.”

You shook your head. “No matter how frivolous they may be, your problems are the Crown’s problems. I will return tomorrow with another dress for Miss Thompson. Besides, each piece has been chosen specifically for each person. How could Miss Thompson possibly look good in a dress meant to make you look good?”

Penelope smiled. “Is it alright if I open it here?”

“Of course, Pen,” Anthony said.

She carefully placed the lid of the box on the ground and ruffled through the pieces until she found the dress with her name pinned on it. She pulled out a dress of emerald green, just emerald green. No patterns insight. The sleeves were flatter than the balloon sleeves normally worn but that was because they were sheer with beading on them.

“Wow. It is beautiful.”

“The princess will be glad to hear that you like it. Now, I am very sorry but I have to go now. A midmorning promenade cannot be missed.”

Everyone stood up when you did.

“Well, yes, of course,” Violet said. “Will you return for breakfast tomorrow? Or whenever is a good time for you?”

You weren’t stupid. Either the Dowager Viscountess wanted your fake persona to marry her son — probably the third son, Colin, since you were a valet. Or she wanted the princess to marry her son. In that case it must have been Anthony. You took your cloak from the footman it put it back on.

“I shall see if I can appear tomor— this weekend. Before the Danbury ball, the family wants to go to the countryside. I shall be back here then.”

“Lovely.”

You stepped outside, taking the alleyways back to the palace. Pandora let out a breath when the painting finally moved. You stepped inside.

“Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yes, I have. Was your time outside fun?”

“Absolutely, I will be doing it again later.”

“What? Princess, please.”

“Pandora, you don’t understand. It was amazing. One of the best times of my life.”

“Y/N. What if your illness st—”

“Then I shall deal with that when it happens. Oh, I met people. The houses in the ton are very nice.”

“You went to someone’s house?” Pandora’s voice rose three octaves as she tried to stay quiet.

“Just the Bridgertons. Their mother is very sweet. She invited me to a recurring breakfast whenever I have the time.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and the rumors about them are true. The daughters are all beautiful. Their youngest son seems very nice.”

“And the three eldest boys?”

“Absolutely handsome. Especially the eldest.”

