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atlabeth · 6 months

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(not so) simple pt 4 - anthony bridgerton

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summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn’t.

a/n: SO. UM. once again this took fucking forever to come out which is kind of insane when you think about it because i've had 7000 words of this chapter written for like 4 months. truly wild. 2 babies have been born in the time that it's taken me to write this mini series but anyways there’s a lot happening here, shoutout to anthony for finally getting some more pov parts, the fun thing about your mc being out of commission for a while is that you have no choice but to write for the other characters. equality we love to see it. anyways most of it is angst, but it’ll all be wrapped up with a little regency romance bow i promise

wc: 7.6k

warning(s): aftermath of the end of last chapter which is angst. stab wound, talks of death, mentions of edmund's death, quite a bit of crying, anthony bridgerton's inner angst, miss worthing makes poor decisions. not a happy chapter but WHAT CAN YOU DO

“What were you thinking?” Violet demanded.

Anthony could barely hear his mother over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears, the pure terror gripping his heart. He’d no idea how to respond to her. He doubted she would like to hear that he, indeed, was very much not thinking.

And he was certainly not thinking much now, what with you on the brink of death with their doctor and his apprentice the only thing there to stop you. He could be of no help to you, bent half over in his chair, head in his hands, the image of you collapsing burned into his mind.

“Anthony Bridgerton, answer me.” Violet stood over him, her face flushed and eyes filled with anger and fear. “What were you thinking, bringing Miss Worthing out into the city?”

“I cannot deal with your questions right now, Mother!” he snapped, something letting loose inside of him. Anthony would have been ashamed had he any sense. “My future wife is in that room fighting for her life, and it is because I was not able to protect her. I am hardly able to form words at the moment, Mother, so please—” Anthony’s voice broke, and he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Please just be quiet.”

It took a bit of nerve to be such an ass in front of his very own mother, but Anthony apparently had plenty of nerve at the moment. After you collapsed, he’d done the only thing he could think of in the moment and brought you back to Bridgerton House—it was closer than your residence, and if their physician had been able to keep his mother alive through eight pregnancies, then surely he could bring you back.

Now, though, he was not so sure. Every other option seemed to be plaguing his mind, for your blood still stained his hands and his clothing and Anthony didn’t know if he would ever be able to get it off.

His father died in his arms from something so small as a bee, and yet you had been stabbed. How were you meant to come back from that?

The door suddenly slammed open, and when Anthony glanced up, his insides twisted.

“Where is she?” Eloise demanded. Her windblown hair matched the wild look in her eyes, and the flush of her cheeks and haggard breathing told him everything. She was meant to be promenading with Penelope Featherington—her speed on foot was admirable.

“With our physician,” Violet responded. She seemed more subdued now, and though Anthony knew he would apologize profusely later, he could not find it in himself now. He could hardly find anything in himself apart from panic.

“With our physician—” She turned on Anthony, her gloved hands clenched into fists. “What in God’s name happened, Anthony?”

He allowed himself a moment to breathe before he responded. “She was stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” Eloise cried. “She was with you! How could she have been stabbed?”

“I was not with her when it happened—”

She scoffed. “That is a likely fucking story.”

“Eloise,” Violet said, “language.”

“I do not care about my language,” Eloise spat, gesturing wildly with her hands. “My best friend has been stabbed— I will say whatever I please!”

And then, as if to just add fuel to their fire, Benedict rushed in. Anthony held back a slightly unhinged laugh and shook his head. You were dying and they were out here arguing.

“I’ve made sure this hallway is off limits like you said, Mother.” Benedict looked just as shaken as the rest of them, and in a strange way Anthony was grateful. You’d grown closer to his family than he’d known. “Your lady’s maid is outside the door alongside a footman ensuring privacy, and your driver is on route to the Worthing residence to alert her parents. They’ve all been sworn to secrecy—no one will be disturbed, least of all Miss Worthing.”

“Thank you, Benedict.” Violet sighed, and she collapsed into an armchair. “At least one of us is in order.”

Benedict sat down on the sofa, his words coming out in a mumble. “I am hardly in order.”

The fire seemed to have died down in Eloise, for however temporary a time, and she settled down next to Benedict. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her.

“She’ll be okay,” Eloise whispered, “right?”

No one answered for a moment. At last, Anthony looked up, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Yes,” he rasped, hoping with everything in him that his words would be true. “She will be okay.”

He would not have been able to live with any other outcome, not when it was his fault in the first place that you were in this position.

Anthony didn’t know what he should have done, but he should have done something. He should have brought you to your senses and suggested a promenade in the park instead. He should have called on you at your estate, safe and sound in your drawing room. He should have been arm in arm with you, his heart steadily melting as you smiled and laughed and made him aware of all things good in the world.

He could not lose you. Not when he still had so much to tell you, so many words left unsaid.

Not when you didn’t know he loved you.

“I’m sorry, Anthony.” He looked up at the sound of Eloise’s voice—though she did not look at him and her arms were still crossed, the sincerity of it was not lost on him. “I know it was not your fault.”

His chest tightened. It was his fault.

“You clearly care about her,” she said. “It is not fair to pin this on you.”

“Sometimes we hurt the people we care about,” he said, his voice hollow.

“Sometimes,” she agreed. “But not this time.”

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Eloise had been at odds with him for nearly this entire season because of their ruse. Though she knew of its falsity, she still chastised him for taking up time that could have been spent with her, still rolled her eyes when he announced his leave to go see you, still questioned why he had to go after her best friend.

But Eloise was driven by her emotions, no matter how red hot or icy cold they may have been. At this moment, her concern for you outweighed anything, and she recognized the same in him.

So Anthony nodded. Once, twice, hardly moving but a clear acknowledgment. He glanced at his mother and brother, both unfocused with glassy eyes. His mother’s were red-rimmed, and she held a handkerchief tightly in one hand. The guilt hidden from earlier struck.

He silently thanked their governess for keeping Gregory and Hyacinth occupied, thanked that Francesca was on an outing of her own. The last thing he needed was for his littlest siblings to find out that the woman they believed to soon be their sister was one misstep away from death. And thank God for Colin’s decision to spend the day with Mondrich—one of his younger brothers in the heat of the moment was enough.

Anthony let out a shuddering sigh, screwing his eyes shut for a moment before he ran a hand through his hair then planted his palms on his knees. He could hardly sit still but he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to get his nervous energy out.

All he could think of was you. Of how the last word you spoke was his name. Of your dried blood on his hands, staining his clothing where he had held you. Anthony barely kept you from hitting the ground when you collapsed, and he nearly did the same once he reached his residence.

Yelling at any servant in the proximity to call for the physician, unaware of his mother trying to calm him until she shook him by the shoulders, having to literally be forced out of the room by the physician’s assistant once they arrived because he refused to leave your side.

It all felt like a blur, and yet he remembered it perfectly. It all played on repeat in his mind no matter how much he tried to block it out.

The door slammed open this time, and when Anthony looked up, he felt as if he could wither away.

“Where is my daughter?” Cecilia Worthing demanded, her husband trailing after her. She was all out of sorts, with an even wilder look in her eyes and a deathly grip on her skirts. Mr. Worthing’s expression made his heart sink, with his haunted eyes and taut lips.

“I am so sorry, Cecilia,” Violet rasped, and she crossed the room and enveloped her in her arms. It took a moment for your mother to respond, but she returned the hug as a sob escaped her.

“Your footman said she had been injured,” your father said levelly, though his voice shook ever so slightly. “How?”

“She was stabbed,” Anthony spoke up, forcing himself to look at your parents. “Some zealot in the city. I brought her here as quick as I could.”

“The city—” your father started.

“Stabbed?” your mother interrupted, halfway into hysterics. “How?”

“We got caught up in the midst of a riot,” he said quietly. “We were separated, and I assume it happened then.”

Mrs. Worthing let out another sob as she pulled her husband into her arms, and though he kept a semblance of solemnity as he whispered to his wife and held her close, Anthony could see the fear in his eyes.

How could he possibly offer reassurance? It felt different, staring at the desperation of your parents. The horrific realization that they might leave a family of two, might have to bury their only child.

His stomach twisted and Anthony’s head fell into his hands again. He couldn’t.

Eventually, Philip helped his wife onto the couch, and she remained curled into his side. No one said a word—how could they?

Apart from whispered reassurances between your parents and even shorter conversations between Benedict and Eloise, their saddened group continued in silence for the better part of an hour. No one spoke louder than a whisper, no one rose and left—they just sat together in their fear, hoping and praying that the inevitable could be denied.

Until the door creaked open and each of their heads snapped towards the noise. Anthony shot up at the first glimpse of their physician’s assistant.

“What news?” he asked immediately. The tension in the room had grown to be near palpably thick.

“The surgery went well,” the assistant said, and all the air dissipated from Anthony’s chest. “Miss Worthing lives. The doctor is ensuring a final few things, but provided our treatment is followed, we believe she will recover fully.”

Anthony fell back against the couch with a breathless laugh, and Mrs. Worthing sank against her husband, wrecked by thankful sobs. Eloise’s smile was enough to brighten the whole room, Benedict’s relief just as obvious. Violet just let out an exhausted sigh, her hand pressed to her heart.

“Thank you,” your father said. “Can we see her?”

“Miss Worthing is resting,” he said. “You will not be able to speak to—”

“We do not care,” your father asserted. “I need to see that my daughter is still alive.”

The physician’s assistant nodded after a moment, and the tension lessened in his shoulders. He helped your mother up, their hands clasped tightly together, and Mrs. Worthing looked at Anthony. You truly had your mother’s eyes.

“Will you come with us, my lord?” she asked.

“Oh, I—”

“You are family,” she said softly. “You’ve a right to join us.”

Emotion swelled in Anthony’s chest, and it took a moment for words to come to him.

“Of course,” he finally said, inclining his head. “And it is just Anthony between us. Please.”

The slightest smile spread across her lips as she nodded, and they all stood up together. Anthony took her offered arm and they started down the hallway together, your father on her other side.

How strange it was to be arm in arm with your mother. She thought the man beside her would be her future son-in-law, when he was truly nothing but a liar.

No, he thought, not wholly a liar. Not anymore. Because they believed that Anthony was to be your husband. And if there was anything this had proven to him, it was that he wanted nothing more than for it to be true.

Anthony just had to figure out a way to tell you. How strange that it would be the most difficult part of this ruse.

Violet’s maid and the footman stepped aside when they arrived and the assistant opened the door. Anthony followed your parents in, and his heart nearly stopped upon seeing you.

Your mother’s eyes filled with tears as she approached your bedside, and, after a nod from the doctor, brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear and laid the back of her hand against your forehead.

“She’s burning up,” she whispered.

“It is typical after surgery,” the doctor said. “With any luck, she will sweat it out. I will monitor her throughout.”

Your mother nodded, a shaky sigh escaping her, and she took your hand.

“I am so sorry, darling,” she whispered. “I am so sorry I was not there for you.” She brought your intertwined hands up and lightly kissed the back of your hand. “I love you more than anything. Please, come back to us soon.”

Your father joined her, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I do not know if you can hear us,” he said, voice slightly shaky, “but we are here for you. We will be here when you awaken, and every moment onwards.”

Mrs. Worthing looked back at Anthony, inclining her head towards you. Anthony swallowed his doubt as he moved forward, but the breath was stolen from him when he could fully see you.

