#I'm starting a fight but i will not engage

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Sexual themes at the Granville studio. Nothing explicit.

Season one

Chapter Eleven - Ruse to ruse

♡♡♡

Colin had brought you here, so he saw to it that he saw you home, though Benedict was a little reluctant. He kind of wanted to do it himself, but there wasn't time to argue and dawdle.

Anthony and Benedict would see Daphne home, Colin would take you, and Simon would need to go home and prepare himself for his future with Daphne.

Colin was good at riding. He handled the horse with perfection. You were home before your mother was even properly awake. He helped you off the horse, and you thanked him quickly, going around the back of the house knowing the servants would be up already.

Colin rode away before he was seen.

You dodged some maids as you returned to your room and quickly dressed down to make it look like you had been in bed the entire time.

You were lucky to get back when you did. A mere ten or fifteen minutes passed before your maid came into the room to wake you. You stretched and rose from the bed, relying on your acting to fool the poor girl into believing you hadn't been awake since before dawn.

She seems none the wiser as she tells you breakfast will be ready shortly and that your mother was awake.

Once you're up and dressed, you can act naturally. Everything that happens now is just the course of things. Daphne and Simon shall marry, she'll become a duchess, and Violet can set her sights on her next daughter, Eloise.

You enter the dining hall and see your mother already there, starting her breakfast. You join her with a smile.

"Good morning, dear."

"Good morning."

She seems none the wiser as to what you had been doing earlier that morning. For that, you are thankful. You tuck into your breakfast and pretend nothing had happened.

You've barely eaten when the butler comes in and announces you have a guest. You glance up at your mother with confusion. However, she looks thrilled.

"A caller?"

You don't even get to answer before she's up and heading toward the door to see who it was. You stand, too. Your mother returns moments later being followed by Benedict.

You look at him in confusion this time.

"Mr. Bridgerton, how delighted we are for your visit," your mother coos.

"An innocent visit, I assure you," he replies.

Your mother looks at you and tilts her head in his direction.

"What brings you to our door?" You ask, looking at Benedict.

"I thought I'd share the news. Daphne is engaged to the duke. She told mother this morning." He speaks slightly strained. Of course you already knew this information.

"How wonderful!" Your mother cheers.

"Yes. Very. Is she happy?" You ask, playing along.

"I'm sure they both will be." You catch the change of tone in his voice.

Silence settles between you both.

"Don't mind me," your mother says, returning to her seat at the table.

You sigh softly and turn to Benedict. "I'll show you out."

Your mother calls your name and then says, "so soon?"

"I'm sure Mr. Bridgerton was just delivering the good news in person. After all, they are my friends, mother."

You didn't give her time to answer before leading him out of the dining room. Benedict followed you to the door.

"What are you doing here?" You ask.

"I had to make sure you got home alright," he says softly.

"Colin brought me home."

"I know..."

You sigh softly and look up at him. "How is your mother coping?"

"She is pleased Daphne is marrying the duke. However, it would seem that Cressida Cowper may have seen them in the garden that night." He explains.

"Oh dear..."

"I'm sure all will be well, but we must keep our wits about us for now."

"Then why did you come here?"

"I told you. To make sure you got home."

"Do you not trust your brother?" You ask.

"Of course I do," he replies quickly. "I just wanted to see you."

You smile and then chuckle. "You worry too much. You should go home and be there for Daphne. She will need all the support she can get right now."

He sighs softly and nods. Benedict does leave immediately. He just looks at you. You're unable to read the expression on his face as you stare back at him in confusion.

He soon snaps out of his daze and takes his leave. You watch him go.

When you return to the dining room, your mother looks at you. "Why did you show him out so soon?"

"Mother..."

"He could have come with good intentions."

"He just came to tell me of Daphne's news," you say, sitting down once again.

"He may want to court you."

"Mother, I can assure you that my future husband will not be a Bridgerton. That will never happen."

Your mother grumbles. "You never know."

You look down into your tea cup and see your reflection in the hot liquid. "No, mother. I do know."

♡♡♡

Daphne was to be married within the week, so you hear from her when you visit her family the day after the duel.

Violet was all a buzz with the news, truly believing her daughter was marrying for love, but everything you looked to the eldest Bridgerton daughter, you could only see the anxiety on her face.

Poor Violet would never know what really happened.

Eloise excused herself from all things wedding related, so you accompanied where you could. Daphne was grateful to have a hand to hold when her emotions became too much sometimes.

When she was fitted for her wedding dress, you held her hand. When her mother went through gloves and veils, you were stood there beside her, your arm hooked with hers. When they discussed nightdresses, you stood beside her and kept her company.

Daphne was glad you were there. She surely would have lost her patience had you not been.

When you returned to their home later that day only to find out from Anthony, the special license had been denied, Daphne reached for your hand again.

The conversation was cut short when Violet entered the room to greet Lady Danbury.

"Now, this is far too grim a mood for the celebration I was counting on," Lady Danbury said, looking at everyone. "What on earth is the matter?"

"Anthony?" Violet looks at her son.

"We have been denied our request for a special license," he tells them.

"What?"

"The archbishop did not see a need." The duke added.

"It is not the archbishop," Lady Danbury says. "It is the queen. Perhaps she has taken your rejection of her nephew to heart, or perhaps she is simply bored. Either way, it does not bode well for your daughter's social future, nor any of the Bridgertons for that matter."

You feel Daphne squeeze your hand.

"Surely we must be able to do something?" Violet asks.

"Give her what she wants. Attention. Appear before her yourselves and make a personal appeal. But she will not respond to begging, and she can sniff out even the faintest whiff of insincerity, so do not lay it on thick. Tell her you are in love, plain and simple and true."

Daphne and Simon look at each other. Daphne looks like she could cry.

"You can do that, can you not?" Lady Danbury asks them.

Daphne nods her head. Then Simon gives one firm nod also.

"Good. Now, where is the dinner I was promised?"

Violet chuckles and leads the way.

