#I wish I had the product to give to you

[canisalbus]

I say this in the best way, but your characters feel like they're from an obscure but really good piece of media, and you feel like the artist who always draws the two main characters as ghay lovers

.

[tamelee]

Just wanted to share with you a preview of something I'm working on ;-; because this is my very first real (?) Manga panel and it's a lil Naruto 🧡 🔆

[a-passing-storm]

Those were the big things, but I--OH MY GOD WAIT! Also, the way The Last Wish very plainly but not obnoxiously talked about toxic masculinity and how it’s good and okay to be vulnerable with other people and ask for help and be scared. Like! Oh My God!

[apparitionism]

Tabled 2

Hi again, @barbarawar ! Here’s a continuation of your @b-and-w-holiday-gift-exchange  present... it’s the second part of what has apparently decided to become a longer-than-two-part story. (This is kind of a short part, and I’m trying mightily to keep it to three, I swear.) In any case, a narrative wants what it wants, and given that this one is trying to deal with what might have happened if Myka and Helena had the “coffee” suggested by Helena in Instinct, I guess some difficulty of resolution is the price of doing business. I postulated in part 1 that Myka didn’t deal at all well with that “coffee,” and that it in fact initiated a cascade of lies, subterfuges, and all-around poor choices. Is that a sustainable mode of living? We’ll see. She might need a wake-up call. Who could deliver such a thing? Hm...

Tabled 2

Myka had run to the book because using her body to lie belonged, so clearly and painfully, to a new and different equivalence class of untruths.

If only she could have narrated a relationship with Pete instead. Sat at a table and told a series of story-lies about it—to herself, to him. Then she wouldn’t have so desperately needed the book to speak a different story.

Despite her need, however... nothing. From that nonresponse, Myka had taken the lesson that with regard to the future, what you see is what you get. What you see is all you get.

That being the case, she’d begun the work of reconciling herself to it.

She had soon thereafter received a text from Helena: a brief “Coffee?”, to which she had responded “Sorry, busy” without even asking for details, because one thing to which she could not reconcile herself was the way in which, even now (especially now), her heart leapt to see “Helena” appear in a notification.

The leap, its shock familiar yet striking her anew with its force, was a piercing reminder of those times before, when she had been so high-wire alive. Even as the coffees themselves had left her unsettled, incomplete, each new heralding text had lacerated her with frustrated want, the hot pain of things once were different. The prod of Myka, you once were different.

A fall into love had ripped her open; one into sin was now closing her up. She didn’t want to be reminded of either.

“You will never lose this friend” seemed now a curse, not a promise; another way of saying that she would never lose a particularly turbulent priest.

Will no one rid me...

****

As the wake of Artie’s are-you-the-culprit interview widens, Myka sees that she must rid herself of that priest. She cannot, in fact, endure the heart-leaps of more “coffee?” texts; and, beyond that, she needs fewer tables. If she can shed these sit-downs with Helena, where the lying began... it may be a false idol, but now she is choosing belief: that she can edit herself down to a way of living that is rational, even cold, such that she can functionally confront each new hour, day, week, every measure of time to come.

So. Initiating a “coffee,” which she has never done before, she texts Helena. It’s terse but, ironically, true: “I need to talk to you. In person.”

She is surprised to be surprised when she receives a nearly instantaneous reply, a simple “yes.”

Myka texts back her plan, which begins: “Meet you halfway.” Halfway is Chicago: between South Dakota and New York, where Helena now resides—with, Myka presumes, or at least near, the ideal Giselle.

Helena can have her. Myka will be her own ideal: she will be the person who sits at the table, the person who says the necessarily dismissive, lying words. Rationally. Above all, rationally.

She hopes the book will be willing to help that person.

Now, for what she knows must be the last time—the real third time, the real charm—she confronts the volume. “I’m making an end,” she tells it. “I need a shape.”

Could a book roll its eyes? Of course not. But an artifact certainly could.

That artifact may be adolescently scornful of Myka and her request, but it is no longer unresponsive. She resists considering what that means, concentrating instead of the book’s actions: it once again page-turns her to the later questions. She understands immediately why, as she is blinded to everything but question forty-three: “What will be the result of what I am about to undertake?”

She turns the page to reach the chart. She closes her eyes.

Superstitiously (not hopefully; hope is a drug she is trying to kick), she’s sharpened a brand-new pencil for the occasion. She now lowers its point to the page deliberately (not hopefully), but the instant it makes contact, her hand spasms, bouncing the spike of graphite elsewhere, jamming it there against the page, and she feels it snap and splinter.

She opens her eyes to find that she’s made two very clear selections, which is to say, she’s marked the book rather than simply touching it: the first is a right-pointing three-pebble triangle; the second—the one she twitched to and broke against—is a similarly small triangle, this one pertly upright. The first she knows as mathematical, about subgroups and containment; the second, obviously and cross-disciplinarily, is the delta of change.

“Both?” she asks, but it’s rhetorical. Surely the book itself produced her twitch, either via artifactual telekinesis or a physical nudge of its pages, to offer her two answers. The confirming page-ruffle is just punctuation.

And so she proceeds to the prophecies. The first, the right-pointer, is “You will only commit blunders.” Well. The book has known her for a while now, so that’s not a difficult prediction to make. She’s surprised, in fact, that it hasn’t given that one to her every time.

She turns to the second, the one corresponding to the delta. That one yields, “It will be of a satisfactory nature.”

“Oh, thanks,” she says. Sarcasm, but she shouldn’t be so cynical; the book is sensitive. These conjoined answers might feel like a joke, but even a joke has a shape. “I’m sure I’ll do it,” she tells her counselor. “The blunders of course. Satisfactory, though?”

No ruffle, no sigh. Myka is on her own.

****

Myka has arranged to meet Helena in the airport, for she is trying to make this excision as surgical as possible. Her return flight (well, the first of two) leaves three hours after her arrival; the layover is that long only because getting to and from South Dakota means bowing to airline schedulers’ ideas about which places merit reasonably quick access. Regardless of how pressing a person’s need to escape O’Hare might be.

In any case, the significance of the word “terminal” is not lost on her.

She catches her first glimpse of Helena from an entire length of concourse away—it’s a flicker, a mere suggestion of Helena-ness—but Myka knows it’s her. Once upon a time, she might have reveled in the intimacy of it, the way she knows the sight. Other people, indeed every other person, in the airport, the city, the country, even on the planet, might appreciate that sight, but Myka knows it. She knows the stride; she knows the toss of hair. She knows the bravado... knows it as a front. Knows it paper-thin.