Your eyes were closed. Your chest rose and fell just so, hardly noticeable, thin linens provided by the doctor rested over you, and sweat beaded on your brow. Alongside the discoloration of your skin, you looked…

You looked as if you were dead.

And Anthony knew that you were not—for God’s sake, you were breathing—but all he could think about, all he could see, was his father, all those years ago, dying in front of him while he could not do a single thing to stop it. And he felt that same helplessness with you; just standing there, watching, unable to do anything but hope.

“We are here for you,” he whispered. “...I am here for you. No matter what, I am here for you. Just know that, if nothing else.”

Your mother’s watery smile made him look to the doctor for fear of the same emotions eliciting even further in him.

“When will she wake?” Anthony asked. His voice sounded almost foreign to him.

“In a few hours, with any luck,” the doctor said. “At the very most, it will be the end of the day.”

“We will gladly host her until she is able enough,” Anthony said, looking at your parents. “And we have plenty of spare rooms for you to choose from if you wish to remain by her side during those days.”

“Thank you, Anthony.” Your mother placed her hands on his shoulders, though she had to look up at him, and she smiled. “You make her so happy. It will be my greatest pleasure to officially welcome you into our family.”

Anthony’s throat bobbed. God above, he hoped that was the truth.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “She… she means a great deal to me.”

“You’re a good man, Bridgerton,” your father said. “I’m thankful my daughter will end up with someone like you.”

“Your approval means the world,” he said, and he found he meant it wholly.

The doctor cleared his throat. “It would be best for her visitors to be limited as of now. The parents can stay, but…”

Anthony nodded, smoothing his lapels. “Of course.”

“We will alert you of anything,” your mother said. Anthony nodded again, and he allowed himself one more moment to look at you before he left.

You were alright. You would be alright. That was all that mattered.

Still, when he found himself alone in the hallway, finally able to breathe again, he still had that weight on his shoulders.

A revelation such as the one he’d had should have been a blessing, a relief. A man in love was meant to be a happy one. But a man in love did not usually find his feelings in the midst of season-long ruse whilst his beloved fought on her deathbed.

Anthony blew out a loose sigh, shaking his head as he continued through the halls. Being on his own, he found, was worse than sitting in silence with his family. He was trying to think of something to say, trying to gather his emotions and push them aside so he could be the man of the house as he was meant to be, but when he reached the room from before he was only met with Eloise.

She looked up from the floor, and he noticed the puffiness of her eyes, her slightly blotchy skin. His heart sank yet again.

“Benedict helped Mother to bed,” she explained, her throat bobbing. “All of this exhausted her. I’ve no idea where he is now.”

Anthony nodded, his mind still wandering. “Ah.”

“How is she?” Eloise asked, her brows knit in concern.

“As well as she can be.” Anthony sighed. “She has a fever, but she’s resting. Her parents are with her and the doctor is watching over her. He said she should awaken before the end of the day.”

The furrow softened as she smiled. It was good to see her smile. “Good. That— that’s good. I’m glad.”

“And how are you, Eloise?” Anthony asked, folding his arms.

“As well as I can be,” she responded wryly. Anthony’s lips twitched in a momentary smile, but she leaned against the couch and let out a sigh of her own. “This all certainly ended in the best way it could have.”

“The best way would have been for it to have never happened,” he said. “I should have prevented it—I was meant to keep her safe.”

“Brother,” she said wearily, “I already told you that you cannot blame yourself.”

“And I’ve never been one for listening to you,” he said dryly, “have I?”

Eloise huffed a laugh and shook her head. “I am not a fool, Anthony. I know what is happening between you two.”

Anthony frowned. “Eloise—”

“You love her,” she said bluntly. “Do you not?”

He tried to say something, but no words would follow. He could only stare at his sister and her nerve, resulting in a small smile from her.

“You are not that talented an actor, brother,” she said. “It is easier for me to believe the two of you are truly in love than that you could actually trick me in such a way.”

He blinked. “You believe she loves me?”

Eloise laughed, turning her head slightly. “I do,” she said. “And seeing as you are not denying it, I believe that means you love her.”

Anthony bit the inside of his cheek. So the two of you could fool the entirety of the ton for over half the season, but apparently not Eloise. How typical.

He walked over and took a seat on the couch next to his sister, leaving a bit of space between them. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“I do.” He glanced at her. “I love her.”

Saying it aloud—admitting the truth of feelings he’d been fighting for so long—brought him an unexpected lightness. One other person knew both truths: that they had been lying about their love, and that Anthony had been lying about his lies.

It would have been laughable had he not been so unsure of everything else.

It took Eloise a moment to say anything back. For a while, she merely looked at him, unreadable depths in her eyes. He didn’t think he would ever be able to fully decipher his sister.

“I know my blessing means very little in the scheme of things,” she finally said. “But know that if this does come into fruition… I will support you two. Every step of the way.”

The smile that spread across Anthony’s lips was brighter than anything he’d experienced today, and he inclined his head. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly,” Eloise said, a smile of her own growing though she tried to hide it as she glanced away. “It is not a big deal. Do not make it out to be one. There are far worse men that she could end up with.”

“Alright,” he said, unabashed in his joy. For such a solemn day, Eloise had turned his mood around.

“And I will also keep your secret,” she said breezily, “again, so do not worry about that.”

“You say it does not mean much,” Anthony said, “but you are wrong. Your support means more to me than you know.”

She shifted, seemingly bolstered ever so slightly by his praise. “...I’m glad.”

He smiled as he stood back up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his outfit. Anthony grimaced as his hands came into view. He was in dire need of a bath and some new clothes. He could not deal with your blood on him for much longer.

“I must be going,” Anthony said. “I need to clean up. And,” he sighed, “ensure that none of this has spread to the rest of the ton.”

Eloise hummed, and Anthony was nearly at the door when she spoke up again.

“...Thank you. For being here for me.”

His expression softened as he glanced back at her. “I will always be here for you.”

Her lips curved just so. Anthony had never been so thankful to no longer be at odds with one of his siblings.

Your head hurt.

That was the first thing you could truly understand as your eyes slowly cracked open, squinting while you came to. You blinked a multitude of times, trying to regain your bearings and relieve the dryness of your eyes.

It took another moment for them to adjust to the darkness—the curtains were closed, but no light filtered through. How long had you been asleep?

You grimaced as you shifted ever so slightly, a dull but constant ache in your chest leaving you stiff, but there was a weight of a hand in yours. You glanced over and recognized your mother, asleep but still grasping your hand.

You smiled. She came for you after all.

But as you tried to shift further in the bed, you groaned, a sharp column of pain shooting through you. Your mother’s eyes shot open, her body starting from instinct, but it took a moment for her to truly realize it all.

“Nice of you to wake up,” you said wryly.

“You—” tears sprung in her eyes, and her lips spread in a grateful grin— “You must be alright if your first words are to antagonize your mother.”

“I am still here,” you said. You didn’t want to tell her you didn’t think you would make it. That you thought your fate was sealed when you pulled your hand away to nothing but blood.

“That you are,” she said breathily. “Are you alright, though? How do you feel? Does it hurt?”

“I believe I am alright,” you responded, “I feel… tired. And my chest aches.”

“The doctor said that would be expected,” she murmured. “What do you remember?”

“...That depends,” you said. “What do you know?”

Your mother gave you a look as she said your full name. “This is not the time for games.”

Your cheeks heated and you averted your eyes. “I was in the city with Anthony. I was stabbed after a riot broke out. That is all I remember.”

“Lord Bridgerton is the reason you are alive,” your mother said. “He brought you back to Bridgerton House, and their doctor saved your life.”

Somehow it was possible for your face to burn even more. You dragged Anthony out to that meeting, and you repaid him by making him drag your near lifeless body all the way back to his estate.

You were the worst fake fiancee a man could have.

You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears and you rapidly blinked them away.

“Where is he?” you asked quietly. “Where is Anth— Lord Bridgerton?”

Your mother gave you a knowing look. “It is alright to call him by his name, darling. It is quite clear how much he cares for you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You could not do this. “Where is he?”

“He is with his family,” she said. “You caused everyone quite a fright.”

“I can imagine,” you said hollowly.

“Would you like to see him?” she asked. ��Because I am sure he—”

“No.” The haste with which you sat up drew out another wince. “No— I…”

You closed your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip. You could not do this.

Your mother said your name softly. “What is it?”

You opened your eyes, ignoring the wetness around them as you looked at her. “Anthony and I cannot marry.”

She blinked. It looked as if it took a moment for your words to sink in. “What?”

“We cannot marry,” you repeated. “We— we never could marry. Our courtship is a ruse.”

Your mother blinked again, this time wholly taken aback. “What?”

“It is a ruse,” you repeated, more forcefully. “I wanted to escape the baron, and Anthony wanted to escape a thousand desperate debutantes. I proposed a mock courtship between us, and he accepted.”

Her brows furrowed deeper than ever before, as if she still couldn’t fully believe it. “You lied to me.”

“To everyone,” you said. You hadn’t a clue what had gotten into you, tearing apart a story carefully crafted throughout nearly the entire season, but something burned inside of you. You couldn’t keep going with this—you couldn’t keep stringing Anthony along, not when your feelings were far more real than they had any right to be.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I did not want to marry,” you repeated. “The baron is nothing more than a lecher, and the thought of any sort of marriage to him disgusted me, but you and Father refused to listen to me. The only way to get out of it was for you to believe I had caught the affections of someone better. Anthony Bridgerton’s word was certainly better than mine in the eyes of the ton.”

Your mother stared at the floor for much longer than you anticipated, and you could not tear your eyes away from her.

“Mother,” you said quietly, “say something. Please.”

“I do not quite know what to say.” She finally looked at you, and your throat bobbed. “All of our plans have hinged on this marriage for the entirety of the season. What am I to tell your father?”

“Do not tell him,” you begged. “Please. It is enough that you know— I could not handle the shame if he were to as well.”

“I do not keep secrets as well as you,” your mother snapped. “Marrying into the Bridgerton family would have saved us, both in riches and name. Even your dowry would have gone to use for something of your choosing.” She shook her head, clasping her hands together. “And now you have almost died and we will have to control this and I just—”

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you interrupted.

That ceased her arguments quite quickly. “What?”

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you repeated. “He has both riches and name.”

Your mother frowned as she gripped your hands tighter. “You despise him. You got yourself into this entire mess in order to avoid him—you’ve said so yourself.”

“What choice do I have?” you asked desperately. “His name is enough to weather the scandal I’ve created. His money will secure a life for you and Father, and he has a fine pedigree. It is the only way to save the Worthing name.”

“Have you not considered the very man who has been courting you this season?” Your mother gestured with her hand. “Look where you are, darling! Lord Bridgerton has offered up his estate to us so we can be near you as you heal. Your courtship may have started as a ruse, but the man clearly feels something for you!”

“We have become very good friends over the course of the season,” you said, “and I am thankful for it. But I cannot taint the Bridgerton name further.”

“Dearest—”

“It is necessary,” you interrupted, but your quick movement brought on a sharp thread of pain in your chest and you winced.

“Do not push yourself,” your mother whispered, and you nodded.

“It is necessary,” you repeated, though slower. “My rebellion was just… naivete. I will not be the reason for our family’s ruin borne from my own stubbornness. I will secure our legacy, I will secure my future—I will marry Lord Cardew, and… and I will finally stop trying to resist my fate.”