You let go of Daphne's hand and follow her mother. Anthony accompanies you, and the happy couple follow.

♡♡♡

Benedict returns to the studio of Mr. Granville. He has chosen to sit out dinner with his family, not knowing you were there.

Henry answers the door.

"Bridgerton! I am so glad you came."

"I dare not miss it," Benedict answered.

"Please, come in."

The two of them head inside.

"Make yourself at home. I would show you around, but host duty calls." Henry smiles and walks on ahead.

The studio is much more lively tonight. There are people everywhere. Benedict walks down the hall a little bit and peers into one of the open doorways. The room is full of pretty women dressed in as little possible dancing around. He keeps on walking and peers into another room. There are people sketching in this one.

"What are you doing here?"

Benedict turns around to find a woman looking at him.

"Apologies. Have we met?" He asks.

"We need not to have met," she says. "You are a Bridgerton, yes?"

Benedict, of course, would not recognise the seamstress.

"I see my reputation precedes me."

"Not exactly a virtue."

"Anything that gets me your attention is a good thing, I rather think."

"You should go, home to your brother, perhaps."

Benedict scoffs. "But I'm receiving far too warm a welcome here."

They later find themselves on the stairs enjoying each other. His lips on her neck and collarbone as his large, warm hands explore every curve of her body.

She takes his hand and leads him down the stairs and through the crowds. He hurries forward to find them a room, opening a door only to find Henry Granville and another gentleman enjoying each other up against the wall.

Henry's eyes land on Benedict as he stands there, watching them. Slowly, Benedict steps out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Bridgerton," Genevieve whispers.

She's sat with a young woman nearby. She uses her finger to gesture him over. He walks over immediately, sitting between them and kissing the young lady. He then turns and kisses Genevieve, too.

He enjoys his evening with the pair of them.

It was safe to say, this man had no intention of settling down any time soon.

♡♡♡

The dinner passes by rather quietly. There is a slight tension between Simon and Daphne. Violet and Lady Danbury carry most of the conversation, and you join in when possible.

The only other Bridgerton's at the table were Anthony and Eloise, though the latter made it clear she would rather be anywhere else.

You find yourself a little disappointed at the lack of Benedict. Anthony just told you his brother had gone out. He knew not where. You didn't bother digging if he didn't know.

"What about you? Are there any prospects this season for you?" Lady Danbury asks, gesturing to you with her wine glass.

You look uo and find yourself a little stunned at the question. "Oh, um. I had some callers. Though not many. Very few came back a second time." You look down at your dinner.

"Worry not. You're still young. Your time to shine will come," she winks at you.

Violet looks at Anthony, who furrows his brow at her. When she nods her head at you, he shakes his head with wide eyes. Violet gives him a firmer look.

You look up, and she quickly smiles at you.

Anthony sighs and turns his head toward you. He keeps his voice low. "Whatever my mother says, do not buy into it."

"Hm?" You look at him with confusion.

"Anthony," Violet calls. Both of you look up at her. "Why not keep her company tomorrow?"

"Mother..."

"It would surely make her happy." Violet smiles brightly.

"Lady Bridgerton, there is no need," you try and steer her away from setting her up with one of her sons.

"I'm sure he won't mind."

"You're busy, no?" You ask quickly, turning to the young Viscount. "You mentioned some ledgers or something."

Anthony nods quickly. "Yes. Exactly. Those ledgers."

Violet sinks in her seat a little. Disappointed in her son. She can't help thinking you'd make a wonderful daughter-in-law. You would suit the Bridgerton name quite well, she is certain.

When dinner is over, Simon is very quick to leave. He speaks very little to Daphne as he exits the house.

Anthony sees you out.

"Shame Benedict wasn't present," you say absentmindedly.

"You seem rather close to my brother."

"We are friends. Fret not." You smile at him.

"I have no idea where he wanders off to so late at night. Nor do I care to ask."

"What you men do in your free time is your own business," you say.

"What could you possibly know what men get up to?" He asks, looking at you.

You just give him a sly smile, one Anthony simultaneously hates and loves. You're a cheeky one.

"Goodnight, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Goodnight."

He waits until you're in the carriage and then heads back inside his house. He walks starlight past his mother, who is gearing up to talk him into courting you, he is sure.

Violet watches him disappear upstairs.

♡♡♡

The next day, Daphne and Simon appear before the queen. You know not what is said in that room, but you are to gather later that Simon Basset made the most romantic speech known to man.

He declared his love Daphne in front of everyone in that room.

The queen gave them her blessing.

It worked.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

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@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen - @berrnuu - @luckily123345 - @charmainemaclendon

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 20 - Steal Me Away

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Drake is back... but that doesn't mean that it's a happy reunion...

Word Count: 4,300

Rating/Warnings: M (shouting, guilt-tripping, dangerous driving, swearing in multiple languages, one over-heated kiss)

Chapter theme song:

Chapter 20 - Steal Me Away

I whirl around in disbelief. "Drake...!"

He's stood before me with two days' worth of stubble, regarding me with a long-suffering look.

But it really is him.

And I feel my heart swell, even though I can tell that he's not exactly best pleased to find me in a random antique shop in the middle of Rome.

The muscle in his jaw twitches. "I turn my back for one goddamn minute and—"

"What are you doing here?" I blurt.

"I can ask the same of you, Gale..." he counters, folding his arms over his chest. "Because this sure as shit ain't no bridal boutique."

My chin lifts on its own accord. "I decided to make a detour."

"Jesus fucking—" He rakes his hand through his hair. "Did you leave your brain in a ditch somewhere in the process?"

My eyes widen. "Wha—! No! I—"

"The city is crawling with paps!" he almost shouts, jabbing a finger towards the door. "Who are looking for any excuse to make a meal out of you! Did you not think for one second that—?"

"What?" I counter heatedly, stepping up to him. "That I should cower and hide instead, like I'm to blame for it all? I told you — I refuse to let these people—"

"Well, it would've been a damn sight better than making me chase you across half the fucking city!"