But she can spare no sympathy for Helena’s fragility, nor for whatever it might cause her own heart to pulse.

This is the end, though, so she offers herself a tiny dispensation: for the length of Helena’s walk from gate B14 to B11, she will imagine this meeting is taking place in a different world. “Let’s start again,” she might say, in that different world. “Let’s run away and start again.”

Helena passes B11. That different world is no more.

Myka schools her face—her face that has been so revealing in the past—as Helena nears.

The line at the gate-adjacent Starbucks is short, yielding no time for much talk past “hello” and “how was your flight,” and that’s fortunate, because Myka has been witless to prepare anything cogent. She has, however, compiled a list of several synonyms for “ended.”

She’s considering launching without preamble into those, just pronouncing them all, one by telling one, then turning her back. But once she and Helena have collected their cardboard cups and sat down across from each other at a high table among a cluster between gates, Helena is the one to deliver the first salvo: “I presume you’re here to tell me about you and Pete.” She says it with a head-toss that seems rehearsed, but does she mean to convey nonchalance? Or is it nothing more than vain look-at-my-hair emphasis?

Myka can’t deal with either one. “Do you,” she says, as blandly as possible, but inside she is seething. She had not intended to say anything about that. She had intended to pretend it did not exist, to let that sin of omission be a relief, but someone has thwarted her. She suspects Steve... suspects it might have something to do with protection. She begins prepping a high-minded rebuke to be delivered later, even as she tells him now, in her head, where he and his truth-detection have taken up residence, You will not alter what I am here to do. “How did you hear?” she asks, again bland. Matter-of-fact, because of the matter of this fact.

“Claudia told me,” Helena says.

So much for the rebuke. Everything about this is going in the wrong direction. But there’s no right direction, so of course it is.

“I guess she’d know, wouldn’t she,” Myka says. She isn’t able to fully disguise her sourness at the idea of Helena and Claudia being in contact, but ultimately that’s all the more reason to detach. Helena has plenty of Warehouse connections, and that means Myka isn’t special. Here, too, she needs to be reasonable, to curtail any wish for that. Among so many other things.

And so she lies even more extensively than she did at the Round Table, despite the absence of Mrs. Frederic and Steve to goad her, telling a story about a story, investing her gray despair with cartoonish color, reciting again her ultimate line—her ultimate lie. Saying it out loud again, she feels her lies folding in on themselves, then expanding outward, untruths about untruths. She pushes on, however, ignoring the entanglement: “That was really my defining moment,” she concludes. “When I realized.”

She wishes Helena’s face would change, but it doesn’t. Yet another wallop of finality. The end, the end.

A moment passes: a suspension of time in which nothing at all happens. If only it could last forever...

But then Helena’s eyes narrow. “I don’t believe you,” she says. It’s blunt. It’s also defensive, and that is a change.

Myka does not know whether to rejoice in or lament the fact that she is not, here at the end, a competent enough liar for an audience of H.G. Wells. So she punts: trying for flippant, she says, “Well, congratulations, you and Pete finally have something in common, because he didn’t either. Not at first.”

That conjures the scene in which she had persuaded him... and that in turn brings home to her the fact that she has no bodily way to persuade Helena of anything. Her disruptive id, however, offers up an alternate scene, one in which she pulls Helena to her, Helena instead of Pete, into a kiss intended to convince somebody of something.

But even as Myka would do that, still, now, if she could, the back of her neck prickles with “maybe I can hurt you like you hurt me.” Because while she has tried to see that Helena must have had her reasons (for Nate), and must have her reasons (for Giselle), she doesn’t care about reasons. She cares about pain. Then, how guttingly she felt it. Now, how retributively she might inflict it.

“You and me. This is the end,” she says, hoping Helena feels the snap of the words. Hoping she feels it against her neck.

“Because of you and Pete?” That’s contempt.

Myka is about to say yes, to lie and throw that contempt right back in her face, to lie and throw it and then stand up and walk away and never look back.

But she owes the entirety of the situation just this bit of truth. “I want to say yes,” she begins, and Helena frowns. Myka can’t, now, spare the space to cherish that frown. “But the real answer is no, because it’s me. I can’t sit at tables and pretend to drink coffee and act like small talk matters. I wasn’t your roommate at...” She pauses for what she intends as a condemnatory moment. “Idaho Tech.”

Helena exhales in response a disdainful sniff. “Don’t misquote me. You remember precisely the lie I told.”

Righteous, even now. Myka can’t contain her resigned sigh. “I’m saying it doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve got Giselle, I’ve got Pete, and we’ll both be fine.” Now she does stand up—trying for the physical embodiment of “it doesn’t matter anymore”—but she moves her hands too dramatically: she knocks her cup over, and coffee from the untasted container glugs like slow blood from its plastic lid onto the innocent tabletop.

Well, there’s an obvious blunder. That book... its truth. Myka hurries to right the cup, then uses a comically inadequate single, flimsy napkin to begin mopping the spill (another obvious blunder: not having anticipated needing a stack). But while her clumsiness annoys her, as does the delay, she appreciates the latter as providing one little extra indulgence before she says and, worse, hears, the last goodbye.

She is in any case discomfited by the way Helena watches her attempted cleanup: silent, appraising. It feels like the past, but having that attention focused on clearing a slick of cold coffee from a table is so... inappropriate. It’s a waste. It’s small, so small; not scaled to the past. The pathetic downsizing offers yet more reason to know this as a sunset.

Of course Myka is not, and will never be, ready for the fading end—of the sight of this face, of the sound of this voice—but she has nailed herself to this cross, and she can’t climb down now (never mind what she ever said to anybody about crosses and getting off them and... never mind). She’s going to live out her life in a way that makes continuous sense, not as a trudge punctuated by interludes that make her wish for a more electric timeline. The Warehouse had, via Helena, shown her such a bright flash, but that light is gone. In its absence, surely, the Warehouse will show itself as big enough, will offer enough, to fill a different unfolding’s worth of life.

In any case, her future is set. The evidence of her having committed blunders is clear. Now must be the time for Myka to turn to whatever it is that will be “of a satisfactory nature.” Whatever it is, it’s probably the best she can hope for, going forward.

She draws in a breath and begins, “So I guess this is...”

