#((talk about reaping what you sow!))

[taus-inc]

people saying that blocking celebrities just means you're bitter abt them having money like... no ? it's not about people making money. it's about them not using their extensive resources to help people with none. then they wanna say it's an extension of cancel culture but again... no ? nobody is saying to outright cancel them but to understand that your attention can be put in a different place. these people have had so long to speak up and try to help the people of Palestine or Sudan or the Congo and they chose to put their time and effort into other things. now we will put our time and effort into other things !

and they will continue to be blocked by me even after they start raising awareness bc 1. ik their cult followers will stick w them no matter what anyone says or what they do so they'll always have some type of platform. 2. it gives me the ick that they only want to speak up when people start ignoring them like they ignored the genocide for so long.

[zilabee]

Ringo’s arrival at the Dakota, with Barbara on his arm, was  covered by a phalanx of television cameras and the reporters  who’d converged on the scene as soon as news broke of John’s  murder.

When they were ushered into the Lennons’ apartment,  Yoko only wanted to talk to Ringo; Barbara, she said, should remain in another room. 

“I told her, ‘Look, it was you who started all this. We’re both coming in,’” Ringo said. “Barbara and I do everything together.” 

People, February 23, 1981 (quoted in Ringo With A Little Help)

[americanprometheuss]

CAN YOU HEAR THE MUSIC ROBERT?? CAN YOU HEAR IT?? IS IT CRYING OUT TO YOU NOW?? CAN YOU UNDERSTAND THE FUCKING SYMPHONY SCREAMING IN THE BACKGROUND AS YOU PLAY GOD?? MY AMERICAN PROMETHEUS CAN YOU FEEL THE EAGLE TEARING OUT YOUR LIVER?? CAN YOU FEEL THEM TEARING YOU APART AS RETRIBUTION FOR YOUR SINS, CAN YOU ROBERT?? YOU COMMIT THESE SINS AND EXPECT US TO CARRY THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIONS, BUT ITS TOO LATE TO SHOULDER THEM OFF ONTO US. YOU WISHED TO DANCE WITH THE DEVIL BUT SCORNED OVER THE FACT THAT YOU WERE BURNED, YOU STUPID MAN

[venulus-reblogs]

.

[discluded]

.

[hqmillioncorn]

Lalapril 4/29: Light

guest starring @windupiceheart’s everyone’s good friend b’ig nunh 

Cherrypit ran ahead of his sister. 

She had been acting strange ever since she woke up so he was a little worried. This whole situation was messed up! Why was that meanie doing something like this to them?! What had they ever done to him?!

Cherrypit waited for his sister to catch up as she slowly walked ahead, her hands covering her mouth.

From his waiting place, Elidibus frowned.

...What was the last thing Babycorn remembered?

Was it something about Ardbert?

No, wait. It wasn’t Arbert. It was an Ascian.

She didn’t quite know which one. It felt like she should know.

“Hmm…?”

Babycorn blinked again and again. No matter how many times she blinked, her surroundings stayed the same. Everywhere she looked was a bright white. There were no landmarks, no ground, no anything she could discern.

It felt like somebody had trapped her inside an empty canvas.

Which she really hoped wasn’t the case.There was no time to be trapped somewhere like this! She still had to chase after not-Ardbert and give him a piece of her mind after he decided to bully her and Cherrypit with all these stupid illusions or whatever.

Babycorn paused, then looked around some more, this time with more panic than before.

Could this be another one of not-Ardbert’s mean tricks? Just like the last few? What was his goal in messing with them like this?! Where was she?! 

Where was Cherrypit?!

Suddenly it felt like Babycorn finally woke up.

Her eyes went wide with shock when she realized that it didn’t matter where she was really. What actually mattered was that Cherrypit wasn’t with her. “Cherry? Cherry?!” Babycorn jumped to her feet and called out to him as loud as she could.

Babycorn started to run.

But no matter how much she ran, she got the feeling she wasn’t going anywhere.

It was just like that time she tried to run on a frozen lake. No matter how much her legs moved, she stayed in one place. While everyone else had a much easier time. Including Cherrypit who simply slid across the ice while standing in place.

The memory made Babycorn laugh. It also made her a little bit sad, but she had no idea why.