"Why were you even chasing after me?" I demand, my own ire flaring. "You're supposed to be in Dubai!"

"Been there, done that, got the jet lag to prove it," he hits back sarcastically. "But just because I'm gone doesn't mean you suddenly have carte blanche to fuck off on your own."

"Says the person who walked off without so much as a 'see you later'..."

His mouth hardens. "I didn't want to—"

"Also, I'm not on my own," I continue testily. "Allard and Schweitzer—"

"—are fucking fired," he cuts in, suddenly darkened mocha eyes flashing. "They should never have—"

"Ch'è qualche problema?"

"No!" Drake and I snap in unison.

The old man falls mute before muttering something disparaging under his breath.

I continue staring at Drake, heart thumping and chest heaving in the wake of our dust-up.

He glares back unblinkingly, jaw clenched as the tension rolls off him in palatable waves.

I reach up to adjust the strap of my tote indignantly. "So much for trusting each other, huh, Walker?"

"Dammit, Gale," he growls. "That's not what—"

Grabbing the wrapped box off the counter, I stomp past him without a backwards glance. "See you back at the embassy."

He has some nerve, showing up out of the blue t—

I barely make it two steps before he's grabbed me by the arm.

I open my mouth to retort...

...but I'm not given a chance to get a word in edgeways, because in the next instant, he's slammed me against his chest, laying claim to my mouth with a ferocity that's on the verge of being savage.

The fight whooshes out of me as my arms fly up to wrap themselves 'round his neck, even as I feel his fingers dig against the soft cotton of my dress, pulling me to him like a long-lost ship to anchor.

"Christ, girl," he growls against my lips. "You send me off the edge of reason..."

"I'm... sorry..." I gasp, clinging to him helplessly as he trails down the line of my jaw. "I didn't mean to—"

"Ah... l'amore... non è bello se non è litigarello."

Drake starts as he gets clapped roundly on the back.

Peeking up, I see the shopkeeper smirking at us conspiratorially while ambling past.

"Err... Sì," coughs Drake, pulling back from me. "Sto certamente imparando che a mio spese..."

The man laughs in response. "Non capita a tutti?"

"You speak Italian?" I gawp, feeling a flush creep up my cheeks as the old man throws us a wink over his shoulder.

"Uh... Yeah..." Drake mutters, running his hand over the back of his head somewhat sheepishly. "With Bast."

"Oh." I glance between him and the old man. "What did he say?"

"An old proverb," Drake says, looking just as embarrassed as I am feeling about the fact that we'd inadvertently let our dirty laundry rip in the company of a complete stranger. "Love is not beautiful if it does not quarrel."

My cheeks redden further. "I-I see..."

"It's kind of a compliment..." he admits, shooting a sidelong glance over at the man, who's now busy dusting some shelves. "But we should probably get out of his hair."

"Definitely...!" I chirp, diving towards the saving grace of the exit.

"Err... La saluto," offers Drake on his way out. "E scusi il disturbo..."

"Eh!" comes the scoffed response. "Chi non risica non rosica. Ma è meglio stare attenti con lei! Donna buona – vale una corona."

"Lo so..."

"Everything alright?" I ask as Drake joins me on the baking pavement.

"Yeah," he assures me, not quite meeting my eye. "Just giving his two cents..."

Something flashes across his face, too fast for me to read.

But before I can ask him about it, he's already marching me across the square.

"What about Allard and Schweitzer?" I protest, trying to squint behind me as Drake navigates us 'round the incessant stream of sightseers. "Are they—?"

"I sent them back to the embassy," Drake replies, yanking me back as a pair of kids dart out in front of me.

"You didn't actually fire them, did you?" I gasp.

"Sure as hell thinking about it," he mutters, moving us forward again.

"If it's any consolation, they did try to talk me out of coming out here..."

"Clearly not hard enough."

"I can be very persuasive when I want to be," I remind him.

He lets out a low breath. "Don't I fuckin' know it..."

"Look," I say, coming to a stop and turning to face him. "I get you're pissed—"

"That's putting it mildly."

"—but don't take it out on Allard and Schweitzer," I tell him flatly. "They didn't do anything wrong... and I actually get along with them."

He holds my gaze for a long time before answering. "They're not your friends, Gale."

"Maybe not in any conventional sense," I admit. "But getting me a security detail had been your idea, Walker. And I know I was against it initially, but Allard and Schweitzer have been able to be there for me when you haven't."

His mouth hardens.

"And I know that grates you," I continue quickly, before he can cut me off again. "But we knew from the start that this was going to be the case, so if you do need to leave, then I'd prefer to be left with people I can trust. And I trust Allard and Schweitzer — with my life. Which is actually saying a lot."

He holds my gaze for what feels like a full minute before answering. "I'll think about it."

"That's it?" I demand in disbelief as he grabs my wrist to pull me after him again. "After all that, you're just going t—?"

"I said I'll think about it."

I glare at his back. "You're a dick."

He rounds on me like a wolf. "I'm a fuckin' realist. And the reality is that Allard and Schweitzer messed up. Big time. And I don't care how much you like them, or how many times you've braided each other's hair—"

My eyes narrow. "That's not—"

"—because none of that fucking matters out here! What matters — the only goddamn thing that matters — is keeping you safe. From the paps, from the aristos, even from your ownfucking self, if you're about to do something stupid. And at that, they've unquestionably failed. So, no. I'm not about to cut them a break. Especially not on your say-so. Because the stakes are too fucking real, and I'm not gonna let anyone play dice with your life. Least of all the people whose one job is to look out for you. Got it?"

I force myself to blink back the sudden tears in my eyes. "Yeah..."

"Good," he grunts. "Now get on."

Glancing past Drake, I spot what is very literally the last thing I'd expect to see him with.

I scoff up at him. "In your dreams, bud."