Your mother stared at you, and you stared back. “You said it yourself—our family’s well being hinges on my marrying into wealth. What sane man would consider me after what I’ve done?”

She continued to look at you long and hard, her expression one of unreadable depths. “You are sure?”

No, you wanted to say. You had never been less sure of anything in your life. But you could see no other choice. So you nodded.

Your mother glanced away from you with a sigh, eyes searching the room for a moment before she nodded as well. “...Alright. If that is what you wish, your father and I will contact him once you are recovered.”

“Mother—”

“That is non-negotiable,” she said, and she smiled at you. “You may be blossoming into a true lady, but you are still my daughter. And I will not allow my daughter to do anything until she is fully healed.”

You nodded. “Alright.”

“I am sure that it goes without saying that you are never going to be allowed out of our sight until you are married and settled?” your mother said, and though it caused a sharp pain in your chest, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I assumed just as much, Mother.”

Dearest Reader,

It is a fact well known throughout Mayfair that the social season requires the full attention of every single person, frantic mamas and bored bachelors alike. It is a game of wits unlike any other, and this season has proven no different. The middle of our merriment marks many of the most eligible debutantes as engaged — this author pays special attention to the season’s diamond, Lady Adelaida Kennington, who has found her happy ending with the young Earl Pembroke.

Though congratulations may be due to another lady of the ton, one of the simple yet highly discussed Worthing family — as it seems, Miss Worthing has tossed aside the much desired Viscount Bridgerton for the hand of the Baron Jonathan Cardew. One can only be left to wonder what Lord Bridgerton must have done to go from an obviously incoming proposal back to his rakish ways in little more than a night, but it most certainly has to do with Miss Worthing’s recent disappearance from society. Word has passed around of her frequent visits to the lesser parts of London, engaging in activity that can only be described as scandalous. Perhaps it was not the fault of the viscount indeed—Miss Worthing may have finally pushed Lord Bridgerton to his limits.

No matter the reason for the ending of the courtship, this author must extend her thanks to the pairing for providing such material for my pen. It is not every day a nobody in the ton manages to bring down two families at once. Perhaps Miss Worthing deserves congratulations for conducting this fantastical feat all on her own. If it was outrage she was searching for, she has certainly earned it.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

You huffed a sigh and threw the leaflet across the room, letting your head fall back against the wooden headboard. It was one thing for Lady Whistledown to criticize you, it was another thing entirely for her to bring your family and the Bridgertons into it. You deserved everything that came towards you for what you had done, but your parents, the Bridgertons, Anthony— they were not a part of any of it.

Especially when all your father had done was visit the Cardew estate to have a conversation with the man, see if he was open to the possibility of a marriage with you. Nothing was at all set in stone, but the way Whistledown told it, you were already steps from the chapel with a ring on your finger.

So now, as if it weren’t enough that you were bed bound until your physician deemed you recovered for regular activity, as if it weren’t enough that you were likely set to be married by the end of the season, as if it weren’t enough that you were constantly denying Anthony’s requests to visit you, every single one of your idiotic mistakes was revealed to the ton through a woman too cowardly to write without a pseudonym.

If you ever found Lady Whistledown, you thought bitterly, you would strangle her.

The silence in your room was broken by the door opening, and when you looked up you were greeted with Julia’s face. The usual smile she bore when around you was not there, but before you could ask she answered your unspoken question.

“I apologise for the interruption, my lady, but you have a visitor. He insisted on seeing you.”

A small part of you knew who it was even before she stepped aside, but when Anthony Bridgerton walked into your room your breath still hitched the tiniest bit.

“What are you doing here?” you asked immediately, holding back a grimace as you pushed yourself into a sitting position.

“I had to see you,” Anthony said.

“And you chose to do so by invading my privacy.”

“I have not heard a single word directly from you nor your pen since the accident,” he said, his voice not without a slight barb. But underneath it all, an uncommon hurt festered inside of him. You could not see it, exactly, but you could sense it. “Forgive me for wanting to confirm with my own eyes that you were still alive.”

“I will remain here as a chaperone,” Julia said, closing the door behind her. “You may talk as freely as you please — I will not repeat a single word.” Anthony nodded and pulled the stool away from the vanity so he could be closer to you, then sat down.

Despite Julia’s reassurance, neither of you spoke a word. The silence began to weigh heavily, the tension growing so thick it could be cut with a knife. For so long you had been rejecting Anthony’s requested meetings, not wanting to see him after what you had done. You feared for how he would react, both to your complete ignorance of him after your nearly fatal injury and your acceptance of Lord Cardew’s courtship.

You left Bridgerton House without a word mere hours after your ill-fated decision despite the protests of your parents—you could not stay there for another moment under Anthony’s good graces, not when you had doomed any possible future with him. You did not deserve a single millimeter of Bridgerton good will.

You stared down at the covers you laid under, fidgeting with your hands in your lap as you focused on everything except your visitor. You could not bring yourself to meet Anthony’s gaze, though you’d felt his own on you for the past five minutes.

“Is it true?”

You finally looked up at his sudden question, meeting the intensity of those dark brown eyes you’d lost yourself in so many times. “Is what true?”

“Your marriage to Jonathan Cardew,” he said stiffly. “Is it true?”

Just as quickly, you glanced away. It was near impossible to even be in the same room as the viscount since you had made the decision, even more so to think of the reason why it was that way. So instead, you just nodded.

“Yes. If all works out, we are to be wed at the end of the season.”

“Why?” Anthony leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees as his hands clenched into loose fists. “You openly despise the man—you asked me to court you to avoid him. Why in the name of all things rational would you willingly enter a marriage with him?”

“He will provide for me,” you said. “He has money, he has land, and he is a respectable member of society. He has already been content with the possibility of marriage once, and his name is enough to weather the scandal I have created. It is the smartest choice available.”

“And what of us?” He had an almost wild look in his eyes, and the worst desire took root in you to root your fingers in his hair and ease the troubles you’d caused him. “We have spent the near entirety of the season becoming closer, and you are willing to just throw it all away for a man like Cardew?”

“I could not trap you in a marriage you do not want,” you insisted. “You deserve more than a woman you share no love for, Anthony, and to be married to the woman who made a fool of your entire family. Lord Cardew is the only option.”

“Even if all of that is true, that does not mean it is a smart choice!” he exclaimed. “He is not a safe man to be around! If he has been pursuing you so strongly and only backed off because of my influence, what do you think will happen when you are his legal wife with no sort of protection?”

You swallowed thickly at his words. “He is not that sort of man, Anthony. He may be… horrid, and a complete egoist, but it will be a life of comfort. And that is the life that I need.”

Anthony laughed breathlessly, completely devoid of mirth as he frowned. “You cannot be serious. I have been by your side for an entire season of feminist rants and marriage complaints, half of which revolved around Cardew himself, and now you are telling me that you are just— just alright with this sort of compliance?”

“Nearly dying because of my own idiotic choices has forced me to reexamine my life,” you said plainly. “If I had been even the slightest bit unlucky, I would have perished on those streets, and what would I have had to show for myself? A rebellion that I was only able to take part in because of the privilege I so often fought against?”

“You have made a difference,” Anthony insisted. “You provided for women that no one has the gall to look out for. You’ve spoken out for your own rights, you’ve stood up for your own interests rather than sit around and take what you have been given.”

“I have been fighting against a life that so many less fortunate than myself would kill for,” you said. “I believed death to be a better fate than being forced to marry a man I did not love, but when I was on death’s door, I realized how foolish I was— how utterly selfish.”

“You are not selfish,” Anthony said, but you shook your head.

“I am. Unbelievably so.” You huffed a mirthless laugh as you looked at him. “My parents did not love each other when they married, but they were friends. They could tolerate the other’s presence, and neither of them were fortunate enough to be able to care about anything else. They have grown to love each other in their own way, of course, and they are in a better situation now, but they could not have known it would turn out that way. They did what they had to for the sake of their families and themselves, and it is time I do the same.”

“Love matches are rare,” you murmured. “And even if I were granted the opportunity… I would not deserve it.”

Anthony shook his head. “Do not say that.”

“It is the truth,” you said, letting out yet another humorless laugh. “I have been horrible to my mother when all she has ever wanted is a better life for me than she had. I have fought her for every step of the way for no other reason than my hubris and the dim belief that I deserved different than everyone else simply because I wanted it, no matter what the greater good was. How can that not be selfish, Anthony?”

“You do not have to do this,” he insisted. “You said you dreamed of unmarried life! You told me your fantasies of escaping from society, of living on your own and depending on no one but yourself. You are willing to give all of that up, just like that?”

“I was a fool for ever doing so!” you exclaimed. “Anthony, this world is hard enough on its own for married women — what do you think will become of my family if I do not marry? What do you think will become of me?”

“But you are strong.” Anthony leaned forward, his brow knit in determination. “You are strong, and intelligent, and fully capable of managing on your own. Spinster brand be damned, if it is what you wish, you will flourish completely!”

“Will I?” you questioned, and you gestured at yourself. “I am bound to this room of my own doing because I refused to see the truth of the world around me. I was young and naive to believe I could achieve anything of the sort I dreamed of without consequences, and I will be naive no longer.”

“If you insist on marrying, at least find somebody else,” Anthony begged. “You will be miserable for the rest of your life if you marry Jonathan Cardew.”

“I cannot afford to marry for love, my lord,” you said simply, “and even if I could find a man who loved me, I could never love them back. I would not force anyone into a marriage they did not want, not when…” You trailed off, the words catching in your throat.

You shook your head, choking them down. “It is not important.”

“Please do not marry him,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I beg of you.”

“Then who should I marry?” you asked, almost brazenly. “Who should I marry, if not him? I am certainly not one for options.”

You did not know what you wanted Anthony to say. To marry him? That he felt the same for you as you did for him? That, while you were indeed a fool for falling for him, he was one as well. That he would not leave you, not now, nor ever.

But instead he just stared at you with those dark brown eyes that even now could make you melt, a million emotions brewing inside of them yet none of them being given an outlet.

“I do not know,” he murmured, and your heart sank. “But I beg of you, do not let it be him.”

“It is not your decision to make,” you said quietly. “Soon I will be engaged to Lord Cardew, and I will be out of your life.”

There was an underlying desperation in Anthony’s eyes as he looked at you now, that storm of emotions thundering inside of him begging to be expressed. “I do not want you out of my life.”

The words felt like poison leaving your lips. “You do not have a choice.”

Before Anthony could protest any further, you stood up and looked over at your lady’s maid. “Please escort Lord Bridgerton outside. I wish to be alone.”

“My lady, are you—”

“Julia,” you said, your voice strained, “please.”

She nodded and she gestured for Anthony towards the door, but he did not move a centimeter.

Anthony said your name with such pain that you could not even stand to look at him, the inside of your lip drawn so tightly between your teeth that you could taste blood all in the effort to prevent tears from emerging.

“Do not make this harder than it has to be,” you whispered. “I beg of you, Anthony.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” Julia said quietly, “please obey my lady’s wishes.”

He stared at you with desperation before he finally nodded and walked out the door, Julia closing it behind him.

You screwed your eyes shut as you dug the heels of your palms into your forehead, letting out a frustrated sob as your hands dropped back down. The pinpricks of tears were already starting, and while you were thankful you were alone, you already longed for Anthony’s presence.