But she doesn’t finish, because she’s distracted by movement from Helena’s side of the table.

What is she doing?

She’s pushing her chair back and standing, taking up her own untasted coffee container into her right hand. She’s looking not at Myka but at that cup, and Myka can hear, in this flash of relative silence, a tap-tap-tap of Helena’s fingernail against the cardboard. That draws her attention to the cup, to the hand—and suddenly Helena’s left hand swoops in to rip the cup’s lid away, and her right hand moves back then forward—and in that blink of motion, the cup’s tepid contents rush toward Myka, dousing her torso.

Myka looks down. Her shirt is soaked—soaked—with coffee.

She looks up.

Helena is gazing at her in something very like triumph.

TBC

[macbooth]

Silvius: Sometimes I drink milk straight out of the container.

Phebe: The cow???

Audrey: THE COW???

[theflyingfeeling]

y'all complaining about the prices of the BC merch like...some of you have never seen the prices of Moomin merch and it shows

[mrbingley]

firmly in my loser era and trying to be okay with it but remarkably failing even at that.

[magentagalaxies]

idk why my brain decided folding laundry while listening to rollercoaster by bleachers at 11:26pm was the perfect conditions to finally process the fact that other girls is going to be finished in less than three weeks but im genuinely gonna lay motionless on the floor letting all these feelings wash over me rn????

[vaor]

things i wish i had known when i escaped my family household and couldn't ask my parents for help

invest in a good mattress early on. there are many other ends you can save on - sleep is not one of them. this is key to how much energy you'll have throughout the day

you don't need a bedframe but you do need a slatted bed base (even if it's just pallets)

opening a bank account is easy

there's youtube tutorials for everything. how to install your washing machine, how to use tools, fixing stuff around the place. channels like dad, how do i? are a godsend

change energy provider as soon as your old deal runs out. you'll get better offers elsewhere and avoid price gouging

assemble a basic first aid kid at home: painkillers, probiotics, alcohol wipes, bandages, tweezers, antihistamine tablets - anything you might need in a pinch

and an emergency toolkit: flashlight, extra batteries, a utility knife, an adjustable wrench, multi-tool, duct tape

set your fridge to the lowest temperature it can go. the energy consumption is minimal in difference and it'll give you +4/7 days on most foods

off-brand products are almost always the same in quality and taste, if not better, for half the price

coupons will save you a lot of money in the long run

there's no reason to be shy around employees at the bank/laundromat/store; most people will be happy to help

vegetarian diets are generally cheap if you make food from scratch

breakfast is as important as they say

keep track of your budget in a notebook or excel file - e.g. rent, phone and internet bills, food, leisure so you'll have an overlook on your spending over the months

don't gamble

piracy is okay

stealing from big stores and chains is also ethically okay

keep medical bills and pharmacy receipts for tax returns

also, file your tax returns early

take up a hobby that isn't in front of a screen. pottery, music, going for a run every now and then, stuff that'll keep you busy and sane

and most importantly... you're allowed to get the stuff you want. treat yourself to the occasional mundane thing. a good scented candle. a bath bomb. that body lotion that makes you feel like royalty. the good coffee beans.

you're free and you deserve to be happy.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

SFX Magazine Issue 372 - Designing Good Omens ❤ 😊

PRODUCTION DESIGNER MICHAEL RALPH REVEALS HOW THE SHOW’S CENTREPIECE SET, WHICKBER STREET, WAS GIVEN A DEVILISHLY CLEVER UPGRADE FOR THE SECOND SEASON

WORDS: DAVE GOLDER

Invisible Columns And Thin Walls “The new studio is Pyramid Studios in Bathgate – it used to be a furniture warehouse. And unfortunately – or fortunately, because I accept these things as not challenges but gifts – right down the middle of that studio are a series of upright columns. But you’ll never spot them on screen. I had to build them in and integrate them into the walls and still get the streets between them. And it worked.

“There’s all sorts of cheeky design values to those sets. Normally a set like this is double-skin. In other words, you do an interior wall and an exterior wall, with an airspace in between. But really, the only time a viewer notices that there’s that width is at the doors and the windows. So I cheated all that. I ended up with single walls everywhere. So the exterior wall is the interior wall, just painted. All I did was make the sash windows and entrances wider to give it some depth as you walked in.”

GOOD OMENS HAD A CHANGE of location for its second season, but hopefully you didn’t notice. Because Whickber Street in Soho upped sticks from an airfield in Hertfordshire to a furniture warehouse in Bathgate, Edinburgh. It’s the kind of nonsensical geographical shenanigans that could only make sense in the crazy world of film and TV, and production designer Michael Ralph was the man in charge of rebuilding and expanding the show’s vast central set. “I wish we could have built more in season one than we did,” says Ralph, whose previous work has included Primeval and Dickensian. “We built the ground floor of everything and the facades of all the shops. But we didn’t build anything higher than that, because we were out on an airfield in a very, very difficult terrain and weather conditions, so we really couldn’t go much higher. Visual effects created the upper levels.”

But with season two the set has gone to a whole other level… literally. “What happened was that the rest of the street became integrated into the series’s storyline,” explains Ralph. “So we needed a record shop, we needed a coffee shop that actually had an inside, we needed a magic shop, we needed the pub. To introduce those meant we had to change the street with a layout that works from a storylines point of view. In other words, things like someone standing at the counter in the record shop had to be able to eyeball somebody standing at the counter in the coffee shop. They had to be able to eyeball Aziraphale sitting in his office in the window of the bookshop. But the rest of it was a pleasure to do inside, because we could expand it and I could go up two storeys.”

For most of the set, which is around 80 metres long and 60 metres wide, the two storeys only applied to the shop frontages, but in the case of Aziraphale’s bookshop, it allowed Ralph to build the mezzanine level for real this time. According to Ralph it became one of the cast and crews’ favourite places to hang out during down time.

But while AZ Fell & Co has grown in height, it actually has a slightly smaller footprint because of the logistics of adapting it to the new studio.

“Everybody swore to me that no one would notice,” says Ralph wryly. “I walked onto it and instinctively knew there was a difference immediately, and they hated me for that. I have this innate sense about spatial awareness and an eye like a spirit level.