"Gale," he warns, reaching for one of the helmets that's hanging from the black and white moped's frame. "I'm not in the fucking m—"

"Well, neither am I," I hit back tersely. "So, you can take that deathtrap of a Vespa and shove it."

"First off," he counters, tossing the helmet at me. "It's a Piaggio. Second, the only reason I had to resort to this is because you decided to bail."

I catch the helmet irately. "So, you're saying that this is my fault?"

"Damn right, it is," he confirms, extracting a second helmet from the storage compartment nestled beneath the seat. "It's got all of 50cc so it's underpowered as fuck."

"Then why the heck did you get it!"

"Because it's the fastest way to get around the city."

I snort at him. "You mean, it's the fastest way to get into an accident..."

He prays for deliverance under his breath. "Gale, for the love of Christ, will you just—?"

"No," I declare, folding my arms. "The last time you conned me onto the back of your motorbike, I literally thought I was going to die. And after seeing how everyone in Rome drives, I have no interest in—"

"You drive, then."

Drake's unexpected offer pulls me up short. "Wait. What?"

He pulls a set of keys from his pocket. "It's a one-time offer, Gale. Either you take the wheel, or I do. But you've gettin' your ass on this sorry excuse of a bike, one way or another."

"I..." I swallow thickly. "I don't know how..."

"I'll walk you through it," he assures me. "There ain't much to it."

"Somehow I doubt that..."

"Clock's tickin', girl..."

I heave a breath before shoving my head into my helmet. "Okay, fine. I'll do it."

"Figured you would," he murmurs, holding the keys up. "You know where these go?"

"Up your ass," I retort, snatching the keychain from his hands.

The corner of his mouth twitches — whether in amusement or annoyance, I can't tell.

Not that I really care. I can be a jerk, too. But, I figure that at least with me driving, we won't rack up any speeding tickets or near misses on our way back to the Cordonian embassy, which is where we are staying for the two nights that we are in Rome for.

Walking up to the moped — admittedly with more swagger than I'm actually feeling at this moment — I grab the handlebars and swing my leg over the middle of the frame.

After a quick inspection, I locate the ignition switch and slot the key in.

But before I have a chance to try and turn the engine on, Drake's hand appears in my line of sight.

Reaching between my legs, he opens a hidden compartment in the frame. "For your bag."

"Oh," I say in genuine surprise, taking my bag off so I can tuck it away. "That is actually kind of neat."

"Last thing we need is for you to lose your stuff..." he drawls, shutting the glove box back up.

As he straightens again, his arm brushes the bare skin of my knee. And despite (or maybe because of) the unresolved tension shimmering between us in the wake of our heated reunion, I can't help but feel a familiar zap of electricity course through my nerves at the inadvertent contact.

"No kidding..." I concede, somewhat hoarsely. Clearing my throat, I add, "So... umm, what's next?"

"Grab the break and turn the key over as far as it'll go."

"So, kind of like a car," I surmise, following the instructions. "Why isn't it starting?"

"Because you only turned the electronics on," Drake advises. "To kick the engine off, you need to disengage the kick stand, and then press the start button."

"Jesus Christ, this is complicated..." I grumble as I scoot off the seat so I can try to figure out how to do what he just said.

"No more complicated than sailing a yacht," Drake counters, watching my antics from the safety of the pavement. "Just give it a shove ."

"How will that—?"

"It's got a rear-mounted kickstand," he says. "You disengage it by rolling the bike forward."

"Right," I grumble, feeling like a total idiot. "Because that's so obvious."

Maybe I should've let Drake drive, after all...

"You still holding the break?"

I snap my head up as I give the handlebars a hard push. "Huh?"

A squeal erupts from my mouth as the moped suddenly lurches forward beneath me, and I have a moment of sheer panic as I wrestle with the hunk of metal to keep from crashing to the ground.

"I told you to hold the break..."

"You could've been more specific!"

He lets out a low breath. "You good?"

"Yeah," I huff, finally managing to find some semblance of balance with an uncooperative moped  stuck between my legs.

"Turn her on, then."

I scan the buttons in front of me. "Err..."

"The one by your right thumb."

Shifting my grip, I extend my thumb out to press the button...

"You still holdin' the break?" Drake asks.

I quickly tighten my hold on the left-side break. "Yes."

Drake eyes me unconvincedly. "Just checking..."

I stick my tongue out at him.

"Hey," he objects. "You're the one who wanted to do this, Gale."

"Yeah, everything is my fault today..." I grumble as I press the start button.

The moped sparks to life beneath me, and I feel a massive rush of achievement.

"I did it!" I cry, meeting Drake's eye with an unadulterated grin.

He quirks a brow at me. "Y'know you're still stationary, right?"

"Shut up."

Drake steps up to the bike with a shake of his head and flips out the passenger foot rest. "Last chance to bow out gracefully, Gale."

I glance over my shoulder at him. "If you're trying to pull some kind of reverse psychology on me, Walker—"

"Wouldn't dream of it..." he assures me dryly, mounting up as well. "But my word is gospel, y'hear?"

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," I say sardonically... while trying to ignore the heat of his body and the instinctive urge to lean back into it as he settles down on the narrow seat behind me.

Because as much as I missed him, and as glad as I am that he's back, our volatile reunion has served as a stark reminder that we never finished our conversation back in Applewood. Not only that, but thanks to the almost break-neck speed at which things have been happening, the list of topics for discussion has only grown since then.

And the last thing I want is for us to fall down the same toxic hole that we did in the wake of Christian's surprise reveal in Valtoria.

I just have to hope that we'll be able to squeeze in some much-needed couple time before even more things pile up between us.

Not to mention, I'm desperate to know what had happened with Tariq in Dubai... and whether Drake's record-fast turnaround was a sign of some much-needed success, or even more demoralising failure.

But, first things first: getting back to the embassy in one piece, without the paps chasing us.

I feel Drake roll his eyes at me. "Wrong salutation, but never mind... Now. We're gonna do this slowly and gently. There's a lot of people around, and we don't need you on the front page of the Sun again because you accidentally torpedoed a toddler."