The two of you giggled as you kept sharing what they looked like in person while you got ready for your promenade. The gardens were dreadfully boring but you felt better just thinking about going to the Bridgertons house next time. It could have been anyone but you were glad it was a large family and a family friend. Only your first day out and you already became acquainted with two families. That was a success in your book.

~~~

“Princess! Princess Y/N! Your Highness!”

You could hear the yelling down the hall. Looking over at your father, you smiled.

“Thank you for talking with me about the ball, Mr. Jupiter. I think I should let them know I am alive.”

“Go. I shall still be here.”

You shimmied out from under the bed, George laughing at you the entire time. The bed wasn’t your favorite place to be but it was your father’s favorite place. You preferred the wardrobe. Swinging open the door, you spotted Brimsley running down the hall.

“I’m right here!”

He turned with a quickness. “Oh thank God. The Queen and King are requesting you actually attend breakfast with them instead of in the kitchens or your room.”

“Father? How could he tell you? He’s right he—”

“Yes. He usually stays in his wing. He came down earlier this morning.”

You looked back at your bed. No one was there. George’s feet weren’t sticking out from the end of the bed. You bit your lip and didn’t say anything, choosing just to follow Brimsley to the dining room. If anyone found out you had a fit then there was no hope of your mother letting you go anywhere. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Whenever you were anxious or stressed, a fit was bound to happen. Maybe you should have been taking your medicine. But it didn’t make you feel good at all. Tomorrow you’d ask for a change in medicine or doctor.

Your father looked better when you reached downstairs, actually cognizant, and your mother seemed happy. None of your other siblings were there. Pulling out your chair you sat down. The conversation went in one ear and out the other. You answered where necessary and that was about it. You needed to be perfect. When there was a lull in the talking, you found the perfect opportunity to speak.

“Mother, may I go to Lady Danbury’s ball?”

“No.”

“I promise I will be on my be—”

“No.”

“If I have a fit then I will go stra—”

“Y/N, do not make me repeat myself.”

“But I just want to know why? All of my brothers and sisters were allowed to introduce themselves well before this age. Why am I still waiting?”

“Dear, we’ve been over this.”

“But Edward and Sophia both have the same illness and they were all—”

“Because no one is as bad as yours!” Charlotte looked up from her plate when you grew silent. She sighed at the sight of your crestfallen face. “Y/N, dear, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m only talking about your illness, not you as a person… give me four months. Four months to prepare everything, then I will let you go, whether an incident happens or not. Just follow the rules and keep yourself safe.”

“Thank you, Mother. I do have one more question.”

“Yes?”

“May I stay at Kew?”

“Kew?” Both your mother and father said at the same time.

“I have incidents whether I am here or with Father or by myself. We don’t have strong evidence that anything makes it better or worse. Kew is far enough that I’m not tempted by the city but close enough that I will not miss it. And I can still speak to the people.”

In reality it’s because your parents never went to Kew. You wanted privacy and to not be under such a watchful eye. And if you could bring your court then absolutely no one would find out that you went into the city.

Charlotte gave George a look. “Yes, the people do seem to love your letters. Okay, alright. I will allow you to stay at Kew but your father and I and your physician will be coming every Sunday to check on you. Brimsley and Reynolds will be going with you.”

“Okay.”

Buckingham wasted no time packing your things and taking them to Kew after the Danbury ball. You flopped onto your bed, happy to be left alone finally. Only half of your court came with you to Kew. The others were “dismissed” for the season — you wouldn’t need them again until you introduced yourself to society. Really you just needed them to stay at Buckingham and report to you what was happening. Naturally, Pandora came to Kew.

The home looked just the same as when you were younger. The first thing you did was instruct every curtain to be open. The grounds were extensive and private. You weren’t in London but just outside of it. No one could see the place at all so there was no need to hide behind window decorations.

“I should like dinner outside,” you said as you sat down in the short grassy part of the front lawn.

“Outside?”

“Yes. It’s very nice today. I would like to sit outside and eat and plan my new schedule. You and Reynolds can go to the cottage on the grounds. Turn left and you’ll see a bunch of cottages across the stream. Go to the third one. It’s behind a smattering of trees but the hedges there cover everything. You can see people before they see you.”

“I’m sorry?” Brimsley’s eyes went wide.