You wished, more than ever, that things could be how they used to be. You wished you’d never even made this ridiculous deal with him—then you would not be in such pain, yearning for a man you could never have while the reputation of you and your family was destroyed and your life fell to pieces around you. You could not do a single thing about it, and you could not blame a single soul for it other than yourself.

You’d never felt so useless.

taglist, only bc this series has been going on since i still had a taglist lmao. pls dont ask to be added because i do not do tag lists anymore!! follow me or rb the masterlist or something idk @ifilwtmfc @readers-post @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan @magical-spit @lafy-taffy @miss-celestial-being @mercurysrhapsody @evilsailorsenshi @mainstreambitchlife @aangsupremacy @chloepluto1306 @lostaudfound @panhoeofmanyfandoms @blhemmings @my-acrylic-heart @seninjakitey @vlodi @arianagrandes-things @preciousbabypeter @youraliendaddo @stupidlittlebei @illuminwtesz @eringaitskill @otheliesstuff @users09 @chloepluto1306 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @m-rae23 @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp @diemdurantia @theyoungestchild0w0 @mschievousx @alwaysreading1019 @ibelieveindragons141 @pretzywetzy

#this is so soap opera of me #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fic #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton fanfic #x reader #bridgerton imagine #sadie writes

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headspace-hotel · 2 months

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dwarf fortress update

an important thing to note about this game is if you embark on an island with no other civilizations on it, this cuts you off from a substantial amount of gameplay, as you won't be able to do missions and you won't be able to trade with or contact other civilizations. It does, however, prevent sieges and other forms of possibly undesirable fun

i don't know if civilizations could arise on islands given enough time passing in game

I decided to start a new fortress to mess with some of the mechanics involving interactions between civilizations.

I embarked close to a necromancer's tower, which thus far has had no effects except giving me a frequently replenishing supply of armor and gear to loot off of zombies killed by my militias. I have also had regular sieges from goblins, which i've fought off pretty easily but the map is so littered with goblin corpses and clothes it's looking like a bit of a mess.

Essential lessons so far:

it doesn't seem to actually matter very much whether bedrooms are enclosed or have doors, and citizens get negative thoughts from sleeping in a dormitory, so it's better to just make a huge room, make the floor of a somewhat valuable material, space beds 1 tile apart and designate each 4-tile square as a separate bedroom.

Dwarves are happy around waterfalls, so if you flood your fortress your dwarves mental health will be great right up to the point that they drown to death.

The wiki says soap making is a low importance industry. This is a dirty rotten lie. You will need to have automated ash production, bucket production, lye production, and soap production to have enough soap ever.

burrows make dwarves STAY in a certain area, however they don't make them GO there. this essentially means they are useless as if you have ordered dwarves to stay within the burrow when a forgotten beast is attacking and causing havoc, they will not go there if they are outside it, however the dwarves inside will not be able to leave the burrow for food, drink, water or any sort of supplies so they will eventually just starve or thirst to death. so basically don't use burrows

limit the fisherdwarf task to one (1) dwarf AT MOST or you will have rotting fish everywhere and nothing will get done because everybody is at the fishery "cleaning raw fish"

you absolutely must go into the labor menu and turn off automatic web collection or else the instant you open a cavern your citizens will run into the furthest deadliest corner of that cavern and die.

you absolutely must dig your mine shaft separately from your main fortress and place multiple tiers of doors that you can forbid as needed to sequester off increasingly deeper levels of the mineshaft. it helps to have a separate still, kitchen and food stockpile within the mineshaft as well. when you designate a mining project, wait for the miners to go in and forbid the door to the surface behind them. place tiers of stone and ore stockpiles feeding into each other within the mine shaft so stones are hauled up to the surface levels and can be easily hauled into the fortress when you unforbid the door for a time. if you don't keep the doors forbidden, citizens will constantly wander in and out of the mineshaft and get killed or starve to death. In particular, they will try to haul objects out of the caverns and will path through the cavern passages instead of the stairwells you dug.

I've been killing all my grazing animals except sheep because babies born in a pen don't "belong" to that pen and will wander down into the fortress, and once underground they will starve to death from lack of grass. having to stop what i'm doing every 10 minutes to return to the pasture, scroll through my animals, and assign the new baby calf or donkey or whatever is such a pain in the ass that it's hardly even worth it to have animals that don't produce fiber.

castrating animals is super unreliable as a means of keeping their populations in check, because migrants and visitors are CONSTANTLY bringing in new pets

Either that, or some animals can reproduce asexually. I keep getting new reindeer calves despite having only one reindeer bull and no reindeer cows

Turning off contaminant tracking doesn't stop contaminants from being tracked everywhere

embark next to a brook, not a river, because with rivers your citizens will constantly fall in and drown. however you will need to dig out the rocks from the bottom of the brook in one spot and place a well above it. do NOT use "water source" zone designation because whatever zone you designate for water collection will get contaminated with vomit within 5 minutes due to above contaminant tracking glitch, and your dwarves will become miserable about being "forced to drink vomit"

even in an overwhelmingly happy and content fortress some dwarves will inevitably go insane and start killing everybody in sight.

The justice system can convict dwarves of disorderly conduct when they attack other dwarves, however if the victim dies of their injuries that isn't a crime and you can't convict the attacking dwarf. When a vampire kills another dwarf it DOES show up as a "murder," however the offender will not be punished

I don't actually know if there is a point in having a justice system, since all it does is chain up random essential workers for "violating production orders." Sentences are much longer for one instance of violating production orders than for 30+ separate counts of disorderly conduct, and there seems to be no way to punish murder.

Every way of producing food wildly overproduces for the needs of the fortress. i have over 1500 muskmelons help

if you don't turn off "forbid death items" the surface will soon be so littered with forbidden gloves and random crap worn by goblins that you can't build anything.

Once you make a tavern (and you should, it really helps dwarf mental health) you will have constant petitions to join your fortress to "entertain visitors and citizens." as far as I can tell you should deny all of them because visitors will steal your stuff, especially masterworks, and sometimes kill your citizens.

Approve all the petitions to stay in the fortress "eradicating monsters" though. When they die you can loot their stuff

if you're having too many migrants you can arrange a fatal accident to happen to the merchant caravan

if you need a fatal accident to happen to one of your dwarves (or need to separate them from everybody else) assign them to a militia by themselves and "station" them in either a dangerous place or a room that you can lock and forbid the door.

It's really disappointing how wrong the wiki is about a lot of things, i've been told incorrectly about game mechanics several times by it.

The bugs i've been dealing with would be less annoying if i didn't have a supposedly good resource telling me "This is how X works" and then it doesn't work that way

#dwarf fortress

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timkontheunsure · 3 months

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Part 1 Blitz & BPD coding

Ok quick bit first before getting into the nitty-gritty. So to have BPD you need to have 5 of these 9 traits:-

(putting as by proxy with him cus damage your image is harmful to your psyche).

Poor bugger looks to have 9 of 9

Alot of BPD patterns and strategies comes from childhood trauma, and Blitz has this in spades.

Scapegoat and attachment style

Cash is clearly a narcissistic Dad, see the kids as tools.

Cash uses Blitz's love and Strong attachment to his Mum to force Blitz to be useful to him, and do what he wants.

This sends the very strong message that love is conditional. That it is bought through what he can do for another. And that without being useful love and affection will be withdrawn, because he doesn't really deserve it.

We see wee tinny Blitzo struggles with making balloon animals, is a little clumsy, has a sense of humour that not a crowd pleaser. This puts him at the bottom of the pecking order.

This position is the scapegoat. Blamed for anything that goes wrong (fire), to keep the others in line (Fizz told done on purpose), given the most dangerous jobs (rob a Goetia), and given the lest love and affection.

Narcissist see people as tools or a burden. All love from Cash is conditional/transactional.

How Blitz gets love is to be used or to be useful. This the rule.

Affection freely given can't be trusted. It is a lie. This why any Stolas shows has to be either ignored, or change to a kink of "getting plowed by people you look down on". Making himself used.

But Stolas breaks this when he says Blitz "no longer have any obligation to see me, to touch me, to bed me, you are... you are free of me." He panics that he's being abandoned; "I can be better", "I'm I not fucking you good enough" are his immediate responses. Trying to get back to the safety of what he knows.

If they're no 'obligation' then there can't be affection and he wants to Stay with Stolas. And if there's no 'obligation' Stolas telling him he cares must be a lie.

He's slowly coming to see that this isn't always the case in apology tour; when his "earning" his way through sex is rebuffed again.

(It may not be Stolas' kink; but being fucked by an all powerful prince who degraded his a little might be Blitz's 🤭).

After the accident this rule gets a second fun extra playmate that anyone who loves him will be hurt. So Blitz must push them way, to keep them safe from him. These 2 rules give Blitz the disorganised fearful-avoidant attachment style. (Woo go him, give him a cookie. Or you know all the nope, but still give him a cookie).

Disorganised fearful-avoidant attachment comes with a push-pull of wanting to be close but close relationships are scary. (Like running away from Voroskia for loving him).

He is getting better by refusing to be dismissed by Stolas, and coming back the next morning. And even talking to him at the party.

But mostly this bit: "Oh, sorry, this entire time I assumed the worst because I was convinced a prince could never love someone like me, and I've let my self hatred stop me from apologizing to anyone I could ever care about!" Blitz in a nutshell everybody.

His self hatred makes him to self sabotage any romantic relationship before it gets to deep. To protect the people he likes and makes sure they can't love him. Because he doesn't deserve it. Thems the rules after all.

Cash and the accident has taught Blitz to hate himself.

It's also likely why Blitz thinks apologies are for pussys, and that no one deserves one anyway. Those sound like words put in his mouth for daring to ask his dad to say sorry.

He doesn't think he's worth it.

(Added the cuddles pic cus I like the cuddles). And Blitz still doesn't trust that he deserved to be forgiven by Fizz.

This self hatred is why he can't picture anyone loving him, let alone Stolas

"This whole thing we had going... I'm- I mean you're a fucking prince. How could you ever actually care for an imp... Me? How could anybody?" "Stolas, you are better off without me. 'Kay? You deserve so much... I don't even".

No one is allowed to want him.

End of part 1

I'll stick the link to the next part when I get done it, but might be a bit.

Next time some such fun shenanigans as:

Difficulty regulating emotions

Being a burden & how to be useful to IMP

Spitting

Massive fear of abandonment

Emotional loops

The Deal

Chronic feelings of emptiness

Self hatred & the Belief others Must hate him

(his cookie)

As normal is absolutely fine if you don't agree. This is just something I like to do.