My throat constricts. "Y-You saw that?"

"You'd be hard pressed to find someone who hasn't," he mutters. "But right now, your focus needs to be on driving this thing. So, eyes up front and ignore everything else."

I swallow down my nerves. "Okay..."

"Your right hand controls the throttle. Your left hand controls the break," Drake instructs. "For the love of God, don't mix that up, or I'll be on the phone to your patents explaining why you suddenly need skin grafts."

I wince involuntarily at the gruesomeness of that particular image. "Got it."

"It's a mistake you'll only make once," he warns grimly. "To get going, twist down on the throttle while slowly easing up on the break. Don't jerk it, or you'll face plant into the speedometer."

"Anything else?" I ask, somewhat nervously.

As anticipated, driving a motorbike is a lot more nuanced than Drake made it look back in Cordonia. And I'm having some serious second thoughts about this whole thing...

"Keep your feet off the foot-stand until you've got enough momentum to stay upright."

"How will I know that?"

"You'll feel it," he assures me. "Like on a bike."

I bite my bottom lip.

"Hey," he says, brushing his fingers across my hip. "You got this, girl."

The familiarity of Drake's touch — even though it's fleeting — unwinds something in me. Because it's an unspoken reminder that no matter what may be going on around us... or between us, it's not going to come in the way of the promise that he made me.

I suck in a steadying breath. "Okay. Here goes."

Readjusting my grip on the handlebars, I twist my wrist down. Feeling the engine start to rumble with increased vigour, I gentle ease up on the break.

The Piaggio begins to creep forward.

"Watch the road, not the instruments," Drake cautions from behind me.

Lifting my eyes up, I carefully navigate us 'round the oncoming pedestrians, keeping my feet suspended alongside the moped, in case I need to make an emergency stop.

But, as we move away from the iconic landmark, the crowd starts to thin out, and the street widens. Passing a fruit and vegetable stand, I let go of the break fully, the bike pulls forward eagerly. Feeling slightly more confident, I add a bit more gas so I can finally lift my feet up without capsizing our delicate operation.

"Not bad," Drake approves. "You just gotta relax a bit."

I flush inadvertently. "I am relaxed."

"Your shoulders say different. You're driving like Quasimodo."

"Oh." I make a concerted effort to straighten my posture. "Better?"

"Yeah. But now you need to drop your elbows."

"So much for this being easy..."

"It is," he insists. "Once you get the hang of it."

"You and your technicalities, Walker..." I grumble.

"Everything's got a learning curve," he reminds me. "But we just might make a Hell's Angel out of you yet."

I snort back at him. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Evil Knievel. We haven't made it back to the embassy yet."

"Then you might wanna knuckle down for this next part."

"Why? What's—?"

I get my answer as we round a corner and come parallel to a busier-looking road.

Great...

"Right here, then first left," Drake advises as we approach a somewhat complicated-looking three-way intersection.

"Umm... Okay..." I mumble, eyeing up the noticeably faster-moving traffic on the main road with more than a bit of trepidation.

"No one's gonna give you room, so you'll have to gun it," comes the no-nonsense tip from behind me. "The indicator is by your left thumb."

A Fiat whizzes past, but the next car is some distance away. Taking a breath, I flick the indicator on and twist down on the throttle to merge into the gap.

"Move over one more," Drake shouts over my shoulder. "You're taking up the bus lane."

"Where the heck does it say that?" I demand, casting my head around in confusion.

"On the sign we just passed..."

"Was it invisible?"

"Hey," counters Drake. "You wanna argue with me, or a cop?"

"Neither," I concede sourly, making the switch to the left-side lane after a quick check in the mirror. "But they could've made it more obvious..."

Drake scoffs. "It's Rome. The bastards are trying to catch you out."

"Clearly," I agree, taking a left at the traffic lights...

...straight into a two-way fork in the road.

"Umm... What now?" I squeak, trying to hedge my bets as much as I can in the rapidly shrinking room that I have to make a decision before I run into the curb.

"Stay left."

I start to turn the bike, only to yank it back violently with a yelp as a car that I hadn't realised was trying to overtake me blows past with a scream of its horn.

"Vaffanculo!" yells Drake, throwing his hand out angrily at the other driver.

"Ohmygod..." I rasp, my entire body shaking in the wake of the near miss.

"Fuckin' asshole," gripes Drake. "You okay?"

I swallow thickly past the lump in my throat. "I... think so."

"If you need to pull over..."

I shake my head. "No. I'm fine. I just..."

"...get a kick outta playing chicken?"

"I don't do it on purpose!"

"You sure?" he asks dryly. "'Cause you definitely seem to be making a habit of it..."

I open my mouth, but quickly think better of it... as Drake has a point. I have had a few too many near misses lately. "Sorry... It isn't intentional. I thought that since I'd left the indicator on, that—"

"I know," he assures me, laying a hand on my hip again. "I'm not blaming you. But all the calls you've had had been too close. And..." His fingers tighten against the material of my dress. "I just don't want you to—"

"I know," I concede softly. "I don't want that either. And I'm not normally this accident-prone, I promise..."

"Except when your blood sugar's low," he corrects wryly.

His words cause me to clench my eyes together in consternation. "Damn it, the croissants..."

In the whirlwind of Drake's surprise reappearance, I'd forgotten all about the primary reason for sneaking away from the bridal boutique.

"What croissants?" queries Drake.

"The pistachio ones I was supposed to get from this little bakery next to the fountain that the Italian President had recommended."

I feel Drake's disbelieving gaze knife into the back of my head. "Seriously? That's the reason you were out playing hooky?"

"One of them, yes..." I reply evasively.

"Putain de merde..."

"Apparently they're very good..."

Drake mutters something under his breath. "Pull over."

My eyes widen. "What? Why?"

"Because it's past noon, and you're clearly starving."