Regardless, she didn’t have time to feel anything right now, especially since there was still no sign of Cherrypit anywhere.

Babycorn stopped.

She felt her stomach grumble.

“Ow…” There was a sharp pain in both her stomach and head. She couldn’t decide what part to hold in pain. The pain had caught her so off guard that it caused Babycorn to drop to her knees.

Only momentarily though. It took only a few seconds for her to get back up. The pain had disappeared just as quickly as it appeared. “Huh…” Babycorn nervously smiled. It wasn’t her first encounter with sudden pain and it probably wouldn’t be her last.

Living with an eternally bleeding wound on your stomach sort of got you used to that.

Babycorn looked down at her white dress for any abnormalities. Thankfully there weren’t any stains that she could see but she did see something else.

The shadow of someone standing right in front of her.

“Ahh-!!?” Babycorn jumped back in fear. Though she had wished for someone to appear and help her, she never actually expected someone to show up.

Recognizing that she wasn’t alone anymore, Babycorn’s fear quickly switched to curiosity as she looked up to see who had joined her.

The faint image of a dark red-haired miqo'te flickered in front of her. He was wearing a really fancy uniform, though the uniform was a little torn in some places. Almost like he had been in a big fight before this or something.

Or at least, that’s what Babycorn figured.

His eyes were a dark blue and they were looking right down at her. Babycorn gave him the benefit of the doubt. It's not like there was anything else to look at around here anyway.

It was kind of scary but it was nice to see someone here with her. Especially someone who looked like they were nice.

“Hi! My names Babycorn!” She extended her hand out as far as she could so she could shake this stranger’s hand. It was something she had recently learned people did and she was very excited whenever she got the opportunity to try this cool new thing out.

The strange miqo'te remained silent, only staring down at her.

Babycorn did not find this strange one bit.

“Did you get trapped here too?” Babycorn looked around again. Even if the other ten times she had done this had proved fruitless, there was still the chance she might have missed something. “Don’t worry! We’ll find our way out and get back home! I-I’m sure of it!” Babycorn knew she was saying this more to convince herself than this stranger but there had to be something she could do to help!

The weird stranger only watched in silence as Babycorn stepped all around him., desperately looking for anything that would lead them out of where they were trapped.

Suddenly, the stranger spoke.

“Monty. My name is Monty.”

Babycorn looked up in surprise.

“Monty?” It was nice to hear someone else’s voice! “Nice to meet you! I’m Babycorn Corn!” It was polite to also introduce yourself after someone else does. It was something she had also learned by now.

“Don’t worry Monty! I’ll find us a way out of here!

Babycorn still wasn’t sure how they got trapped in here but surely if they made their way in that meant there was a way out, and she was going to find it.

Monty looked down at her.

Their gazes met and Babycorn froze.

She recognized that look.

A terrified smile crossed her face as she began to slowly back away from Monty. “W-We’re not doing anything…” The familiar saying escaped her lips without a second thought. It felt as if she was backed up into an alley in Ul’dah all over again.

Monty stepped closer to her, his eyes glued to her.

“I hate you.”

Babycorn tried to cover her ears.

“How could you?!”    

A number of silhouettes began to emerge from the white surrounding them. They were flickering in place just like Monty was. Babycorn could see their mouths moving but she couldn’t hear anything that they were saying. She didn’t recognize any of them either.

There were so many of them.

All of them looked so different.

“How could you do this to us?!”

Babycorn shook her head, over and over. “I get it! I get it!! You can stop!” It wasn’t like she had forgotten about the people she had hurt back then. How was she supposed to know?! She wouldn’t have known! She must have hurt a lot of people!

Otherwise why would so many people in Ul’dah have hated them?

Suddenly, Babycorn noticed something in front of her.

Monty was stretching out his arm towards her, he was holding something in his hand. Then, without a second thought, Babycorn got closer to see what he was holding. When she saw that it was a simple piece of meol she didn’t think too much about it.

Then it all came rushing back.

The way she had accepted the offer to eat meol, falling under Vauthry’s control, attacking her friends, Thancred telling her that meol was made of sin eaters…

How she couldn't remember how many pieces of meol she had actually eaten.