#helluva boss #blitz helluva boss #bpd coded #I'm knackered and this is probably less than a third of this #Honestly I'm being trying to get this right for months now #I'm very slow at writing analysis

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erebus0dora · 2 months

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ok so i promised you a rant on Eric Bogosian, and i pinky promise i'll try to keep the story short (those beautiful people i've already privately spewed my fascination at deserve peace and love 💜)

TL;DR: Eric Bogosian is a good researcher and judge of human nature, which honestly shouldn't be surprising given his experience, links below

it is easy to google Eric (i'll call him that not out of disrespect, it's just shorter) and get to a conclusion he's just a slightly awkward old man who had extremely weird youth and gives off a powerful bi vibe just for shits and giggles; which is fair, given the wild way he handles most interviews

but hear me out, i'm not an expert, i'm just a book kind of girl. so i sought out the books, and into the books i looked.

back in 1988 he was nominated for Pulitzer's for his "Talk Radio", and i count that as one of the first cases of him using a real story to weave a (semi)fictional one. it is a powerful play, and a gut-punching movie, but I am mentioning it not because of its ehhh artistic value. in my book, it's a proof of the way he tends to critically re-imagine the things he sees and analyses.

keep that in mind when you google his "Operation 'Nemesis".

he initially started looking into the history of Armenian genocide as into the material worth developing into a plot for a movie. but, in his own words, and i quote, "I wrote this book because I had no choice. The Nemesis story required more attention than a simple screenplay."

he is still not a scientist, mind that - and his book reads as a work of fiction. say, there's no way one can look into the head of a deceased person and know their feelings, but one can guess; and Eric guesses, of course. but the fun part is that he makes educated guesses. nearly for each presumption there's a source. a footnote. a quote.

what really strikes me is that he looked into ONE plot line and fished out a complex slice of history, dripping with CONTEXT. White Russian emigration? it's in there. early stages of oil industry? check. the colourful background of Europe in early XX century? all there.

there's no wonder he spent seven years on this book.

i repeat: SEVEN. YEARS.

call me sapiosexual, but that was the moment when i stopped and thought: ok, THIS IS HOT.

what also impresses me is the way he speaks of his past. he admits he's done wild shit, and adds that the best part was the moment he understood he didn't need to be high to be creative. it's the underlying power of "yeah, been there, got better, SO CAN YOU" that gets me.

to keep things short, i'm adding links:

here's a vid where he speaks of the book on Armenian genocide (i had personal reasons to tear up a bit while listening, ngl)

and here's a vid where he speaks of acting, writing, and improv, that basically broke my art block, for which i am going to be grateful for fucking ever, i guess

(if you got to this point of my rant, you deserve a hug and a respectful kiss on the mouth if you're ok with that. go have a lovely day 💜)

#eric bogosian #operation nemesis #bogosian books #the lengthy rant you asked for #history

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clairedaring · 4 months

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if you're hoping for joe 2.0 to get his 'revenge' in the second half of the series...

warning: mild novel spoilers (but also not really because i'm just discussing things that have been shown in the trailer)

i really think you should either drop the series or give up the hopes of a satisfying makjang revenge storyline in my stand-in instead of setting yourself up for disappointment. because that simply isn't the story that my stand-in is trying to tell.

so what is my stand-in about really?

well, for me i think its a romance tragicomedy drama about an idiotic scum male lead losing the person he loves most because of his own arrogance and refusal to listen to his heart and the series of unfortunate events that happened consequently for our protagonist who was living a peaceful and quiet life as a stunt actor before the scum male lead entered his life.

joe 2.0 and his approach to life

i've mentioned it twice now that one of my favorite traits of joe/zhou xiang is that kindness in his strength where even if he can be choose to be mean or cruel, he simply doesn't because he has such a soft heart and he's weak to see others in pain (joe is my fellow enfp people pleaser okay) (⁠っ⁠˘̩⁠╭⁠╮⁠˘̩⁠)⁠っ which is why even in his 2.0 life, you won't get to see joe turning 180 degree and going around to hurt everyone who's ever hurt him like it's some makjang kdrama.

and while that seems like it could be fun, i think the reason why i loved professional body double (my stand-in novel) so much in the first place is because that very distinction between joe and other rebirth/second chance at life protagonists that you often see in revenge kdramas/cdramas/thai lakorns.

logically, if my stand-in was a 24-episode one31 lakorn/thai soap opera, joe would be full of hatred and burning rage after his rebirth and started his intricated revenge plot while still falling in love with ming whom he should hate the most.

and yet he isn't (or at least it seems to me so far).

if you read the lyrics 'Die For You' - the opening ost of my stand-in, i think you can have a good guess of what the second half of the story will be like.

Even running away to death can't help. If my heart had chosen to stop at you I'll have to surrender with the confusion I feel. To come back to the same old place. Even if I have to die, disappear and then be reborn But the love is still buried deep inside, even if it's been shattered into pieces Even if my life ends, I can't stop my heart from calling out to you Because this whole body, life, spirit It is yours only, for all eternity.

and even from the trailer of my stand-in, you can tell that joe 2.0 has a lot of internal conflicting feelings about whether he could trust ming again after the betrayal he faced in his 1.0 life. and i feel like essentially the journey of ming proving to joe 2.0 that he really does love joe is very much the central plot in the second half part of the story.

so i'd like to take this part to note how well the series has done to adapt the novel so far. i think a good adapted change they've made is this early realization of feelings for ming in the joe 1.0 timeline. i do think the novel made him realized his feelings a little bit later but my stand-in did well to show within ep.3 what happiness could have looked like for joe 1.0 and ming and i think it rationalizes a bit more more for why joe 2.0 would still have feelings for ming 'buried deep inside' even when he's been badly hurt the first time around. and reading the story i've always found it interesting that they took this route to focus on the re-entangled complex relationship between mingjoe rather than going for a joe-centric revenge makjang plot (i swear if this was your typical thai lakorn, joe would seduce ming while planning to take down his whole family or something).

of course, that's not to dismiss that there's a lot of character growth for joe in the second half of the story, especially in his building of self-confidence, self-worth, the ability to put himself first and the fight for his own happiness above all. but like i've mentioned above, his growth journey is not at the expense of a drastic personality change in regards to the kind hearted joe we saw in his 1.0 life. instead, we get kind hearted joe 2.0 who quickly adapts to his new life and attempts to start anew while conflicted feelings resurface for him as he is pulled back into the relationships he once had.

all in all, my stand-in is still at the heart of it, a love story. perhaps, a dark romance as my friend @dragonsandphoenix would call it, but a romance nonetheless. i think that is what also makes professional body double such a compelling read too, because the progression in the feelings and complex emotions of these characters are so tightly written that it's convincing enough for me (maybe not for others though) to believe that yan ming xiu has/will always love zhou xiang (to the point ymx would probably eliminate anyone else who dared to steal zx from him). obsessive love? yes. do they both need therapy? probably. yet i still believe in their happy ending? of course.

final note/disclaimer: then again, this is just my PERSONAL opinions based on the novel and up til 3 episodes of my stand-in (which seems to be very faithful to the novel so far), who knows maybe they can anger novel fans and adapt it completely differently later on (something i sure hope they don't but we'll seeeee) ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

#my stand in #my stand in the series #my stand-in #professional body double #my stand in novel spoilers #msi thoughts #poom phuripan #up poompat #claire opens up her goddamn mouth

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liaswills · 6 months

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Pick a card: A message from your past life self! 🪦🗡

Hello darlings! Today I bring you another pick a card- I felt the need to bring out some messages. The energy today is very much revolving around death- and it's relatively natural relation to life. So today I will bring you a pick a card- with a message of what your past self would tell you! Naturally this is a general message so take whatever resonates. All the love, Elias!

Pick a pile from 1, 2, 3 or 4!

Hello, my dear self. Some day you have wondered who you are- who you should become. But I want you to know that no matter whom you try to be- or whom you'll grow to believe says the right thing- it'll always be me whom you will come back to. I'm not scary. I'm you. I like to brace the horizon- with a smile and breathe in the morning air. I'm a morning person. I used to hunt birds- for food. And... truthfully- my life was never that long. I didn't get to experience my childhood as something I cherished. This is why you're not very good with people. I'm sorry that in this life- you too- struggle with being around crowds. You do- try to. Which is more than I ever did. I was more one with animals- nature- it's why... I never really got to be together with someone. Because I spent my life alone- you might feel like everyone hates you. Or suffer from anxiety everytime you try to make a friend- with your friends- or even the people you try to date or love. I'm sorry that this part of me- lingers- but no matter how it has manifested, it is what I desired most. Sometimes lives are so crowded that you just need one where you're by yourself. I did that already. You don't need to follow my example- because I want for you to flourish and be a butterfly. To do what I haven't. To be brave. To be bold. To dare. Dream. I know you think you're alone sometimes- but you're not! The spirits of all the animals I've taken care of- protect you still! It's amazing how loyal animals are. Yes- even your last pet. I know we have a special connection to animals- I know that we sometimes feel like they understand us- feel our energy- they do- but they won't create a depth in our emotional maturity and balance much like dramatic human relationships do. If you know me- you'd wish to have a life in social circles too. It wasn't fun. And I want to brace you to feel safe. To try and feel joy. To feel happiness. Try and do it when you can. Because that- will help me- and all of us before us. I'll be here to hug you. Because I'm your greatest supporter.

Forgiveness, is what it takes. Forgive me. Forgive yourself. I'm not like you- nothing like you at all. I was vain. And cruel. And unkind. I didn't see what you see. I didn't- I couldn't. I couldn't see how people were able to be the exact same as the other- i couldn't see how every life was worth living. I killed for things. I cheated in life. I climbed the social ladders and I hurt my hands doing so. I really fell. I fell in the end and it was my ending. I didn't have a long life- because when I was found out- everything I worked for, was done for. I wanted to become better. I needed to be a better self. You don't. You don't need to do this. If you continue down this road- if you continue to try and improve- it won't make you happy. It won't make me happy either. I think it's time for us to forgive ourselves. Because sooner than later- we are all that we have. I've known this too late. Very late. You need to start appreciating the things you do have. The money you do have. The family you live with. The country you're in. The name you have been given. Consider it all. You're almost there- you're almost free of this crude self torture. Just one more step- release this attachment. Release your ideas of how things should be. Please allow yourself to just be. To just trust in me. To trust in you. In us. Trust that we can do it. That we can do whatever we set our minds to. You've inherited my determination- don't spoil it with waivering in uneasyness. Don't spoil my end- for your life to be worse than mine. Don't befriend toxic people. Don't walk towards the red flags. I need you to see. See whom you're talking to. See whom you share your mind with. See what you think of without your phone for an hour. I need you to feel yourself- to love yourself- to feel our own world is more than what you think it is and could be. Forgive me- I was never from your world- but I was the you- you needed to become whom you are now. Forgive me. I'm sorry.

We aren't the same gender. I had to start with that. I've led a completely different existence based on my social norms and whom I was raised to become. If you're a fem energy- then I used to embody masculine. And vice versa. You might feel lingering touches of me- in the way that you can embody both energies. I want to say- I'm congratulating you- because I never dared or could. I lived very rigid. In a rigid place where I was expectant to preform a role in life. To be a provider- or a caretaker. I simply obeyed that life. I simply followed the norms. I don't want you to follow any norms other than your own. I fought bravely- I died gloriously- in battle- with a strong heart or perhaps not so strong considering it caved. I loved- I loved big. You inherited this. I loved my friends. My family. I even...loved another whom I couldn't be with. That longing for someone- I owe to you to release. I didn't really got the closure I needed. I didn't really tell this person- that my heart was theirs. And theirs alone. Yes- I've had children. I've done my duty- as was expected of me, but i didn't love my partner the way I loved this star crossed romantic ideal. It was an ideal. I never got to know them personally. It didn't matter. I liked to imagine what they would be like- and somehow that image of them was enough for me. I see you- I feel you, and your life is already so much more vibrant than mine. Thankyou! I truly- honestly, can say thank you. For being authentic- for truly honouring your own feelings. It doesn't matter what you become- or whom you'll chase- in the end, you've already done what you came here to do. For me- anyway. I think you're amazing. And you inspire me- and others, so much. So so so so so much. That truthfully- you should show yourself. To everyone. Haha. It isn't scary- remember your brothers- sisters- whom fought alongside you in the trenches- whom fought with you day and night to remain sovereign- to remain equal- to gain prowess and our voice back. Hang on Soldier- you have a long road to go. It'll be glorious- I can tell you that. From my point of view- your paving the way to a dream. I'll talk to you- in my mind- my world- my time- I talk to myself often actually, haha- but you will sometimes get more from talking to me too. Just... call me a friend you once were. And I'll be a friend to you too. It'll help greatly- I am indebted to you as much. Don't worry if you're not going to do it- I'm just here to give you the inspiration you need to get out there and flourish your shiny little way around the globe.