"I'm fine," I insist, even though the only thing of substance I've had since this morning was the cup of coffee on Olivia's jet. "I'll just grab something when—"

The Piaggio lurches to a stop as Drake slaps a hand on the break. "No. You won't."

My eyes widen as my feet fly out on instinct to steady the suddenly stationary moped. "Why not?"

"Because the staff at the embassy already have their work cut out pulling together tonight's dinner, so the kitchen is off-limits," he explains, hopping off the back. "And you won't be able to take two steps outside to grab a sandwich without picking up a pap tail."

"Then why have we stopped in a dead-end alley?" I ask in disbelief as Drake pulls the moped it onto its kickstand while I'm still sat gaping at him from the seat.

"Because we just passed one of the best restaurants in Rome," he states. "So, I'm buying you lunch."

His cinnamon-laced eyes meet mine, and I see a sudden flash of rawness in his gaze... a silent plea entreating me to say yes. Which means this is about more than just food.

"Okay," I accede, wondering what could've prompted such a sudden change of heart. "But what about the paps? Aren't you worried we'll get spotted?"

"See any people?" asks Drake, reaching across my lap to turn the ignition off.

"No, but—"

"Exactly," he affirms, pocketing the keys. "This is one of the few places in the city where you ain't gonna bump into a reporter."

"How do you know?"

"Because apart from the fact that Sugo actually makes its own pasta, it is also a stone's throw from Parliament," he explains, offering me a hand to help me off the bike. "Which means that pencil pushers from every level of government come here to ink deals over carbonara, so no one — staff included — is gonna mess with the status quo."

"Sounds like something out of a mafia movie..."

"Where d'you think Hollywood gets its ideas from?" he drawls, pulling his helmet off to stow it in the under-seat compartment. "Places like this. Which is why no one will bother us here. Especially not the paps. It'd be a death sentence for this joint if their tight and discreet ship suddenly sprung a leak."

"Good to know," I acknowledge, unclipping the clasp of my own helmet. "But how did you even find out about this place? Let alone got in?"

"Leo," Drake replies, taking my helmet to clip it onto the handlebar. "He's on a first name basis with the chef."

I quirk a brow at him. "Sounds like there's a story there..."

Drake extricates my bag from the glove box with scoffs. "It's Leo. There's never not a story. But let's get you inside first. Before you pass out on the pavement."

"I'm not going to—" My stomach rumbles in pointed disagreement. "Okay, I am hungry. But where exactly is this place? There's nothing here apart from the back-ends of buildings..."

"Have I ever let you down when it comes to food?" he asks with a raised brow.

"No..."

"Then trust me."

The story continues in Chapter 21 - Coming Soon!

A/N: Translations for the Italian below:

Ch'è qualche problema? - Is there a problem?

Ah... l'amore... non è bello se non è litigarello. - Ah, love... It is not beautiful if it does not quarrel.

Err... Sì. Sto certamente imparando che a mio spese... - Err... Yes. I am definitely learning that the hard way.

Non capita a tutti? - Don't we all?

Err... La saluto. E scusi il disturbo... - Err... Farewell. And apologies for disturbing you.

Eh! Chi non risica non rosica. Ma è meglio stare attenti con lei! Donna buona – vale una corona. - Eh! No risk, no reward! But you better take care of her! Good woman – worth a crown.

Lo so... - I know...

Vaffanculo! - Fuck you!

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

[greenerteacups]

Your Hermione (through Draco's loving, rose-tinted glasses) has been one of my favorites to read. He doesn't shy away from her faults but sees her qualities (intelligence! an appreciation for the rules but creativity around them! confidence! a touch - a gallon - of bossiness!) as strengths instead of the annoyances they sometimes appear to be through Harry's eyes in the original books.

You once wrote on your favorite and least favorite tropes for Draco. I'm curious, what are they for Hermione? Was she the character you saw yourself in in the books, or was that someone else?

And a million times over - thanks for creating such a rich, beautiful text. I've been reading fanfiction for 10 years, and this is one of my favorites.

Thank you so much! Hermione was my favorite character, and as a bookish, socially challenged kid, most definitely the one I saw myself in the most. She made it seem cool to work hard and try, which was not the vibe of my school at the time, and she was the character that I imprinted on. Honestly, it's cheesy, but she probably changed my life.

My favorite version of Hermione is probably "loving hierophant." I like her bossy, righteous, imperious, book-smart but stupid about people, and most of all, a wonderful, wonderful hypocrite. Hermione holds everyone to incredibly high standards, including herself. That means she believes in people intensely and gets cross at them easily when they disappoint her. She's sensitive about certain topics, especially the "not having friends" thing, but she hates the vulnerability it brings up, so she responds by getting defensive and redirecting attention to things she's good at, i.e. books and rules. This is also her reaction to vulnerability in general; Hermione needs to be In Control, and intimacy is the one area where that's literally impossible.

She's capable of observing her own faults in others much more easily than she is of observing them in herself; she'll criticize Harry and Ron for being tactless and then turn around and say something incredibly rude without blinking. This also applies to Harry's inability to pick his battles; Hermione's a little better than he is, but they both have different triggers, and she's not necessarily less bellicose than he is. (This doesn't stop her from lecturing him about a need to "be the hero" in OOTP, one of my all-time favorite Hermione Hypocrisy moments, because. Babygirl. Doctor, heal thyself.) She's scrappy and once she's engaged someone as an enemy, she fights with no holds barred; rules are for people who choose to play by them, and once someone breaks them, she's willing to open the umbrella of what she can do to deal with them. She doesn't have the most consistent moral code in the world! She's often inconsistent, and that's what's wonderful about her. She's a realistic depiction of a fifteen-year-old girl who cares just so fucking much, about everything, all the time, and is furious and desperate and passionate and brilliant, and wants to solve every problem, even when it means contradicting herself. She's still figuring herself out, and I love that about her. I love that she's wrong sometimes. I love that she's rude and messy, and she isn't good at expressing her needs.