“This is me.” Monty held the meol closer to Babycorn. “This was me.”

“Stop…”

Babycorn’s desperate whispers were drowned out by the people around her holding up their own piece of meol. A piece of themselves. Telling her that this was them. Whispering their names to her. Shouting their stories to her, how they had died, when they had died.

She had done this. Babycorn had done this. Babycorn was the reason they were dead now.

“Stop! Please stop!!”

She had done this

She did this.

She-

“Hey! Leave her alone already!!”

A very familiar voice rang in Babycorn’s ears.

The next thing she knew, the silhouettes around her and even Monty had disappeared into thin air. The mysterious figures had been replaced with the presence of only one person, but Babycorn couldn’t tell who it was or if this was good or bad.

Babycorn rubbed at her eyes. The light all around them wasn’t doing much to help her see clearly. Even though it was hard to see, there was no way she would ever mistake that little heart shaped antennae for anyone else.

“B’ig Nunh…?”

‘B’ig Nunh’ looked confused to be addressed as such. He looked behind his back and to his sides to see if Babycorn was talking to someone else that wasn’t him.

Because that certainly wasn’t his name.

“Are you talking to me…?” He asked.

Before Babycorn could answer however, she was already at his side, giving him a hug around his legs. “Woah?! Hold on! Let go!!” ‘B’ig Nunh’ raised a leg and wiggled it around as Babycorn continued to hold onto it for dear life.

“B’ig I’m so glad you’re here!!” Babycorn finally let go of her good friend and plopped down onto the ground. “It's so scary in here! Oh! How did you get in here too?!” Surely if he figured out how to enter this weird place he knew the way back out.

“Why do you keep calling me that? That’s not my name!” ‘B’ig’ yelled down at her. He took a large step away from her to make sure that Babycorn would not try and jump on him again. It was already hard enough to shake her off the first time.

He was also a little taken aback, Babycorn was bouncing back so easily. Especially from the little he had seen of what was happening just a few seconds ago.

“Whaaaaaat?” Babycorn couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What do you mean B’ig?! You look like B’ig. You talk like B’ig! And you move like B’ig! Of course you’re my good friend B’ig Nunh!”

Who else could it be??

“My name is Oroden!”

Hearing his name felt like Babycorn had taken a huge tumble, but she wasn’t exactly sure why.

“O-Oroden…?” Babycorn began to retreat into herself. She took a few cautious steps back and looked up a Oroden with a fearful look, which he noticed right away. As soon as Oroden raised a hand up to her to ask her to stop Babycorn quickly jumped back. 

This sort of reaction was pretty much what he had expected before.

“Do you hate me too…?” Babycorn whimpered.

Oroden let out a sigh, scratching the back of his head he wondered how he even got into this situation in the first place. None of the lessons in knightly orientation had ever prepared him for something like this. He decided to take a seat on the ground. Thinking that maybe this dwarf would see him as less of a threat if he was around her height.

He gestured to the ground next to him. “Here. You can sit here.” He watched as Babycorn looked down to the ground then back up to him. It was clear she was still a little scared. Oroden tilted his head and unbeknownst to him that caused the heart antenna on his head (only visible to Babycorn) to wiggle a little.

Babycorn let out a small laugh and stepped just a little towards him. Then a little bit more, until she finally decided to take a seat next to her familiar unfamiliar friend. 

She wiggled herself into a sitting position she liked and smiled. That smile faded into a frown pretty quickly after Babycorn remembered where she was.

“Um…” Babycorn tugged on both of her braids nervously, “Do you hate me too, Mr. Oroden…?”

Oroden looked out into the vast nothingness surrounding them and let out a hum. “Hmm…I would have to say that I still kind of hate you too.”

Babycorn wanted to cry.

“But!” Oroden paused, “I don’t hate you as much as they do.” He used his head to gesture behind him, hoping that Babycorn would figure out what he meant.

“Hmmm…”

Babycorn was confused. From what the others had told her, they had every reason to hate her guts. “Why not?” she asked, “You’re here cause I…I ate you with meol like the other guys, right?” Babycorn felt sick all over again.

Oroden nodded. “Yeah, you did.”

“Knew it.”