“It’s not a lot, though – I think we’ve lost maybe two and a half feet on the front wall internally. I think that there’s a couple of other smaller areas, but only I’d notice. So I can be really annoying to my guys, but only on those levels. Not on any other. They actually quite like me…”

Populating The Bookshop “The props in the new bookshop set were a flawless reproduction from the set decorator Bronwyn Franklin [who is also Ralph’s wife]. It was really the worst-case scenario after season one. She works off the concept art that I produce, but what she does is she adds so much more to the character of the set. She doesn’t buy anything she doesn’t love, or doesn’t fit the character.

“But the things she put a lot of work into finding for season one, they were pretty much one-offs. When we burnt the set down in the sixth episode, we lost a lot of props, many of which had been spotted and appreciated by the fans. So Bronwyn had to discover a new set decorating technique: forensic buying.

“She found it all – duplicates and replicas. It took ages. In that respect, the Covid delay was very helpful for Bron. There’s 7,000 books in there and there’s not one fake book. That’s mainly because… it’s a weird thing to say, but we wanted it to smell and feel like a bookshop to everybody that was in it, all the time.

“It affects everybody subliminally; it affects everybody’s performance – actors and crew – it raises the bar 15 to 20%. And the detail, you know… We love a lot of detail.”

(look at the description under this, they called him 'Azi' hehehehe :D <3)

Aziraphale’s Inspirational Correspondence “There’s not one single scrap of paper on Aziraphale’s desk that isn’t written specifically for Aziraphale. Every single piece is not just fodder that’s been shoved there, it has a purpose; it’s a letter of thanks, or an enquiry about a book or something.

“Michael Sheen is so submerged in his character he would get lost sitting at his own desk, reading his own correspondence between takes. I believe wholeheartedly that if you put that much care into every single piece of detail, on that desk and in that room, that everybody feels it, including the crew, and then they give that set the same respect it deserves.

“They also lift their game because they believe that they’re doing something of so much care and value. Really, it’s a domino effect of passion and care for what you’re producing.”

Alternative Music “My daughter Mickey is lead graphic designer [two of Ralph’s sons worked on the series too, one as a concept artist, the other in props]. They’re the ones that produced all of that handwritten work on the desk. She’s the one that took on the record shop and made up 80 band names so that we didn’t have to get copyright clearance from real bands. Then she produced records and sleeves that spanned 50, 60 years of their recordings, and all of the graphics on the walls.

“I remember Michael and Neil [Gaiman] getting lost following one band’s history on the wall, looking at their posters and albums desperately trying to find out whether they survived that emo period.”

It’s A Kind Of Magic One of the new shops in Whickber Street for season two was Will Goldstone’s Magic Shop, which is full of as many Easter eggs as off-the-shelf conjuring tricks, including a Matt Smith Doctor Who-style fez and a toy orang-utan that’s a nod to Discworld’s The Librarian. Ralph says that while the series is full of references to Gaiman, Pratchett and Doctor Who, Michael Sheen never complained about a lack of Masters Of Sex in-jokes. “He’d be the last person to make that sort of comment!”

Ralph also reveals that the magic shop counter was another one of his wife’s purchases, bought at a Glasgow reclamation yard.

The Anansi Boys Connection Ralph reveals that Good Omens season two used the state-of-the-art special effects tech Volume (famous for its use in The Mandalorian to create virtual backdrops) for just one sequence, but he will be using it extensively elsewhere on another Gaiman TV series being made for Prime Video.

“We used Volume on the opening sequence to create the creation of the universe. I was designing Anansi Boys in duality with this project, which seems an outrageously suicidal thing to do. But it was fantastic and Anansi Boys was all on Volume. So I designed for Volume on one show and not Volume on the other. The complexities and the psychology of both is different.”

[dante-mightdie]

A small req? Wheree we're a milf and our incel son eventually joins the military (you choose if he joins the military or meets at a bar I ain't gaf) and meets Ghost, 141 whatever. He brings Ghost home to his basement room(or the 141 bb do whatever you want) and ghost is surprised n shi that we this incel momma when we com with snacks or something like 'get outta here mom you're embarrassing me Infront of my new friends!" Is our sons reaction or sum. And ghostie pookie excuses himself up to the bathroom to sloppily makeout with us 🥺

nobody look at me i’m foaming at the mouth

c/w: simon is kinda strange but in a weird sexy way, mentions of misogyny, talks of sex must no actual smut, housewife kink kinda

it’s no secret that your son is a nasty little misogynistic shit. everyone on base has had the experience of standing next to him on a night as out when he gets a drink thrown in his face by whatever girl is he was chatting to

they’d been there every time he dogs out in front of everyone when you visit him on base. watching your eyes well up when your son tells you that he doesn’t like your new haircut or dress, that you’re too old to wear stuff like that

simon tried not to judge, appearances can be deceiving. perhaps you’re not all smiles and baked goods, maybe you’re an awful mother behind the scenes. he really tried. until he found out the real reason your son treats you like shit…

“she made my dad leave. he told me after they divorced that she wasn’t giving him what he needed, that’s why he had to go and get it somewhere else.” your son finally admitted one night after going through half case of beer

simon felt his hand tighten around his bottle as your son continued to ramble about how you were always busy with shit jobs. waitressing, cleaning or retail. he spent most of his childhood never getting all the latest toys and clothes because you could never afford it, too busy catching up on late bills to make sure there was a roof over both of your heads

“she’s so selfish.”

‘fuck being non-judgmental’ simon thinks. this kid doesn’t know how lucky he is. having a such a lovely mum like you, never losing your patience with your son even when he treats you like dirt. always trying to greet him with a hug or kiss just for him to push you away. begging him to call when he’s away just so you can know your boy is safe :(

“sounds like your mad at your mum for being the one that stuck around, lad.” price buts in, shaking his head with a small laugh.

you had been a topic of discussion the night after your first visit to the base. the product of a few glasses of bourbon shared between simon and john

“did you see the new recruits mother? fuckin’ hell, if I were 10 years younger I’d be all over that.” price admitted, adjusting his hips as he leaned back in his desk chair. simon let out a small grunt of agreement, having thought about this since he first laid eyes on you

simon had come to the conclusion that you both just needed a good man in your life. your son needed a father figure that would actually stick around, he could tell by the way your son looks up to him and the captain, eager to impress them

and you. oh, you. with your sweet, simple dresses and adoring smile. simon wishes you’d smile at him like that. all that cooking that your son lets go to waste could go to him instead. you could cook his favourite dinners for him and take care of his house whilst he’s away at work, whipping the boy into shape. teaching him every thing that your sack of shit ex-husband clearly didn’t

he’d be so good to you too. he knows it’s been a while since you’ve had a man to take care of your needs. he sees the way you nearly drool as you watch him running laps around the field, tatted arms on display. he’d spit you open so nicely on his cock and he knows you’d take him so well too, your pretty cunt would he creaming all over him

he soon takes advantage of this knowledge, subtly convincing your son to invite him over to your home on leave. dropping some story about how his flat is getting some work done and that he only lives 20 minutes from you both. your son was quick to offer the lieutenant a place to stay, telling him that he could take your room. that you could sleep on the couch for a couple weeks.