My funny Valentine.... sweet comic valentine....you make me smile, with my heart. Listen to "My funny valentine" by Chat Baker or Frank Sinatra, because I am giving you this song as I look upon you darling. I know sometimes we don't truly like ourselves. But you don't need to become someone else to love whom you truly are. Because you already do- trust me- the whole of you- all of us- all of your lives- we love you as you are and will continue to do so fiercely. Honestly- we were wild. I was wild. Haha. I was a bit freakishly in love with everyone. Gradually- that changed a little into a more tamed version of loving and being. But you inherited a spark of love for loving. Maybe... still a little unfooted- but, priceless either way. Truly- priceless to see. I know you think some things are scaring you- but they aren't truthful. It isn't real. It's hard to have trust in that but just trust me. Trust you. I am nothing but a charmy and flourishing lovely cottonball. Haha- joking! But we all are a little vixenous sometimes, right? Perhaps you will see me when we go out, that I enter your mind more and you become more me than I become you. Channel the spirit of the sex! Baby! Who did you think you were!? Don't say you're ashamed... I was truly... a heartbreaker but I am kind? That counts for something right. Hmmmm, what to tell you. I haven't really got a message for you. To be honest I think we're currently on our recreational life. Just do whatever you want dearie. I've got no problem with it. But... do tell your mother something like- love you, when you leave. I know! People, right!? Strange creatures. But you will come to know the greatest of people. The biggest. Bestest. Friends. Ever. Haha- woooooo! I am excited already for you. Anyway- lovely for you to think of me- I always imagined myself to be a celebrity in your life so who knows!? Did we.... do it? Oh who knows! Maybe that's just a fantasy. But romantizing life is what we're made for so- go ahead. Think and imagine and write away. Poetry is lovely. I find you adorable. And if you continue- we might find some treasures along the way.

#pick a card #pick a deck #pick a pile #tarot #pick a card readings #pick a photo #reading #tarot community #past life #past lives #regression #pick a pile reading #pick a pile self #mental health

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prismatoxic · 7 months

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okay, shipping brainrot from my last post aside, i'm still thinking about the shapeshifter arc. the other sites i use don't have inline posting or do but it's clunky, so i guess i'm theorizing here. some of this may seem obvious; bear with me, i'm not trying to be patronizing, just working through things. this will probably be long.

(edit: i've since learned there's canon explanations for all of this. regrettably i don't like them. enjoy my ideas of what would be better maybe? but keep in mind i wrote this before i knew it had been explained anywhere else.)

(edit again: i've done a 180 and come fully around on the canon explanations! i have a lot of thoughts about them but this isn't the post for that. anyway i'm disabling reblogs, sorry. you can still look at this if you want)

laios reveals what he knows of shapeshifters, and that they function on memory:

no one ever really suggests in chapters 39 or 40 who thought of which fake except in the case of which ones laios must have thought of, but i want to posit who i think each one came from, and what it means narratively if i'm right. so, mostly a thought experiment/character study that i could be wrong about or that was never meant to be clearly defined in the first place. but maybe fun to think about? (i'm sure other people have done this before too, but i think it'll be fun to write up.)

from the outset, i think it's worth mentioning that chilchuck knows all three laios fakes are, in fact, fakes. two chilchucks say this, but the one on the right is the real one. senshi and marcille immediately corroborate this, though we can't tell which of them it is except that it's not any of the really obvious fakes.

what i think this suggests is that, brought to the surface, the warped perceptions of the rest of the party that chilchuck, senshi, and marcille have can be easily discerned when compared with the real thing. each of these laioses is from one of them, but they immediately figure out none of them are right with the real laios right there in the room. this is important.

as for who's who...

i think it's fair to assume that giant laios is from chilchuck. laios is the tallest member of their party, at six feet; while chilchuck sees marcille and senshi as their correct heights, laios is a giant to him, and his bulky armor doesn't help. that's why, even if this is his perception, it's glaringly obvious that it's wrong as soon as it's made physical. it's the only big one, and easily falls into the camp of "doesn't seem to know much about monsters" that the others also do.

stupid laios is, i think, from marcille. because the giant one is so likely chilchuck's and i don't think senshi sees laios as someone who stupidly wants to eat everything (even if senshi's opinion of him isn't stellar right now, "i have to eat it" wouldn't be paired with being an idiot to senshi), it tracks that marcille would be the one to remember him this way. to someone who doesn't appreciate their monster eating and otherwise thinks he's an idiot just as much as the others do, dumbly muttering about eating things seems like a reasonable portrayal of laios.

feminine laios, then, is from senshi. i think his physical perception of the other party members is the most off-base; this is likely because he's known them for the least amount of time, and his idea of what they look like is based more on their races than anything else. i think the resemblance to falin might not be intentional--someone suggested to me the other day that the dwarf perception of tall-men is probably more feminine in contrast to how Macho dwarfs are. i think that makes sense (if it ever comes up canonically, i haven't seen it yet). laios and falin do just... look like gender-swapped versions of each other, also. so if senshi sees laios as a feminine person, well... that just winds up looking like falin.

so this leaves us with only the real laios. confronted with their perceptions of him, his friends can immediately tell all three are incorrect.

moving on, we eliminate the three most obvious fakes from the rest of the party, starting with marcille:

if we take into account what i just said about senshi, i think this is his. racial stereotypes about elves being what they are, him not knowing the party as well as the other members do... she stands out, and that's why.

now this is where things start to get interesting.

the next two fakes to be eliminated aren't so blatantly incorrect that they can be struck right out at a glance, but it's not hard to notice the flaws when you look closer, and chilchucks A and B are the ones to point it out. chilchuck is naturally observant; most of his fakes seem to emulate this. (the one who addresses the fakes is A, the real one, but B is proving himself able to pick up on the things A notices. this is important.)

notably, chilchuck and senshi assume these must be laios's versions of them.

we can assume this is correct, if we want to. we can take the framing of this as being an intentional reflection of the truth.

or... or... we can look a little deeper. we can wonder if, perhaps, this isn't a reflection of laios, but a reflection of his friends and what they think of him. laios may not immediately notice the problems, but i don't think it's because he doesn't remember these details. i don't think laios sees much of anything in vague terms; he's observant in his own right, but in ways he doesn't really recognize, nor does anyone else. i think he was so focused on their faces and mannerisms that he didn't notice the bigger picture, glossing over something because so many other factors are at play.

senshi and chilchuck think laios doesn't take notice of things, but the vast majority of the shapeshifter arc is about them and marcille not trusting laios's judgement as it is, given how things went recently. is it possible there's more to their assumptions here than what the text explicitly says? i think so!

so then who do these two belong to? marcille, i think.

if we assume dumb laios is hers, then we can also assume her perceptions of the others are kind of broad and vague. she doesn't think poorly of them, necessarily (at least not in as obvious a way as she does with laios, who, i'll remind you, she's currently upset with), but she doesn't commit unimportant details to memory, like chilchuck's neck band or the damage to senshi's helmet.

we've got three more "obvious" fakes to get through, and laios offers another lore tidbit on how the shapeshifters work:

anyway, the first of the next round is marcille again, setting the stage for how these three next fakes are eliminated.

marcille changes her hairstyle all the time, so this isn't a surprise. the last one pictured here winds up being our next fake, as indicated by her grimoire:

so the fake marcille in this section is the one with the most visibly different hair texture (who even draws attention to this), and the spellbook that's woefully incompetent. i think she's from chilchuck.

he's observant, as i said before; even if he didn't commit her hair to memory, he did remember the stuff she's said about how important hair is to magic. maybe that's why the texture is so striking. more importantly, chilchuck isn't wary of magic quite the way senshi is, but he also doesn't understand it. the general tone of the low-quality grimoire also just... sounds like the way he'd frame something like that. (plus, the "how to turn back time" bit is a thing he specifically called her on when she suggested it a few chapters ago.)

so the next fake chilchuck and senshi are revealed via their tools:

i think the chubby-cheeked chilchuck with the simple lockpicks is from senshi, and i think the ordinary-looking senshi with the simple cookware is from chilchuck. the former speaks for itself--senshi sees chilchuck as a child, and knows absolutely nothing about picking locks. as for the fake senshi, chilchuck has a decent mental image of him but knows nothing about cookware.

so now we're down to the final three fakes, and there's only one person left who they could be from: laios. nobody thinks this, not even laios himself, but i want to explore the concept because i think it has extreme merit. the three remaining fakes have some key similarities between them, namely in that they're all close enough interpretations that making a distinction is difficult. they look a tiny bit different, but both the real people and their fakes make plausible cases for why they're the actual person. i want to talk about why i think laios is the one who made that so, and what that means about him.

chapter 39 ends with all his companions--real and fake--doubting his skills. seeing a pattern?

chapter 40 opens with laios determined to regain his friends' trust in him...

...while his friends (and their fakes) talk about how he's liable to like the fakes more, because they're monsters.

this is a needlessly cruel interpretation of laios, but after how things went post-falin-rescue, it's not a surprise. they see him as reckless and single-minded, more interested in the things he's weird about than in the people around him.

laios is really bad at talking about what he's thinking--not because he's hiding it, but because it doesn't occur to him that it's important. meeting the lunatic magician in the paintings is a prime example of this, but he does it a lot. they likely have no idea why he told toshiro about falin and the black magic; to them, laios was being flippant with sensitive information, not worrying about their safety. to laios? he was trying to get help. he trusted toshiro, and his perception of their friendship made him think the information would help them gain an ally who cared about falin as much as they do. he wasn't trying to put falin or marcille in danger--far from it, in fact. but he didn't tell his friends about his thought process. he didn't think it was important to share.