“But there’s something else.” His tail swished behind him, curling itself towards Babycorn. “For some reason I can’t find it in me to hate you that much. Almost as if I know you…?”

“You do know me B’ig-!”

“Oroden.” He corrected her again.

“Oh. Right! Sorry!”

It was so strange. Oroden had told her that he wasn’t B’ig, but then why did they look exactly the same? Maybe it had something to do with her? Babycorn wondered if she had somehow managed to make some stranger look completely different just because she wanted some company.

Suddenly, the image of B’ig flickered away for just a moment.

But a moment was all Babycorn needed to see what Oroden really looked like.

In B’ig’s place sat a tall au ra, with dark hair and dark horns. He was wearing a uniform of some sort. One that Babycorn would expect a knight from Ishgard would wear. His clothes looked torn too, just like Monty’s had been.

Oroden noticed Babycorn’s strange look and looked down at her. “Is there something wrong?” he asked.

“No! Nothing!” Babycorn answered earnestly, “I like your horns!”

“Oh, thanks?” Oroden reached up to touch his horns on instinct. Unfortunately for Babycorn it just looked like B’ig was parting some of his hair. If only she had caught more of that au ra guy, she might have thought of more things to compliment him about.

“Well…” Oroden suddenly stood up, extending a hand towards Babycorn. “You should probably wake up now. You don’t want to keep everyone worried.” He knew that Babycorn had spent too much time in here already. Any more time spent here and he probably wouldn't be able to stop the others from going after Babycorn again.

Babycorn was confused. As usual. “Wake up?” Was she dreaming or something?

“You tripped and knocked yourself out while running after Elidibus. Your brother must be worried sick out there.”

Just the mention of Cherrypit was enough to get Babycorn to wake up.

She couldn’t keep her brother worried! Though she was a little sad that she didn’t get to say goodbye to Oroden. He seemed like a nice guy…

With that thought in mind, Babycorn woke up with a jolt.

No…

No, it couldn’t be true, could it?

Had she…really killed her friend?

[theheadlessgroom]

https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/712437287986823168/beatingheart-bride-theheadlessgroom

@beatingheart-bride

“An excellent choice,” Randall nodded, approving of it as he took another sip of coffee: Honestly, he had every confidence in her ability to play any villain, really, but he was certain that she could make a bewitching Queen of the Night...dark, yes, manipulative, yes, truly and utterly wicked, yes...and yet so beautiful, coldly so, like the full moon on a dark, starless night, so irresistible, despite that wickedness...she could play the most vile villainesses in all of opera, and yet he would still be head over heels.

“I’ve always been fascinated by the costuming of operas,” he commented then, noting her comment that the Queen’s true nature was apparent to the audience, just based on what she wore. “They tell a story just as much as the music does, I think...a good opera should be a visual feast too, something for the eyes to enjoy, as well as the ears.” He had been very fastidious when it came to not only crafting the music of his Don Juan, but also included plenty of notes, sketches, and ideas about staging and costuming-something he hoped Emily would appreciate, once it came time for her to don the dress he had in mind for Aminta…

“What about you, Emily? Is there a...particular costume you look forward to wearing someday?” he ventured to ask interestedly-she had a number of lovely get-ups as part of the chorus, but just as her voice had a chance to truly shine when she was in the lead, so would her beauty continue to stun the audience (himself included) with the right wardrobe...

[mantisgodsdomain]

Our genuine advice to anyone who Makes Things is to stop putting yourself down. That's it - just don't put yourself down. We know it can seem hard, but trust us, presentation is important - you've gotta keep from talking your stuff down, you've gotta keep from being rude to yourself, you've gotta keep from being rude to your own work!

Even jokey self-deprication seeps into your brain after a while - we should know! We're still breaking the damn patterns! If you talk down about your work, then eventually you start believing it - you genuinely think your work sucks, because you say it, and your brain echoes that, and that's not a fun space to be in!

Plus, if you're captioning your works like that, it'll seep into your viewer's brain, too. No matter how unsure you are about your work, you still have to treat it like it's good. If you're rock-solid certain it sucks, then just don't caption it - let it speak for itself! The human brain is a horrid little pot of gravy that learns and sticks to patterns, and you have to keep it from digging itself into a rut.