‘we’ll share the bed.’ simon thinks, but he doesn’t dare say it to your sons face. can’t have this little brat meddling with his plan

his arrival is clearly a surprise to you from the way you rush about shortly afterwards to start scrubbing the house top to bottom, rattling off apologies about the state of everything. simon quickly shuts down any offer of him taking your bedroom

“keep your bed, love. I’ll take the sofa.” he grumbles, sipping the tea that you made for him whilst your son rolls his eyes from the other side of the kitchen

he can see the way your eyes look at him with this longing. he knows it won’t take much to get you into bed. poor thing that hasn’t had anyone to look after her for years

he spends the next few days proving to you that he can provide. helping you carry anything heavy, drying the dishes after you’ve watched them, fixing the handy jobs around the house

you’re constantly praising him, focusing your love and attention towards him instead of your ungrateful son and the boy hates it. which is just the cherry on top, simon thinks

“your mother is so lucky to have a son like you. you must help her around the house all the time!” you coo, fidgeting with your skirt

“my mum passed away… jus’ me left out of the whole family.” simon admits, solemnly

“you poor thing, I’m so sorry. you’re welcome here anytime…” you gasp softly, placing your delicate hand on his arm and squeezing the muscle of his bicep gently and simon is ashamed to say it made his cock twitch against his thigh

“thank you, sweetheart… such a lovely girl, aren’t you?” he smiles behind his mask, reaching over and wrapping his arm around your waist. he pulls you against him, putting one hand over your mouth to keep you quiet as he hoists you up onto the kitchen counter

he squeezes his large frame inbetween your spread legs, leaning forward to look into your widened eyes

“been so good to me, love. taking care of me. such a good mum to your son, ya just need a good man to be a wife to, don’t you?” he says, pushing your skirt up your lap and revealing your thighs to him

he feels your thighs squeeze his waist, an aroused reaction from you. your body slumps into his with a natural submission that makes his cock ache. he lowers his hand and hooks his mask over his nose, revealing the scar running over his lip

“s’alright, darling. ‘m here to look after you now. me, you and the boy will be a nice happy family, yeah?” he says with a small smirk. leaning forward to mould his lips against yours before you can answer

he hears the little whimper you let out as you kiss him back, a little sloppy and inexperienced from years of being single, too busy with your son and work to date

but that’s okay because simon’s here now. ready to claim his family.

[tinystepsforward]

What do you think the chances are that Mud Pit is gonna be ousted by the people who need Automattic to have good will in the eyes of the community to actually get anything out of this site and wattpad

I know it’s probably low but the fact that he’s acting like a poorer Elon Musk is making my skin crawl and making me hope that a second lawsuit hits the company

ok here's the thing. he is meant to be on sabbatical. automattic gives employees a three-month paid sabbatical every 5 years, so that they can have a break from the product they work on and come back rested and with a new perspective.

matt has never taken one before now. he spent the entire leadup to his sabbatical posting increasingly wild shit in public channels at the company (like the chess thing, or trying to get people to buy a friend's product, or the entire fracas with taking over the wordpress.org twitter account. wordpress.org is an independent non-profit that he is not the ceo of).

i mention this because people were hoping (including me) that he really would actually log off, have a chill time (or, idk, whatever kind of time CEOs who go off the grid bc they got flooded in at burning man like to have), and let the interim CEO get a chance to do a better job. that would help the board make a decision based on data.

he was very clearly spiraling before he even left, and then within the first few days of Company Sanctioned Log Off Time he's pulled multiple Classic Matt things on multiple parts of the company before showing up here. this whole thing is so deeply unfunny but it also is a bit of a tom and jerry or looney tunes bit, where i can only imagine HR or Legal is chasing him around the various accounts/platforms with a comically large inflatable baseball bat and he's just evading them.

he can't do that in person, but he still gets a lot of leeway generally. at the last division meetup (irl meeting for employees, flown from all over the world) he showed up twitchy and exhausted and hyped in a way that was very familiar to me from flatmates who used to steal and snort my adhd medication, then proceeded to drink so much over the course of an evening answering questions from his employees that he had to be firmly babysat off the stage and walked back into the lobby of the hotel to sober up.

i made eye contact with him that night, before he dropped his head back into his hands. two people relatively high up in the company were sitting with him, silently watching him as he struggled to sober up. it wasn't the first drunk shenanigan of his i witnessed at one of these, and this is purely opinion but i have to assume that his current behavior is the result of suddenly having time on his hands to have the world's longest bender and post through it.

back to your question: i do not know if what he's done is enough to get the board to remove him. i wish it didn't have to come to this to hope that they will. but we'll find out.

[harmoonix]

💤 Dreamy Astrology Observations 💤

💤 Neptune aspecting Venus can daydream about their crushes/lovers & and having scenarios in their head about them

💤 Neptune aspecting the Midheaven can inspire and influence other people, for example being some sort of influencer

💤 Neptune in the 5H/7H can fantasize about a happy life, maybe with children/spouse and overall happiness if you know in tarot terms this energy can symbolize 10 of cups

💤 Neptune aspecting Uranus, people find you different and unique, some sort of like "I never met a personlike you before but I like it"

💤 Venus in Aquarius or at 11°. 23° degrees can have a large group of friends, they can be seen as an example for others when it comes to friendship

💤 Heavy Moon aspects in your chart can make you a very dreamy/soft/kind person, you can radiate positive vibes

💤 Sun in the 8th/12th houses give the "mystic" one vibes, your subconscious is very powerful and you can often find yourself being spiritual

💤 Sun in Pisces Degrees 12°. 24° can have such mesmerizing tired eyes you'll ever see, their eyes radiate ocean waves

💤 Neptune aspecting the Ascendant especially conjunction can make the native to lose the connection with reality sometimes. They can often find themselves dreaming about sort of situations