In my view, the core tension of her character is her desire to be righteous and her absolute determination in pursuit of her goals. She is an ends not means type of person, and that's a decent philosophy when your enemies are dragons and dementors, but the minute you start dealing with people, your moral bets are off. This is the place where I think canon leaves her, and it's the place where the best fanfic takes her up.

[worstloki]

saw someone on twitter say "one of the main characters in a loki show should have been thor odinson, not some random Sylvie or Mobius.

...... It's like a written law"

wdyt do you agree

I don't think it was necessary to make Thor a main character in a Loki show, the same way it WOULD be possible to throw together a Thor movie without having Loki be a main focus.

The issue comes in the quality of the narrative itself, and writing that if evidently without intention to care for (whichever) main character's importance will not work out. Neither the Loki series nor Thor 4 cared about the arc, motivations, history, or continuity of the titular characters beyond trying to make the media marketable.

Overall messaging can add a layer to the impact a story will have. Musical score can be a bonus way to control tone or tie a story together. Supporting cast can be vital to tell a good story. Prioritising their presence over anyone's (especially Loki's) characterisation is what the Loki series suffered from, not that other, original-adjacent characters were there.

[eternalsyscourse]

dear internet:

you cannot "create" a system. yes, this is directly targeting systems of origins that aren't traumagenic, because those aren't a real thing. yeah, it's possible for people to be traumagenic and not realize it, but true endo/tulpa systems are not real.

i don't care if you're "coping" with something. i don't care if you're trying to keep yourself comfortable. it's not a thing. systems are caused by trauma, dissociation, and fragmentation of a personality and identity that should have formed as a whole. they are caused by repetitive childhood trauma.

believing that you have a severe mental disorder like DID can in itself be considered a disorder or a delusion, but it is not DID.

[karmaphone]

can u imagine if they tried to make atla today. 'yeah here's my pitch about a child who has the weight of the balance of both the physical world and an ethereal spirit world on his shoulders on top of being the last survivor of a literal genocide. yeah he's spiritually enlightened already in a non Christian religion, and reincarnation happens to him and him alone. yeah no the show's major themes are about how war and imperialism are bad for everyone involved, including the world around us. no, there'll still be cool fight scenes but it will also fundamentally explain the difference between defending oneself from an oppressor vs using that power to oppress and how even children can grasp that- where are you going'

[twistedapple]

OK so I need to get it out of my chest somehow, because I've been a bit displeased ever since I read that post. Not gonna tag or link because I don't want to cause trouble for OP.

But I saw a post regarding the way some people engage with Baldur's Gate 3 content, and how it was frowned upon to have opinions without playing the game. I didn't exactly take that post well in part because I saw a lot of people from the Raphael Corner nodding in agreement with what I consider a short-sighted opinion piece.

I kind of disagree with the base statement that one's opinions aren't valid if one hasn't played the game for the following reasons:

1. It honestly sounds a lot like actual DnD players complaining that new players who got on board thanks to BG3 expect the game's rules to be the same in DnD, and I consider that gatekeepy when one could be eased into the tabletop version in a more welcoming manner;

2. It's very easy to scroll past what one considers a bad take. It's even easier to block people and even tags on Tumblr, if there's a type of content one doesn't wish to see (inb4 tag your shit properly please);

3. It can quickly come off as classist because what if one's only way to enjoy the game is to live it vicariously through other people's content because say, they can't afford it (either too young and their family won't invest in the game and the gear to run it for whatever reason, or simply someone who generally can't afford it? Like idk what's the price of a PS5 in some of y'all's country, but in my country it's almost 800€. That's a lot of money just for a console. Don't get me started on gaming laptops and desktops, the only way to hace something decent is to slowly build it yourself with some clever part hunting for something that won't literally cost you a month-worth salary);

4. Having been in that exact position of having to live videogames vicariously through other people myself, for the longest time, and still having trouble sharing my own stuff now because I don't feel at my place in the gaming community simply because I couldn't afford it for so long, this post hits close to home in an unpleasant manner. Sure, Tiktok isn't a reference (like, generally speaking. Don't go on Tiktok if you really want to learn about stuff and build informed opinions/media literacy), but following streamers on Twitch for example is very helpful in that regard because it's raw footage and one can actually learn from it (on top of having fun in the chat if the community is cool). Checking quality gaming/analysis channels on YT can also help acquire enough knowledge to build a solid opinion.

5. This is literally a game with a fuckton of options for the storyline. No matter how much you'll play it, there will always be someone else, somewhere else, who'll figure out something you've never picked up. It's a very common occurrence on the subreddit. So judging people because they don't play the game kinda misses the mark even in that aspect. Instead of criticising people for getting their informations from Tiktok, I think it'd be more productive to either simply ignore these people, or engage with them in a manner that makes them want to dig further and learn more through other, more interesting/reliable sources.

Now mind you, my own opinion on that matter is very likely colored by the fact I'm a TTRPG player IRL, I've literally had experiences of one DM animating a one-shot with different groups and everybody getting to discuss all of the outcomes afterwards (it's an interesting thing to experience, highly recommend it) - it's very similar to games like BG3 where one has multiple paths depending on one's decisions for the storyline, or more generally games with multiples endings (like my beloved Dishonored and Bloodborne, for example). There's also the fact that I simply avoid what I consider bad takes, I literally don't interact with it, I block if necessary to curate my feed. So maybe I'm just like "ok some people build bad takes from Tiktok instead of getting into the game proper, I'll just steer clear of them" in term of stance, which makes me much more moderate in my opinion of these people - I actively make the choice to ignore them and vibe in my corner.

I'm just sad to see many people I know from the Raphael Corner agree with that initial opinion piece so eagerly.

[ikishima]

.

[lover-official]

The way I'm seeing people consume the Barbie movie uncritically and call it a feminist masterpiece is concerning.