“I’ve known since I was five. I don’t think you two believed that a five year old could be observant but I was.” You turned back to look at him. “Well, I do not care. Brimsley, you should know I couldn’t possibly care about anything like that. With my issues I could never judge someone. Not for what you look like, your class, whoever you choose to pray to which is really none of my business. I don't like to sit in church anyway and much prefer prayer alone in the gazebo. It also doesn't matter who you... share a cottage with."

“Your Highness.”

“I will keep your secret, Brimsley,” you reassured him. “Besides, when the time comes I will need for you to keep mine.”

“Secrets? You have secrets? I didn't know... What would I be keeping?”

“You’ll know it when it happens.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Brimsley!” you yelled before he could step inside the house to tell them what you wanted to eat. “About what I said just then.”

“It is no trouble at all, Your Highness.”

“No, not my secrets… I would never tell anyone. Whether you kept my secret or not. I promise you that.”

“Thank you.”

“I will find a way to make it better.”

Brimsley gave you a sad smile. “The effort alone is appreciated.”

You gave him a determined look before returning to making your schedule. You didn’t have a need for full time tutors anymore, having finished formal schooling years ago.

So you put all your special tutors to come on Tuesday and Wednesday, your parents visiting on Sunday, you’d write all your letters on Thursday, and then waste away on Monday, Friday, and Saturday. A schedule your parents greatly approved of as they stated that you needed plenty of days to rest and not overwork yourself before you make the illness worse. Of course you didn’t tell them that those days were for going into the city.

Monday morning you picked flowers to make a bouquet for the Featheringtons since you had only met one of them in person. Not that you needed it but you opened your book of flowers to see the meanings. You did hope that flower language would catch on more in a few years.

Taking your hand pruning shears, you started cutting both from the garden and the greenhouses. Basil for good wishes. White Carnations to wish a pure love. White Jasmine for amiability. Yellow lilies for happiness. Pink roses also for happiness. Bells of Ireland for good luck. You handed the first set of flowers to Brimsley before starting on individual bouquets for the four young women of the house.

For Prudence: daisies for innocence, dandelions for faithfulness and happiness, peonies for a happy life and a happy marriage. For Phillippa: dandelions for faithfulness and happiness, fern for sincerity, honeysuckle for bonds of love. For Penelope: lady’s mantle for comfort, lily of the valley for sweetness, wallflower for faithfulness in adversity. For Marina: camellias for affection, lavender roses for enchantment, daffodils for good fortune.

You also collected flowers for the Bridgertons, small individual bouquets. Only two types of flower in each bouquet. For Violet: acacia for friendship and violet for her name.

For Anthony: acalia for temperance and agrimonia for gratitude. For Benedict: balm gentle for pleasantry and bearded crepis for protection. For Colin: chamomile for energy in adversity and coriander for hidden worth. For Daphne: daphne for her name and dandelions for happiness.

For Eloise: elderflower for zealousness and elephant’s ear for good luck. For Francesca: fern leaves for fascination and flower-of-an-hour for delicate beauty. For Gregory: garden chervil for sincerity and geranium, scarlet color, for comfort. For Hyacinth: hawthorn for hope and hyacinth for her name.

“This should do.”

“Shall we send them now?”

“Oh, no, Brimsley. I shall take them with me.”

“With you?” he squeaked.

“Yes. I assume now would be a good time as ever to divulge my secret to you and Reynolds. Pandora already knows. I go out to see the ton. I have already done this a few times now.”

Reynolds and Brimsley looked like they were going to faint. You laughed as you took your cloak from Pandora. You had no concern with anyone finding out since the two men in front were still in the gardens instead of running back to Kew to pen a letter.

“Please ready the carriage. I’ve already missed breakfast as it is, I don’t want to be any later.”

The only two things that freaked out your valets even more were entirely your fault as well. Reynolds stuttered through confusion when you refused the mask he was about to hand you. Brimsley actually did faint when you got out of the carriage before reaching the Bridgerton house. You turned around when he came to again.

“The carriage is too recognizable. Until I get something more plain th—”

“Just say the princess gave it to you for business affairs!” Brimsely yelled so loudly that you were concerned someone would hear it.

For a moment you were ready to ignore his plea but then you realized he was right. Plus, you did already set up that poor women and rich women were treated equal in your court — something that was true but you only had three lower class women in your court to begin with. You got back into the carriage, knee bouncing the entire way.