💤 Chiron aspecting Neptune natives can be surrounded by people who don't believe in their dreams or desires, who think their dreams will never be fulfilled, is a very powerful placement for those who believe in themselves

💤 Fire Venus or Moon can make you to be attracted into passionate music/art/songs, often listening to dirty songs

💤 Capricorn/Virgo and Taurus Suns can be the most practical people in the room, they always have a solution and a back up plan for everything

💤 A REMINDER that the moon phase of your moon sign can influence it A LOT, for example a Leo Moon born under the 1st quarter will be very different from a Leo Moon born under the 3rd or last quarter (if that makes sense)

💤 Virgo Sun/Moon/Rising can be the biggest nutritionist ever. They'll have a naturist remedy for everything

💤 Sagittarius Venus Moon or those planets in the 9H, those placements are giving Tarzan!! someone very curious, wild, fierce, and charming!! They get along with lots of people

💤 Sun/Moon or Mars in the 6H need to do something productive or they can fall under a depression state and feel bad, you need activities!!

💤 Mars/Pluto/Saturn or Lilith in the 4H, if you have a disturbing family life, it will get better when you'll move out and have your own house

💤 Libra Taurus and Capricorn IC/4H can find themselves decorating their stuff with lots of vintage stuff

💤 If you have Venus in Capricorn or in the 10H and all your relationships failed, is an indicator that you need higher standards

💤 Venus in Sagittarius or 9H native is searching for someone they can evolve amd grow up together with, they are like a global mix of fun, culture, love and music

💤 Sagittarius Risings have their 4H in Pisces, they can decorate their house/home with a deep spiritual things like dreamcatchers, crystals, etc

💤 Never make fun of someone's culture or background especially if they have Sag in their big 3 or big 6 because you gonna recieve the same energy back to you

💤 Mercury or Venus in Pisces, omg I wish I had these placements instead of Scorpio...Lets trade...These placements are mesmerizing to have, especially at communicating and sharing their love

💤 Saturn/Venus and sometimes Moon in the 12th house can indicate that you're going to marry a bit later than others

💤 Saturn in the 10H!! This placement is extremely powerful. If someone does you dirty the karma comes back and exposes the person who did you wrong to the PUBLIC/people and you can find people standing up for you after someone did you dirty

💤 Lilith in Water Signs can have issues or troubles with acknowledging their feelings, because the water element rules over the feelings and Lilith indicates a wound there

💤 Capricorn Risings even if they are mature and solide, they most times wish for a sentimental and kind partner due to their 7H in Cancer

💤 Mercury in the 11H natives don't like to talk for nothing, if you bring a conversation with them make sure to finish it

💤 Venus in Leo Degrees 5°, 17°, 29° may take love to another level, you have to focus all of your attention on them if you want to attract them

💤 Ascendant in Gemini Degrees 3°, 15°, 27° degrees natives have an extremely catchy voice, is that voice that you'll remember ages and ages and especially their jokes as well

💤 If you have your IC in the 5th house you were probably raised in household with a lot of music/fun/creativity, i have this placement and my family is crazy when it comes to music style

💤If you have an Air Moon could probably be a little more logical than sentimental, like logic over feelings

💤 Sagittarius/Libra combo placements in a chart can make someone very artistic, passionate, carefree. They can aslo have a beautiful writing style

💤 Gemini/Aquarius Mercury/Moon/Venus can be that one person who has an digital diary instead of the standard book diary. They prefer the technology

💤 Mars in Pisces Degrees 12°. 24° may like to combine love/sex with art, for example painting pictures of naked statues, intense love paintings

💤 Scorpio Sun/Moon/Rising has an intense charisma, they are like a magnet, attracting all kids of people

💤 Aries Sun/Mars/Venus will be that one person who is like "what they did to you👺 let me teach them a lesson"

💤 Cancer Juno/Juno in the 4H natives are attracted to people who remind those natives about their home/who feel safe around them

💤 Taurus Juno or Juno in the 2H. If you cook or make a good dinner for them you can wake up the next day with a proposing ring 💍, these natives may love to cook for their spouses

💤 Water and Earth Signs in your 2H can be very picky with the food!!

💤 North Node in the 4H is not always about focusing on your home life and about creating your home life, you know to be like Kris Jenner a big fondator

💤 An empty 5H can indicate not wanting kids. I have this as well and I don't want kids at all!!

💤 Chiron in Leo natives should never feel embarrassed about themselves, this placement is about accepting your dark side and being yourself

💤 Saturn/Pluto in the 12H may have a harder time with sleeping the same for Scorpio or Capricorn in the 12H

💤 When Virgo or Gemini placements are under stress they can often talk a lot as a mechanism to keep themselves chill/calm

💤 You may share the same type of humor with people who have their Mercury in the same sign as yours

💤 Moon in 6th house natives. The Moon will give you servitude attitude and will help others without having any selfish motive, they are truly kind

💤 Chiron in the 5H natives may act childish when they feel comfortable or safe because that's what their inner child feels as well

💤 Juno in Leo natives will love a spouse who has a funny/creative way of seeing life, don't make these natives feel depressed because you'll regret it

💤 Cancer Scorpio or Pisces in the 6H natives share a similar nurturing style and they can often nurture others with their energy

💤 Capricorn Placements are often labelled as being "workaholics" because of their strong ambition to never give up ans to finish their thing

💤🌊 Since Pisces Season started today, I wanted to post this a memento to it🌊💤

Hope you all have good a start of the week!☀️🌊

And happy Pisces Season!!🌊☀️♥️

Harmoonix ☀️🌊☀️

[murdrdocs]

coriolanus in the peacekeeper uniform + gaul's daughter 18+ (fem! implied reader)

coriolanus when he returns to the capitol, eager to be back home where the streets are neatly paved and clean. where the people are civil and speak proper. where their clothes are intricate and the complete opposite of dull. he's so ecstatic that he can't even begin to dread going to doctor gaul's as his first stop, especially not when he knows her daughter will be there.