You're the hottest person in the room. Everything you make fucks. You're the best author and the best artist and the best guy who makes things, and you have to say that about yourself or the self-doubt will creep in to all the little cracks and try to fuck you up worse. It might feel fake! It will feel fake at first! It will get better with every repetition. You will get better with every repetition. You just have to get out there and start hyping yourself up.

You are your own biggest fan. Treat yourself like an artist you like, and eventually you'll be an artist you like.

[lil-gingerbread-queen]

This evening's mood: pissed at French people who doesn't like La Marseillaise

[famouslysleepy]

I’m a little too obsessed with the Cyclops’s parts in the cyclops saga of Epic: the musical

I just find myself skipping everyone else just to listen to him and his brothers sing over and over a little too much throughout the day idk something about whatever is going on with the voice effects for him is just candy to my brain

[atlabeth]

(not so) simple finale - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

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 ignore how long every part of this took to come out. i have no excuse. anyways we are finally here at the end!! almost 10k words of proper regency soap opera type shit and it all ends happily i promise. i hope u enjoy because damn this was supposed to be a short one shot and ended up being over 40k lmao

wc: 9k

warning(s): angst, reader is a lil insecure, slightly steamy make out scene, happy ending<333

You’d never been this restless before. 

Your dreams had a part to play in it. They insisted on tormenting you, though not in the usual way. 

No, these dreams would have been pleasant had they come any sooner. For Anthony Bridgerton appeared in near every single one, with his charming smile and soft eyes and hair you always desired to run your fingers through. 

He would smile at you, offer his arm and walk with you all around the park and the city as you talked for hours. He would compliment you, and you would compliment him, and he would court you as a perfect gentleman would. 

He would kiss you, ravenously so. His hands would touch you where no one had touched before, leaving trails of fire in their wake, would unearth feelings you never could have imagined. He would revere you, near worship you, because in this world you never made such ill-advised choices. In this world, you never dragged him into a worthless scheme that ended with a ruined reputation and a broken heart.  

In this world, he loved you just as much as you loved him, and you never did a single thing to make him doubt that. 

But you were not there. 

You were here, in the real world. Where you were in the midst of reaping what you spent a whole season sowing. 

You were roused from that less than peaceful attempt at sleep—though thoughts of Anthony took longer to disappear—by the opening of your door, and despite your visitor attempting to be quiet, you found your eyes fluttering open against your will.

“Oh, dearest,” your mother lamented, “I did not mean to wake you. I apologize; I merely wanted to check on you. I will return later—please, rest.”

“No,” you murmured, and you rubbed your eyes as you pushed yourself into a sitting position. Small movements were much easier, which at least meant a step in the right direction. “No, stay. Please.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. When you nodded, she closed the door lightly behind her and sat on your bedside, laying her hand over yours. 

She whispered your name, her voice already thick with tears that she was trying to hide. “I am so glad you are alright.” 

“You say that every time you come in here,” you said.

“And I will continue to say it.” She shook her head. “You nearly perished. You should consider yourself lucky I am not in here at all hours of the day.” 

You managed a smile, and she sighed. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” you said. “I am still sore, but much better.”

“Good,” she said. “All I can ask is that you continue to get better.” 

“The rest has certainly been nice,” you said. “Am I still a true lady despite my late wakings?” 

“You have always been a true lady,” your mother assured with a slight smile. 

“I believe you may be the only one that still thinks so.” 

“If you are feeling ready, there is a ball in a fortnight,” she said. “It could be a good way to garner good will again.” You gave her a look, and she held up her hands. “I understand how you feel, but your presence is important. There are… rumors floating about, and we must lay them to rest.” 

“Rumors,” you muttered wryly. “That your daughter is an ungrateful wench and will die a spinster?” 

She said your name sternly, and you shook your head. “I read what Whistledown wrote about me—she’s likely written a hundred more. I do not care what any of them think of me, Mother. I am only sorry for the pain it has caused you and Father, and the Bridgertons.” 

“The Bridgerton name is strong enough to weather scandal,” she said. “We have to work a bit harder. And making an appearance in society again, especially with Lord Cardew by your side, will help.” 