Peering out the window, you spotted Marshall. He titled his head a bit as you turned around, seemingly scolding someone inside, tilting even more when you walked in the opposite direction of their house. An older woman greeted you at the door of the Featherington home. You repeated the same thing you told Marshall the first time you came to the Bridgerton family.

“Please come in. They’re in the drawing room, now… Ma’am, a visitor.”

You curtsied as you entered their drawing room, waving to Penelope. “Hello… Woah, there are a lot of men. I’m sorry I was unaware we had already begun calling.”

Lady Featherington put on her best smile. “Yes, what is it?”

“Right. I am the Young Princess’ lady in waiting. She has made bouquets for you all. Well, as well as bouquets for the Bridgertons but rest assured I know exactly which ones belong to you.”

The Featheringtons looked more than pleased to be receiving flowers after dresses, especially Lady Featherington. All the suitors were looking at them like winning prizes. To be favored by the princess is to have everyone’s hand in your lap and every name on your dance card. You read out what each flower meant and gave them a card that had them written down in case they were to forget.

“Thank you so much, Miss?”

“Keaton.”

“Miss Keaton. Please inform the princess that we are forever grateful for such a thoughtful gift. If it is no trouble would you like some biscuits or tea?”

You decided to stay for a few minutes. Besides, watching suitors fall over their feet to impress women seemed like a very entertaining morning. Thanking the old woman for the tea, you took a sip before setting down the cup when you noticed Colin. He waved to you before making a bored face.

Clearly, he hadn’t been the first one to arrive for calling. You supposed that was the issue with all four of your girls out at once. There was only one drawing room so all of their suitors would have to wait their turn even if they were there for a different girl, at least until Lord Featherington came home and then maybe he could chaperone outside in the garden. You now understood why the Bridgertons were okay with Eloise delaying her debut. Focusing on only one woman is plenty enough.

Daphne had written to you that she had received no callers but none of the other Bridgertons had spoken about calling or the marriage mart at all. You only looked up from the mess of suitors when Eloise arrived, pulling up a chair at the small table you and Penelope were sitting at. Pen tapped your shoulder.

You looked down at the overgrown rat in her arms. It was your turn to mind the dog that one of the gentlemen calling thought would be appropriate as a gift. Rolling your eyes, you took it anyway and began bouncing it like a child. At least it was a very calm dog.

Your two friends laughed as you jumped when another gentleman began reciting a poem very loudly. Everyone was starting to fall asleep. His performance was both bad and boring, a combination you were hoping couldn’t be accomplished today. The sound of Lady Featherington’s clapping was the only thing that woke everyone up. She all but pushed the men out, saying the girls had seen enough suitors today. You frowned at her telling the gentlemen to say goodbye to even Penelope. Even? They should just be saying goodbye because she was a lady and in the house. Colin came over to you guys.

“A most wretched sonnet indeed.”

You laughed before standing up to leave with him, trying not to eavesdrop on their conversation. The two of them had such a close bond. You were sure that they’d end up with each other. He was probably here for her, waiting for a chance when Marina’s suitors were done. Handing Colin his flowers, you abandoned him for the drawing room of his house — pausing in your tracks when you saw a man you didn’t recognize.

Violet jumped up along with Hyacinth and Francesca. “Oh, Y/N, hello. We weren’t expecting you after you missed breakfast.”

“Yes, I was preoccupied with the princess. I’m sorry am I intruding?”

“No.” Daphne all but ran to meet you. “What do you have with you?”

“The princess made bouquets.” You leaned in close. “I am very sorry about what Whistledown wrote. You didn’t deserve that. Perhaps flowers can cheer you up?”

“Thank you so much.”

“Where are the others? I shall give these to them then promptly return.”

“Yes, please do,” Daphne said before having to return to her caller.

Violet took her flowers from you. “Gregory is in the garden or with his brothers. More than likely his brothers. They are either in…”

“Yes?”

“Well they are in their rooms but I can’t just let you go in alo— It’s much too dangerous for a woman. The ton wo—”

“I don’t see why I cannot seeing as I am the princ—” you stopped yourself. “Uh, the princess’ valet. I’m on official business from her and where she can go, I can go.”

She still seemed unsure.

“Besides, I am not a lady.”