"my kin in the only ways that matters," volumnia would always say, a proud smile on her face as she played with the neat ponytail that always sat at the back of her daughter's head.

it was sitting there when coriolanus saw you, brandished with a red bow that matched the top half of gaul's outfit, one similar to the one you wore. the ponytail and outfit are skewed now, a product of coriolanus' overeager hands.

he's had adrenaline pent up in his body. adrenaline that he usually got out by hanging out with lucy gray. but that's gone now. lucy gray isn't here.

but you are.

you're here with your legs spread, your ankles hooked behind his back, the heel of your sneakers digging into coriolanus' peacekeeper uniform. with each sloppy thrust into your sopping heat, coriolanus' cock grazes the red lace of your panties that he'd carelessly pushed aside. it's a delicious friction, it makes him shudder and dig his head into the crook of your neck. he's so deep within you, the curls at the base of his cock tickling your skin every other thrust, yet you want him deeper. you pull with your ankles, nudge at his shoulder, force your hips closer to his, all to communicate your carnal need.

coriolanus can't stop thinking about how good you feel. because you feel so good. there's no real distinction between your cunt and the one's back in the districts (pussy is pussy), yet coriolanus swears he can feel it. maybe it's because he's fucking pussy of the same socioeconomic class. maybe it's because with each thrust, he believes he's tainting you.

volumnia gaul's daughter, sweet and innocent and always quiet, now struggling to keep her moans to an appropriate volume. the two of you are already making enough noise as is, your cunt squelching at an obscene volume. the walls of gaul's lab does nothing to conceal the noises, and even if you're tucked away in a corner of the halls that rarely have traffic at all, coriolanus still can't help but tease the possibility of being found.

"think their opinion of you would change? hm? like mine has?" he's facing you head on now, the slope of his nose looking even more intense under the shadows that his hat creates. you wish he'd take it off, a previous plea of yours from before the encounter got to this point. but he denied, just more proof that in this moment, like this, he had control.

you don't respond, instead letting your head fall back and knock against the concrete. coriolanus seems annoyed, a particular harsh thrust dragging you up the wall. you yelp and coriolanus grins, his perfect pearlescent teeth shining at you. his hands dig further into the flesh of your ass underneath your skirt which has been flipped up to accommodate your sinful acts.

after giving you two more drives of the same intensity, he continues.

"i never thought you'd be able to take dick like this. who's been fucking you? or have you been fucking yourself? pleasing yourself while you think of me? is that it?" when you nod, coriolanus can't help but shockingly chuckle.

his eyebrows have risen, his eyes have gone wide, but you can't see any of this. you only see the cruel curl of his lips and the flare of his nostrils as he asks, "really?"

your nails, freshly manicured, scratch at the waterproof material of his uniform. it doesn't provide any place for you to grab onto, nothing to steady yourself. you whine, starting to become frustrated, and when coriolanus mockingly coos, you become embarrassed.

"please, coriolanus. i wanna see you."

"coryo," he snaps. "how many times do i have to tell you that?"

you're quick to correct yourself, repeating your request once more with the nickname woven in there placatingly, the fear that the use of his full name will pull him away from you completely stuck to your membrane.

feeling generous, coriolanus peels his hat away from his head and drops it at his feet, leaving you to stare straight into his bright blue eyes. they seem to have gotten brighter in his absence, shining with power and authority.

with the sex driven haze in your mind, you note that it's a good look on him. it's fitting.

[thekeystothebasement]

Hallo! could i have maybe hcs for 141 + Alejandro & könig with a female s/o who's into breeding kink?

A/n: Enjoy this late and very filthy Christmas gift!

Captain Price:

You couldn't keep your dirty secret any longer, not with the way he was mounted on you, his mouth working on leaving marks on your neck

Your words were meek and breathless but that didn't stop the sounds from reaching his ears.

His body went rigid and his eyes wide, he pulled away from your hold, his chest heaving heavily as he looked down at your embarrassing state.

You had your hands covering your face at your confession.

Price would make you repeat your words in a snarkish tone. A wide grin on his face as he pins your wrists above your head

"I...c-cum inside me...please."

Price would let out an obnoxious laugh before he starts to rail you again in a mating position.

You would wrap your legs around his waist, securing him and locking him into your pussy.

The first time he listened to your pleas and cummed inside of you was life-changing.

The feeling of your wet cunt greedily milking his balls of his cum made him rethink everything he knew about himself, maybe he had a breeding kink as well.

What made him feral the most was watching his cum pour out of your cunt, with a growl his cock was inside of you once again.

"Your loose cunt is wasting my seed, princess," his harsh words make you whimper. "Am I going to have to buy you a plug to keep my cum from spilling out?"

He teases you about your kink constantly

He'll let some snide remarks escape him, sometimes around his men that will leave you red.

Likes to see you begging and crying for his cum, to mount you and breed you like an animal

"Please daddy, I want your cum."

Expect him to constantly indulge your kink because his favorite thing to do is to stuff you full of his cum and stuff a plug inside of you

He can't help but feel prideful knowing you're running around the compound with a womb full of cum.

Ghost:

Ghost bullies you constantly for your kink

Snide remarks here and there, not caring for who hears because, at the end of the day, it's his cum that is stuffed inside of you.

The only verbal confirmation that lets you know that you aren't the only one with a breeding kink are the dirty phrases that he spits at you when he's pushing himself deep inside of you.

"Can't wait to you see round with my children."

"Take my babies, that's the only thing a slut like you is good for."

Seeing his cum inside of you makes him feral, it's his way of claiming your body

Loves to see you beg for his cum, if you don't he'll leave you before your orgasm hits, leaving you whining and sensitive. Probably says something harsh like, "Don't act like your the only slut that wouldn't kill to carry my kids."

Ghost doesn't play around, especially with a breeding kink it makes him territorial.

Constantly feeds into your breeding kink because of how easily jealous he can get.

Soap looks in your direction?

You are already bent over the table with his cum pouring down your thigh, his fingers trying to pump his cum back into you, berating you for wasting such precious seed.

Mean ghost takes it a step further and buys infant boy onesies and fuck you over them, growling into your ear to give him a baby boy.

Soap:

Soap will happily indulge in your kink

Will tease you about it in front of others, some sexual comments like "Wait until my bonnie tits start leaking milk, you won't see me eating any of that military shit."

Loves to cum inside of you because of how your pussy squeezes him dry.

Loves to take polaroids of your stuffed cunt, his cum oozing down your lips. Also has some polaroid selfies of himself eating his cum out of your cunt.

He may or may not show the others the polaroids he has, bragging how his lass loves to milk his balls and begs for his babies.

As much as he loves to breed you, he also deep down wishes you do get pregnant because he'll love to have a kid running around, a product of your love.

Soap loves it when you beg for his cum, to give him your babies.