It's giving the same kind of energy as how this site was in the mid 2010's, where we just somehow decided collectively that Men Were All Bad Actually ™️ and like ignored all the ways that's fucked up and that categorically not just dismissing but actively shitting on and harassing a group of people based on an identity they literally can't control is bad.

Like idk I thought we were finally acknowledging the damage that did to feminism. I thought we were finally acknowledging the way that bred a self loathing into men that isolated them and stopped coalition building, and the way young men of color (especially black men) were treated in explicitly racist ways but people used the guise of "no I'm just mad at men" to justify it, and the way trans men CONTINUE to be treated on this website... but here we are, getting real fucking hype about how good the Barbie movie treats the Kens.

And the thing is that while what the Kens do is bad they aren't given genuine agency in the narrative. They didn't like. Make this choice. It's a stupid and logically inconsistent argument that they did, one that's contradicted by the movie itself. They're infantalized by the Barbies at every turn and if ANY Ken has literally any formal education they're an exception. The Barbies don't know where the Kens live (spoiler: they are literally homeless) and they don't care. The Kens are quite literally second class citizens, but the movie doesn't even look at this as a bad thing! It's uninterested in the actually feminist idea that gender should not be used to cause divides or power embalances; instead, it acts out a female supremacy revenge fantasy on screen and then pats itself on the back for being so kind about how it makes the Kens second class citizens. Like sure, it says, the Kens aren't allowed higher education, or a Supreme Court seat, or homes, which are things women do have in the western world that this movie is made for as its primary audience, but at least we're not withholding healthcare or acting sexually violently towards them! And like... that's not the flex you think it is!!!! That's the bare fucking minimum!

Some of you have never read feminist theory and it fucking shows.

bell hooks didn't write The will to change just for you all to uncritically felate a corporate propaganda film as a feminist masterwork. Audre Lorde didn't say "You do not have to be me in order for us to fight alongside each other. I do not have to be you to recognize that our wars are the same," so that you could say that coalition building isn't important, actually, and you'd rather men just suffer than for us to reach healthier societal views on gender.

I'm especially disappointed in the trans people, who should fucking know better, for regurgitating these ideas.

We have to do better about how we treat men even conceptually, because the structural power that men have is not the dominant experience many men have with regards to oppression and we would be better served to fight those battles together. We have to do better because men do not deserve to be isolated from the movement because of their gender. (And no. They don't just need a thicker skin, because a lot of this hasn't just been surface level. It's been vitriolic and insipid, for years now.) We have to do better because once we start making masculinity the devil it's so much easier to hate butches, and trans women, and any woman who's perceived to have masculine interests or features or behaviors. We have to do better because men are still fucking people and deserve to be treated with every bit of kindness and dignity that women are entitled to. (And that's not even getting into how this behavior affects masculine nonbinary people, who get the brunt of this hatred while simultaneously experiencing little to none of the privilege you insist is afforded them by the maleness you percieve.)

Idk I guess I just expected better and I just hoped we wouldn't be worshipping something that pretty clearly flies in the face of what feminists have worked for since like. The 60's. :/

[lychnvs]

as you could probably tell i haven't been able to make art lately (busy time) but i don't want this blog to die so feel free to send me asks about my opinions/ headcanons, my art, tvc or other things, whatever :))

[stabbylambchop]

I PROMISE I'M STILL ALIVE Y'ALL LMAO JUST IN BETWEEN ART BLOCK, BOUTS OF DEPRESSION, AND DOCTOR'S VISITS HFJGDFHZJGDYJHS

[tailung]

earthspark pilot was.... ok! it was ok.

[lettersiarrange]

hey are you a terf ? you've been reblogging stuff from radfems ...

No, I'm not a terf, I support trans people 100%. Also terfs are uncomfortably cozy with the alt-right and that's uhhh... a whole other layer of awful.

But I think I may be following a secret terf? Tumblr keeps showing me these posts that are like "liked by someone you're following!" And I follow 4k people so I'm not like. Keeping track of anyone but my mutuals. And some of the posts tumblr shows me are obviously terfy which makes me go HMMMM but then some of them seem fine? So it's hard for me to tell the difference between "posts tumblr reccomends me that are normal and in line with the regular leftist and feminist things I'm into" vs like "posts tumblr reccomends me because they're liked by whatever secret terf I'm following and have suspicious undertones that aren't immediately obvious to me". I'm certainly not intentionally following any terfs or following anyone who publicly identifies as a terf* or puts terf shit on my dash but I'm apparently following someone who doesn't blog about terf shit but LIKES terf shit (and I think it might be a fandom blog so that makes it harder to identify) and then those likes show up on my dash and it's not always obvious that it's terf shit or from a radfem blog-- it's just a random posts from a url I don't know. And sometimes the posts themselves are fine on the initial read.

So pls let me know what the radfem blogs in question are so I can identify and remember them if they pop up on my dash again

*caveat that I've been on this website for 10+ years and follow 4,000+ people and it's theoretically possible that a blog I followed multiple years ago that I never see on my dash now publicly identifies as a terf, but I'm not gonna go through all 4k of my following to try and find out if any of them have become publicly shitty in a way that doesn't affect my dash in the years since I've followed them. People get unfollowed as they bring shitty views to my attention. Hence the conundrum with the undercover terf bc they don't post terf shit, they just like it.

[jinruihokankeikaku]

the feeling of being torn between my desire to be an authentic and openminded and carefree person and the omnipresent neurotic anxiety that Saying The Wrong Thing Even Once will result in immediate irreparable damage to my relationships with those close to me.

[wickedhawtwexler]

i swear my mother and i have some kind of psychic link. she can just sense when i'm having a bad time, even when we aren't talking, and thinks to herself "hmm, i should make this worse"

[thorne1435]

Leftist Streamer or Video Essayist: "No, I hate drama. I do not engage in or seek out drama. Leftist infighting is bad. We just need to agree to disagree."

Literally the same fucking guy within seconds: "That's why me and &other_leftist are different, see, they fucking LOVE drama and infighting. They make money off of it, and it gets them hard."