At that, Violet let you go upstairs but her face didn’t relax on any of the tension it held. You held onto the wooden railing as you skipped up the steps. You realized that you should have asked Violet which rooms were theirs. But it was too late now. Going back down would just be a matter of inconvenience and take longer in your return to Daphne’s aid. And not to mention, you were a princess. You didn’t need permission to enter anywhere, it was just polite to ask. Opening each door, you sighed in relief when one finally led to a bedchamber with people inside. Anthony looked up, setting down one of his many ledgers.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?”

At the sound of your name Gregory, who had been sitting on his older brother’s bed as he engrossed himself in some reading, looked up. “Y/N!”

You handed them both the bouquets. “Courtesy of the princess, not my doing.”

They chuckled as they took their bouquets from your arms. You heard the door creak behind you as it opened more. Turning, you came face to face with the second eldest Bridgerton. Benedict smiled.

“I knew I heard Gregory call for you.”

“Here. For you.”

“Thank you. How long will you be staying?”

“For dinner but then I must leave afterwards. So, what shall we do up here?”

“Up here?” Anthony raised his eyebrows. “Alone? Y/N, I do not think it… it is improper for us to be alone with you.”

You scoffed. “Impropriety.”

“It is true.”

“Firstly, I am not exactly bound by your rules of society. Second, we aren’t alone unless you are insinuating that anything would happen because you either can’t control yourself or are oddly content to share me with your brother.” You enjoyed watching them both stutter through a reply.

“But if someone were to see us.”

“Does this window face the front of the street?”

“No.”

“Can anyone see anything in the back?”

“No.”

“Then no one is to see anything. Especially when nothing is happening. And lastly, I am not unchaperoned.”

“You aren’t?”

You pointed to the youngest Bridgerton in the room. “Gregory is not a man but a child. Therefore someone who is not an available bachelor is watching and supervising us.”

He grinned, not even caring that he was called a child. “Yeah. I’m very good at watching.”

You could do nothing but laugh as you flopped over Anthony’s bed and asked Gregory to hand you a book he was finished with.

Benedict blinked. “I guess I cannot argue with that. I’ll go get my charcoals and come back.”

“Ah, right, but first let me eavesdrop on Daphne and Nigel. Almost forgot.”

“Lord Berbrooke?”

“Don’t make me laugh by giving him a title.”

When you returned, the boys had found their way into a comfortable silence. They barely acknowledged your presence when you sat down. Per Anthony’s request, the door didn’t just stay unlocked or ajar but completely open. Benedict looked away from his paper and at you.

“What do you mean you aren’t bound by rules of society?”

“I said your rules.”

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, then. Our rules."

“The rules of the upper class and the ton. I am bound by royal rules and royal rules only which you’d be surprised to find are very different from the rules of the ton… I should suggest to the princess that she must write about those rules.”

“And what are royal rules then?”

“The only one that pertains to you is that it isn’t a crime for a royal or a member of their court to be unchaperoned while around the opposite sex.”

Violet decided to go upstairs after seeing Lord Berbrooke out their front door, utterly exhausted. She just needed a few moments of rest before going back to Daphne. Passing by her son’s room, she paused. Anthony was at his desk working, Gregory was sitting at the head of the bed reading, you laid flopped across it with several things around you, and Benedict was sitting on the floor leaning against the side of the bed with his art supplies spread out all around. The sight could be considered improper but Violet refused to interrupt.

“Anthony, come look at Benedict’s work and tell him it is better than he gives himself credit for.”

Violet watched her son take his ledgers and come sit by Benedict, who had cleared enough of his supplies away for his brother, right underneath where you were laying. Not caring, you rested your chin on top of his head so you wouldn’t lose balance as you pointed to where you liked Benedict’s sketch. You couldn’t help but laugh as Anthony stiffened up for a moment.

“You’re worse than Brimsley. I already told you that I am not a lady. Calm yourself.”

“Brimsley?”

“The Queen’s temporarily former valet. He moved to Kew with us.”

“The family now stays at Kew?”

“No, just the princess. It was a gift of sorts as she’s the only child to live there. It is a chance to live alone and like a proper adult before her introduction to society.”

Gregory became interested once again. “We’ll get to see the princess soon? When?”

“Roughly four months if all goes well… You know, I must take you all to Kew one day.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Violet smiled as she continued heading to her destination. You and Anthony seemed to be headed towards friendship. If you really did take him to Kew then he would get to meet the princess alone.

(part 3)

THIS FIC TAGLIST:

@fredsbetch @cherrylovers-world @chrystinaamanda @grassclippers @flyestvenustrap

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

#benedict fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton

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