(he's autistic but we all know this. moving on)

so, we have laios's plan: the pairs cook together, while he watches for behavioral differences to discern who's who. it doesn't occur to him, or anyone else, that the people he's watching for mistakes are his own perceptions of his friends. and now we get into the meat of why i wanted to write this post.

assuming i'm correct... let's talk about laios's view of his friends, and how he challenges those perceptions.

starting with my favorite, chilchuck:

chilchuck A, of course, is in fact the real one. this is a pretty significant character moment for him too, in my opinion; we know he has difficulty expressing his emotions, and that a lot of his conflicts so far have stemmed from that. the fact that "chilchuck B asked for help with a menial task" is a gotcha moment to him is... telling. not only because it's so obvious to him, but because it's not obvious to any of his companions. he thinks they know this about him, but he's never openly expressed anything to make them think this is an issue he'd have, in addition to having sought help in the past.

his "convictions and pride and all that" seems to them like someone trying to convince them of something, not someone reminding them of facts he assumes they know.

anyway, back to laios. if we accept that chilchuck B is made from his memories, this suggests several things. first of all, chilchuck B is, despite his softer eyes and willingness to ask for help, still a fairly accurate portrayal of chilchuck. he's easily annoyed and he's observant, two traits chilchuck is known for. i think the reason chilchuck B has the kinder eyes and the more gentle disposition is because to laios, those things are indicative of someone being a good person, and he very much thinks chilchuck is a good person.

we know laios isn't especially good at reading people in general. thus, his idea of who his friends are is skewed in broad strokes, but not in the ways they think. he knows who chilchuck is, but he also associates chilchuck with his own ideas of what makes someone "good", which results in a chilchuck who's less rough around the edges. confronted with this--the real chilchuck asking him if he can tell--laios compares the two and thinks, reasonably speaking, the nicer one who trusts him has to be the friend he respects so much.

senshi and marcille also want to accept this chilchuck, likely for similar reasons. they also respect and care for him; they've seen him go through a lot. laios's ideal of him is just that, ideal. in a roundabout way, it's only their deep fondness for who chilchuck really is that makes them want to see him this way.

next up, we have marcille.

the fake, marcille A, is a radical departure from what makes chilchuck B a fake. laios notes that the real marcille is exactly the same as she always is. the reason, then, that marcille A confuses him--and the others--is that after everything they've been through, their perception of her has changed radically.

if we look back to senshi and chilchuck's marcilles, it's readily apparent when they're eliminated that both interpretations hinge on the knowledge that she performs black magic. senshi's tries to use it to prove herself; chilchuck's has a grimoire loudly proclaiming it's what she does. contrast this to marcille A: she doesn't mention black magic at all, and her grimoire looks strikingly similar to the real one.

that's because laios doesn't think her performing black magic changes anything about who she is. her doing so proved her to be just as dedicated to falin as he himself is, and the knowledge that her goals involve it doesn't faze him. (additionally, marcille has been teaching him magic, and falin had tried in the past. though his image of a grimoire is flawed to someone experienced, to anyone else it looks fine.) thus, marcille A isn't a flagrant black magic wielder; she's someone who's been fundamentally changed by what they--and falin--went through.

let's go back to chapter 27:

chilchuck and senshi are appalled, and will continue to be. while they ultimately don't prevent marcille from doing this, and care enough about both her and laios (and in chilchuck's case, falin as well) to be in tentative support, this changes their view of her in a negative way. she's dangerous now, in a way she wasn't before, but she's still marcille--goofy and a little reckless. thus, their views of her, and the illusions that result.

laios's opinion of her changes for the better.

she is, all at once, both competent and loyally dedicated. she will stop at nothing to help falin. whatever goofiness she exhibited before now is gone, replaced by the cold demeanor of someone who is doing something extremely dangerous for reasons that are inherently selfish, but ultimately too important to reject.

thus, we return to marcille A: cold, sharp, dedicated. not reckless or goofy, but methodical and haunted. she may have returned to "normal" since they left the castle town, but laios's opinion of her, and understanding of her love for falin, has been forever changed.

so faced with the real marcille--still silly, still whining, still frequently annoyed with him--he's confused, because that's deeply familiar, but it doesn't line up with what he knows about her now.

the truth, of course, is nuanced--these things are true about marcille, but only under duress; it's similar to how laios becomes a competent leader when the going gets tough. she has this within her, but it's not her default state of being. still, the shapeshifter picks up on the strongest memories laios has of her, this new interpretation of someone he thought he knew.

now then--onto senshi, the punchline of this particular joke about the differences between the copies. i still think it says a lot.

i think this one speaks for itself, though i find chilchuck's agreement interesting. senshi is the newest member of the team; little is known about him. laios happily notes that senshi "always looks cool" while chilchuck says he looks normal (and chilchuck B insults the real one). laios sees senshi this way because he thinks senshi is cool as hell, and this manifests in an idealized version of a face he's not as familiar with as he is with chilchuck and marcille.

this is clearly comedy, but it also speaks to the same desire to see the best in the rest of the party. marcille is the only one who notices likely because her opinion of senshi isn't so romanticized. chilchuck's senshi, of note, wasn't a perfect replica: we don't see much of him after the obvious fakes are hauled off, but he's a little squashed (he's the top one):

which indicates that chilchuck's visual memory of senshi is already flawed. if we compare this to giant laios and the marcille with the unique hair texture, it tells us chilchuck's attention to detail is more specific than the others'; he can remember the hole in the helmet, the importance of hair, but he doesn't quite see the bigger picture. giant laios is also surprisingly... rugged? which i imagine has to do with chilchuck's perception of him as a tall-man. (or maybe how he clearly has trouble seeing laios's face half the time, lmao...)

anyway. laios thinks senshi is super cool and chilchuck has an imperfect idea of what senshi look like as it is. (i wonder if chilchuck is some degree of faceblind? not enough to not recognize someone at all, but can't pinpoint specifics.)

and so, we arrive at the moment of truth.

so let's go over what i'm theorizing here... all the remaining fakes are illusions based on how laios sees his friends. the illusions manage to make mistakes that reveal the truth to him, but i think the reason for that harkens back to what laios said earlier... the illusions are being updated over time.

laios isn't considering any of the things that give the fakes away until this moment. if it had taken a little longer to resolve things, maybe they'd have started course-correcting, but they aren't given the chance. laios makes sure they aren't--he acts very quickly. even as he presents the three pairs with his findings, he's aware that everything will fall apart as soon as he does... and he's banking on that. while the shapeshifter illusions defend themselves from being killed, he gets right to the heart of the matter in the only way he knows how: confronting the actual monster involved.

when all's said and done, laios reveals how he figured it out:

potentially of note, all of these details happened before the red dragon fight. chilchuck fighting a mimic and revealing his history with them, senshi gushing about the dungeon's ecosystem, and marcille being attacked by the undine weren't super recent memories. when laios brought them forth in his mind, he had a delay before the shapeshifter updated its illusions.

well... except with marcille. marcille A actually didn't show her hand so easily; it was the real marcille's carelessness that proved her identity.

but what this suggests is that, when confronted with the realities of marcille versus his idealized version of her, laios had to make a choice: did it make more sense for her to have been radically changed by the revival and subsequent loss of falin, or was the presence of a marcille he knew so well proof of an illusion? she was the one who was the most different, and as such, the contrast was the same one that eliminated all three laioses at the start: with the real thing in the room, the fake became apparent.

so, to reach a conclusion: one again, laios has proven he's not as scatterbrained as his companions think, but this time he did so on a more personal level than usual. to them, he reveals that he knows their quirks enough to define them by such when they're otherwise faced with convincing copies. to us, the readers, if we accept what i've suggested here... he's revealed a lot more. he respects, admires, and idolizes his friends, all out of fondness: he wants to see them in an ideal way, whatever that means for each of them as individuals.

anyway thanks for coming to my TED talk

#dungeon meshi #extensive spoilers for chapters 39 and 40 but also a little bit 27 too #I REALLY LIKE WRITING META SORRY. THIS IS LONG #tox.txt

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canadianno · 1 month

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TCOLC AU Bishop refs!

They're done holy FUCK. The art here is kind of old, so some of the proportions are a little wrong, but I don't really mind all that much. 15 hours and 89 layers later, all 5 bishops are done. On one canvas because... I didn't wanna make new ones I'm ngl.

Each bishop has an everyday outfit and a crusade outfit! If you're drawing them at any point (now or in the future) and you have questions about the designs, don't be scared to send an ask my way, I'm always happy to clarify stuff.

(Note: I would greatly appreciate it if people didn't make suggestive jokes surrounding any of the designs, I'm not comfortable with them! Love yall <3)

Ramblings below! Edited note: tumblr likes to completely break my posts when I add a cut sometimes, which happened here, so I'm not gonna put one in hopes that it doesn't kill my formatting again. Hopefully it automatically "read more"s this post. If it doesn't I'm very sorry 🙏

🌿 Leshy: It's to be noted that my Leshy is transmasc, literally just because I think he deserves it, it's cool as fuck. I really wanted to give him the classic top-surgery scars because, I'll be honest, they're fun to draw, but I had to find a reasonable explanation for it because he's not a mammal. Anyway that's how I ended up with an entire evolutionary explanation for why he would have those. I will never be given the chance to explain it in the fic ever, so it shall just be random information I have forever. I love him he's silly.

🍄 Heket: While I am a big supporter of tomboy Heket, I also think she deserves to be cool and wear pretty frills whenever the fuck she wants. She's awesome and her shirt is supposed to look like a mushroom. It's also worth noting that the crosses on the bishops heads are specific, with Heket having two crosses with double prongs. She has them like this in-game and there's probably a cooler explanation for it but. I have my own silly headcanons bc I do what I want! Also, since I can't decide for the fucking life of me if she's a toad or a frog, I've decided she's just. Both. Both of them. Her mom was a frog her dad was a toad. Is this possible irl? No but COTL is a fantasy world I do whatever the fuck I want.

🌑 Narinder: Main thing I note for Narinder is that he has distinct facial markings, you just have to look closely. Another note is that his clothes have a repeating cloud motif because of the fog in the gateway- which, trust, it was his own idea. Lamb doesn't know why he chose it but they're not gonna argue. Narinders' main robes are made of wool, but his crusade outfit is made of cotton so it's easier to repair if damaged. His crusade outfit has the Big Pants because he's mostly gotta fight with his feet now, since most of the time his hands don't function reliably enough to hold a weapon.

🪸 Kallamar: Kallamar is funny to me because he's the only one here who's plantigrade, meaning he's got human-esque legs. Another notable design aspect is that he has a tail, when squids do Not Normally Have Those. That's because my Kallamar isn't fully a squid, and you can kinda sorta blame my mutual for that. Not really it's me who gave him the tail. Anyway, no matter how you draw him or what outfit he's in those 3 dark red jewels on the golden chain thing gotta be on him somewhere- they're sentimental to him. He usually wears them as a crown, but in the crusade outfit they're around his neck to be safer. Also, on the crusade outfit, he has stolen a set of Shamuras gloves. Brat little brother <3

🔮 Shamura: Their main outfit really closely resembles their bishop robes and that is intentional! They made the robes themselves, and it would've been close to an exact match had the Lamb banned them from using golden colored cloth. This is only partially because Lamb doesn't like them, but also because they don't want the bishops trying to start a mutiny, and walking around in bishop robes is a pretty easy way to collect weaker followers like flies. Shamuras' crusade outfit is also pretty unique compared to the others, and one of two reasons is that it's meant to resemble their old crusade outfits when they were younger. The second reason is that they look really cool. The outfit is designed for mobility, mostly, and before you say anything, the hip windows are because Shamura usually holds close range weaponry in the second set of arms and hates the way they snag on fabric when its there.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl au #cult of the lamb fanart #cotl fanart #tcolc au #tcolc au ref #cotl bishops #cotl leshy #cotl heket #cotl narinder #cotl kallamar #cotl shamura #double edit note in the tags: removing the cut did fix it #so again im so sorry if this doesnt automatically 'read more' on the dash!!

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arcanegifs · 24 days

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On Gifmaking:

So season 2's coming soon, and I wanna reflect on making gifs ever since I came back to Tumblr. I can't believe it's been 2 years of making gifs for this show!!!!! Look at how large my folder is lmao

And those are JUST gifs lol

Anyways, over time, my style has changed, especially how I color edit Arcane gifs. I kind of strayed away from a stylized filter color into just something that looks a lot more "natural" and works with the original scene.