When he fucking you, he likes to suck at your nipples, and nip at them. Loves it when you whimper and cry at his teasing, telling you he's preparing you for the baby.

Loves to breed you in the doggy position, which drives him feral.

A weird kink that he developed because of your breeding kink is seeing you dressed up in cow lingerie. Especially if you do end up getting pregnant and seeing your engorged breasts with milk spilling through the bra makes him absolutely feral.

Soap definitely has a mommy kink, calls you mommy when he breeds you.

Gaz:

You both accidentally learn you have breeding kinks

You both fuck raw

Although Gaz is diligent and always cautious, Gaz never wears condoms, too lost in the heat of the moment to even have the patience to find one and open it.

Both of you are just very horny people to care about the consequences and just go feral for each other.

It was bound to happen eventually, with how careless you both were during your love-making, it shouldn't have been a surprise when Gaz finally forgets to pull out.

Lost in the way your warm walls suck him in and squeeze around him so tight.

Your legs lock him in place, pressing his body closer to you, not leaving him any room to pull out, not like he would if he could. Your cunt was just too good to even think about pulling out.

Your eyes snap open at the feeling of warm liquid spurting inside of you. Your wide eyes meet the closed-eye euphoric expression on Gaz.

His breathing was heavy, and his eyes shut closed at the feeling of your warm cunt squeezing around his cock, milking him of his cum.

He stays inside of you, controlling his breathing before he finally opens his eyes and gives you a dopey smile.

"oops."

He pulls out slowly, his eyes mesmerized at the sight of his cum spilling out your wet folds, watching as the white fluid run down your thighs, his cock twitching to life again.

Seeing his cum pour out of you awakened something inside of Gaz. Primal urges seen in animals, he felt the need to continue to stuff you with his cum, claiming you as a mate to bear his children.

Your thighs twitch at the feeling of his cum spilling down your sensitive folds, the warm liquid burning you with a desire you've never felt before. The look Gaz was giving you confirmed you both wanted the same thing.

Eagerly plunging his cock into your pussy, fucking his cum back inside of you, his thrusts sloppy but full of lustful desire.

You both keep fucking until your cunt can't hold anymore of his cum. Until every thrust into your poor aching cunt has the cum spilling down the sides of his cock, piling on the sheets.

"That will knock you up real good, eh?" his laughter filled your ears as you swatted at his chest with a bashful look on your face.

Alejandro:

Alejandro is a very passionate and attentive lover so he had suspicions of the kink you had buried deep inside of you.

Every time he neared his orgasm and voiced it, he noticed the way your pussy tightened around his cock, your hands gripping onto him harder as if you tried to lock him in place, your way of silently pleading with him to cum inside of you.

After seeing you get along with his nieces and nephews, he was finally going to indulge your breeding kink he knew you had that you weren't aware that he knew. Maybe if he was lucky he'll knock you up and start a family of his own.

Something was different, your lovemaking was more passionate and feral. His thrust was full of vigor, and the tip of his cock felt like he was bruising the entrance of your womb.

"I'm gonna fuck my cum into you," he growled. His eyes didn't miss the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your cunt already greedily trying to milk his balls dry.

Chants of 'yes' spew from your mouth as you held onto him for dear life.

"Make you a mami" he sneered, his fingers bruising the skin on your stomach. "You'll look so beautiful with a round stomach, carrying mis ninos."

"Please!" you cried, his words fueling your kink. "I want your babies," you begged.

Spewing his cum deep into your cavern, he pulled out unaware you had squirted against him, his cum inside of you was enough to bring you over the edge and spew your juices onto him.

"Look at you full of cum," he teased, watching as your legs twitched at his rough hands gliding up to your cunt, "What a dirty perra." (Bitch)

Konig:

When you tell him about your kink, he is absolutely flustered.

Konig usually repeats what he is going to say over and over in his head, his words already decided and prepared with his raspy and rushed tone to voice them, but when you confess to him you want him to cum inside of you, until his cum is oozing out, and with a quiet whisper that you want his babies, words begin to start spewing from his mouth

His words come out stuttered, and his sentences are never complete before a new rush of thoughts starts to spill from his mouth.

"Are you-...b-breed?..inside of you???...my babies?" his voice quivering with each word.

You give him time to pace around, watching as his hands' clench and unclench rapidly, he stops at random intervals to look at you and the innocent smile on your face, your eyes eyeing the obvious bulge in his pants before he begins to pace around again, german phrases and curses rapidly leaving his lips in hushed screams.

After he somewhat calms down, he looks at you with hunger in his eyes, his eyes roaming your body. He'd gently push you down on the mattress and hover over your body, his cock rutting against your thigh. "Are you sure Liebling?"

"I want your babies," you whisper into his ear, teasing and further pushing him to insanity.

He's quick to start thrusting inside of you, your clothes ripped to shreds as his balls slap against your ass.

He'll growl into your ear, whisper how you will look beautiful with milk running down your breasts, the changes your body will face if your womb accepted his seed.

When he cums inside of you, he doesn't pull out right away, instead, he cherishes the feeling of your warm cunt squeezing him, milking him of every drop.

Pushes you to the side, his cock still inside, and snuggles with you, your pussy fluttering against his semi-hard cock.

Your back against his chest, his hands kneading your breasts, his mouth sucking at your neck and muttering praises against your skin.

He'll lazily thrust his hips when he thinks he can feel his cum spilling out of you.

Loves to keep his cock inside of you for as long as he can after he's done breeding you.

[maximoff-pan]

the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.” 

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens. 

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too. 

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it. 

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.  

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to. 

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist. 

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband. 

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children. 

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington. 

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.  

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?” 

“How will you get it to her?” He questions. 

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it. 

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered. 

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her. 

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation. 

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way. 

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in. 

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you. 

“I never do.” Is your instant reply. 

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested. 

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion. 

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through. 

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.” 

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you. 

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.” 

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that. 

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.” 

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge. 

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak. 

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won. 

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot. 

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.” 

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong. 

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you. 

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.  

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column. 

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say. 

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym. 

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to. 

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n). 

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross. 

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling. 

“What am I going to do?” 

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you. 

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.  

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has. 

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so. 

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you. 

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now. 

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions. 

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well. 

We need to talk. 

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that. 

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her. 

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you. 

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.  

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too. 

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.” 

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm. 

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor. 

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing. 

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all. 

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…