Initially, I thought I'd save time, but I ended up not using my old arcane preset PSDs and resulted to coloring almost every scene manually. So in the end, it takes even longer to make them HAHAHA. It takes around an hour and a half for me to make a 10 gif set, basically. It also helps that I have a photography background, so coloring/editing is a lot simpler for me.

Here's a lil before and after of a dark scene (hiiiii viiiiiii <3)

Arcane is a REALLY dark show, but it goes for most of TV shows. Many of them are darker and harder to bring up the lights to make stuff look nice as gifs. Some people don't like to color their gifs, and that's okay. I personally just like color edited gifs more.

I've started learning how to upscale scenes myself, so that I have a better resolution and leeway to make things look "HD" more.

If you're wondering why my stuff look so "crisp", it's a combination of the scene's lighting, my sharpening settings on Photoshop and knowing how to upscale everything into 4k resolution. Of course, doing this needs an extremely beefy pc, which I am very lucky to own one.

Here's another before and after of a nicely lit scene. These are much, MUCH easier to do than all the darkly lit scenes because of shadows and lighting (caitlyn kiramman truly the rizzler <3)

I've been very lucky to be able to essentially take a nice, long break for like a month doing nothing after being so damn busy for the last year and a half, so it's nice that I was able to make a ton of gifs and be chronically online for a short while LMAO.

It's been so fun! But it's time to go back to reality lmao. I closed reqs for a bit because I was just so swamped with them the last few days, and I wanted to gif scenes that I like this time. I've done like 2 weeks worth of gifs. And you will see Vi a lot bc she's on my mind a lot heehee 🥰what can I say, she's such a babe <3

Here's a lil sneak peek, just look at herrrrrrr 🥰🥰🥰 and yeah, 4k upscaled resolution really helps making these tight crops, it's why i never went back to 1080p lol. It's how I’m able to make zoomed in gifs look decent (like the kirammountains gifset lol)

Thank you so much for all the support, likes, reblogs, and the nice tags you guys give. Yes, I can see and read all of them (both the nice and nasty ones lmao). If you have nothing good to say about the characters or my editing style, or anything related to the edit, please I beg you, just write a separate text post about it <3 If you have nothing nice to say, don't say it in my edits.

Lastly, thank you to the people who share my stuff outside the site and credit the blog and link them back here. I see you and appreciate you <3 You guys don't know how much I appreciate shoutouts and link backs, because people stealing my gifs is something that I've dealt with after making them for like a decade.

Tumblr is sadly not what it used to be in the 2013-2015 era. There’s definitely less activity as time goes by, so I appreciate all the people who credit and link back to this sideblog. Unfortunately, there’s more people who just repost them and it gets wayyy much more traction in other soc med sites. Yeah, ofc I get a lil jealous, but eh what can you do 😞 can’t really stop em.

I also don’t like putting watermarks because it personally looks tacky to me, but I understand why other people do it.

Anyways, if you reached at the end of this lil rambling of mine, thank you! I sadly might be busy during November because that's usually busy season, but I'll try to make time for making gifs of Season 2! Thank you and enjoy your stay on this lil sideblog :)

#personal tag #arcane #long post #nothing i just have free time rn and i wanna spend time on it rambling and yes im tagging the public tag lol #goodbye leave hello real life again

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mcflymemes · 4 months

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PROMPTS FROM TASKMASTER SEASON 16 * assorted dialogue from the tv show, adjust as necessary

you look so nice, but underneath it all, you're just a shit.

it's just exciting to know people are talking about me.

i don't want to be in there with some wet guy.

oh, i'm gonna push this bitch.

are you a child of divorce?

to this day, i don't know what vibe i give off.

i know it's annoying, but it's all i've got so... just let me have it.

i've never done that.

i'm actually quite good with a sword.

this is one of the most exhausting things i've ever done.

why didn't i just draw a cock and balls?

i don't know why i said that, 'cause i don't really regret it.

you're easy to look at than i am.

oh, you're here. what a thrill.

you absolute anus!

you've got a friend?

would it be mischievous to say things that i'm not supposed to say?

can i just say, i love weapons.

you made me say every country in europe.

do you have a license?

if i do nothing else in this life, that was worth it.

[name], the heat is on.

what sort of cool things do you want?

stick that in your pipe.

i knew what had happened, and even i was swept along by the narrative.

it was avant-garde. it was french cinema.

good luck with your career.

bit late for a banana.

it was very, very cold that day and i wanted to get it over with.

is that your starting position?

i knew it was something boring.

don't have to tell me twice.

it is the least sexy thing that anyone's ever said to anyone.

i don't like going upside down.

what have i done? oh dear. what have i done?

it's nice, it's harmless, it's warm.

this thing is disgusting.

that's useless. that's worse than useless.

i also agree with them. you are sick.

your pie technique was dreadful.

i really like it when you're disappointed in us.

oh, is there a fire? how awful.

nothing going through my head is family friendly. not one idea.

lovely legs, sir!

you got a problem?

that was heterosexual male banter.

are you a superstitious person?

it's too late for that.

do i just choose a name?

i can drive people crazy.

that is a true story, and i feel a bit sick.

i bought it to annoy my husband 'cause i thought he'd hate it.

i'm well-presented, very smart, and available for no-strings fun round the back of the barracks.

what room am i in?

what's your favorite number?

why is there smoke?

running a business is bullshit.

when i think exercise, i think exorcism.

we're not allowed to work with nature?

we were at a wedding together once, and i made you eat a whole pat of butter.

obviously you want to put it on a penis.

are you joking me?

is this something that would excite a heterosexual?

you're going to get a lot of letters.

i'm gonna go for plan b and just throw some things.

is this your stage persona, or is this what you're like?

i don't know what you mean.

you can hide in there waiting for your victims.

i'm sorry, i nearly killed you.

is it appropriate to call him "sir?"

i just really like the idea of stuffing a massive stick up a mannequin's arse and rotating it like a rotisserie chicken.

i was made for this.

i was told by an ex that i have the hands of a midwife.

is that a compulsive disorder of some kind?

what an absolute shower of shits you are.

#rp meme #mcflymemes #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #roleplay prompt #rp starters #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #rp inbox meme #roleplay inbox prompts #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters #taskmaster

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penvisions · 2 months

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in search of honor {series teaser}

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Alien VS Predator Crossover

Pairing: Younger! Din Djarin x Sacrifice! Reader

Summary: As Din prepares for the ritual of swearing the Creed, he contemplates his past and the future he wants to achieve. On another planet, the one his people are headed to, you are told of your role in the hunt to take place. In the pyramid that everyone knows means death for those that visit. A sacrifice to be made for the Mandalorian's to perform their ritual.

A/N: this is the first tentative writing i've done for the idea that i shared over here. it's just a silly little thing helping me destress from everything going on. no warnings, because i don't have any big ones outlined yet. essentially this is mando'a culture, but the creed is the hunt that takes place for the predators in the alien franchise to prove themselves, fighting aliens and all that fun stuff!

O'r echoy par ijaat.

In search of honor.

It echoes in his head as he stares at the helmet handed to him from the armorer. He's had it in his possession for nearly ten years now, to be worn at all times. never to be removed. not unless it was around his family, his partner, his children. All of which he doesn't have, having been adopted into the culture he is now devoted to. He had been raised by them, taken in when he had nothing. It's finally his turn to earn the title of Mandalorian, after years of training, of sparring, and learning the weapons praised for protection and defense. It's his turn to prove his worth and earn his signet. If he survives the trial, the hunt, devoted himself to the ritual and solidify himself as a true member of the people who had given him everything he could ever remember. Then he would have achieved what they anticipated of him, proved himself.

The weight of his armor had been heavy like his thoughts when he first dressed in them, the heavy padding beneath it adding even more to his then small frame, just a boy. He had barely been seven when he had first been given it, each year it increased in weight as more of the precious beskar was needed to decorate his growing body. But it's something he's gotten accustomed to. He now feels it's absence when he readies for sleep each night and before he dons it each morning. feels the loss of it when he's bathing and eating alone in his room. He's hopeful the thoughts become less so just as the beskar had. A comfort rather than a daunting new reality.

He wants to survive; he wants to earn his place. He only hopes he's strong enough.

It’s not a death sentence, it’s an honor.

And it’s now on his shoulders and the only path he sees to follow.

You're in disbelief. The summons that called you has you standing beside six other eldest children of the most renown families of the city, two other girls and four boys. All varying ages, the youngest is a boy, not even ten. The first child of the family you know heads the cultivation of food for the city. He's openly crying, though his father and your own ignore the shine of the tears on his still chubby cheeks.

It's an honor, a way to serve your family, your community. The sentiment is repeated over and over, in the face of each of you as you're dismissed. The day is tomorrow, has been marked for nearly as long as you've been alive. The pyramid in the middle of the desert an entire night's travel away, even on the fastest ship. In the midst of the never-ending desert that surrounds your city, the only on the planet. To ensure should anything go awry or the hunt go wrong, there was no risk for it to get to the population.

It will become your tomb as you heed the commands of your culture and family, as you lay still and allow for an alien creature to attach itself to you, to use you as a host for the chosen species the Mandalorian’s have honed over centuries and use in their own ritual. A way to prove that their training and fighting is either the best or to see the flaws in which they could improve them in order to continue to develop some of the strongest warriors in the galaxy.

It's a cruel cycle, that you must give your live for another to gain meaning and status in their own. you loathed the life you were born into, the injustice of it. the inability to have control over your own autonomy, raised like cattle and given without argument to further another's notion of honor.

An honor and a way to show your devotion to those that made it all possible for your way of life to flourish and thrive.

A sacrifice you should be happy to play a part in.

But it was death, that much you were certain of. Even as they dress you in the most extravagant fabrics you've ever felt against your skin. Soft silt, plush pelts, heavy jewelry. It was too much to handle, the meaning behind it all, the reason for it all.

It’s not an honor it’s a death sentence.

A weight on your shoulders, but you’d be damned if it’s the only path for you to take.

taglist: @beefrobeefcal @clawdee @hellfire-state-of-mind @tuquoquebrute

@sawymredfox @kiwisbell @morallyinept @itsokbbygrl @sp00kymulderr

@jessthebaker @hiddenbabynyc @littlemisspascal @mosssbawls

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suddencolds · 3 months

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insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.”

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face.

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that.

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation.

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion.

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away.

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand.

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says.

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above.

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable.

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?”

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light.

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek.

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him.

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running.

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

#sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz fic #snz kink #my fic #i needed to get this out of my system 😭 i know its unpolished #i thought i was already baring my soul with the ki//ll//er pe//ter fic but this is so much worse #special apology to my dear friends who have been forced to listen to me talk nonstop about al//n//st (you know who you are) (and if you see #this i'm personally sorry 😭) maybe someday i will write something for them that is less unhinged and perhaps more in character #the thought of kink!iva//n just took hold of me and then this fic materialized #still experimenting with different flavors of writing him... balancing my understanding of his character w this specific kink flavor was #an experiment for sure. like how do you balance concern and desire/selfishness?#i couldn't figure it out so just leaned very hard into the latter #also the 1/? is a placeholder; writing this was already testing the limits of my courage LOL #if i sit here i'll write another 200 disclaimers because i'm embarrassed to be posting this so i'll just schedule the post now

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