You suppressed a scoff at the mere thought of him. You’d been granted such a reprieve from Lord Cardew because of Anthony’s influence, and while you were recovering, no one but family was to see you. But soon—very soon—he would be your entire life. 

“That brings up another question,” your mother said wryly, and when you met her eyes she was giving you a very pointed look. “Are you still sure about this?” 

No, you wanted to say. You couldn’t be less sure about Jonathan Cardew. But you’d dragged your family into this mess of yours, so it was your duty to fix it. 

Plenty of women married much more dreadful men every year. You should have considered yourself lucky that a man of his breeding, of his standing was interested in you at all—especially after the season you’d spent distancing yourself from him and the scandal you’d caused. 

“...Yes,” you finally said. “I am sure.”

Your mother sighed and said your name. “You are sure? You have not reached out to Anth—” 

“There is nothing left between us,” you interrupted. “I know it is not the best situation, and I know it is my fault, but I am making the best of it. All I ask is that you support me. It is hard enough attempting to make my way through this world—I need my mother to be there for me rather than constantly pushing against it all.”

“...Of course,” she said quietly. “And I am so sorry that I have ever done differently. My dear, all I ask in return is that you understand me, as well as the decisions I make. All I want is the best for you, and I know that marriage is not what you desire, but there are things we must do.” 

“Of course,” you said, and your echoing words spurned a small smile from her. “I am sorry that I have always fought you so much. All I could see was my hatred for any kind of union, but all I managed was hurting you and Father, as well as myself, and— and I cannot think of any apology that will be enough.” You shook your head with a mirthless laugh. “I’ve no idea how you put up with me for so long, truly.” 

“I’ve never had to put up with you,” she said. “I realize I may not have done the best job at showing it, but— but I love you more than anything in this world. Everything I have ever done has been for you, my darling. You are the future of our name, and I know you will do an excellent job at carrying on our legacy.” 

“Truly?” you asked softly. 

Your mother nodded as she took your hands and smiled at you. “Truly. Nothing in this world can change my love for you. You are our greatest accomplishment.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat as you smiled as well, and you pulled your mother into a hug. She reciprocated, and tears filled your eyes. You’d missed the comfort of her presence so dearly. 

“I love you too,” you whispered. 

-

“Are you alright, my lady?” 

Your lady’s maid's words snapped you out of the stupor you’d found yourself in, and it was all you could do to attempt a smile. 

“Yes, Julia,” you said. “Quite alright.” 

Her brows furrowed as she draped a pendant around your neck, the cold metal turning your exhale slightly shaky. “Pardon my plainness, my lady, but you are not believable in the slightest.” 

“You have been around me for far too long,” you said dryly. “I request another maid, one that cannot read me so easily.” 

Julia offered a wry smile. “You are stuck with me for now, my lady. What is weighing so heavily on your mind?” 

You stared yourself in the mirror as you turned the question over. It was not as easy to answer as it should have been, not when everything was so out of order. Not when you hardly recognized the reflection staring back at you, wrapped in orange silk and adorned in jewels courtesy of Lord Cardew. 

You were not yourself—you were to be Baron Jonathan Cardew’s wife, a baroness and status symbol to hang off his arm and smile prettily, and Baroness Cardew was who stared back at you. 

Only a few more balls remained until the season came to an end, and though Lord Cardew was doing your family an immense service by giving you a second chance, he did not want to wait much longer to make it official. 

It was all planned out. Your relationship would truly enter the public eye tonight with your dances, you would promenade in open parks to have as many eyes on you as possible. He would call on you and your meager staff would be encouraged to spread rumors. Another ball would pass together, enough to hopefully weather some of the scandal you’d created, and then…

Then, he would propose. 

You would accept. 

And the fate you’d been so intent on avoiding would be sealed. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back the impending tears. 

“I am nervous,” you admitted. “My decision didn’t exactly feel… real. Not until I was standing at the modiste getting fitted for this gown with one of Cardew’s maids. And all this jewelry…” Your fingers trailed across the raised designs on the pendant. “It makes it even more so.” 

“I can only imagine,” Julia said. “He has certainly put in effort.” 

“And yet it all feels hollow.” You moved away from the mirror and stopped in front of your vanity. The light blue reticule sitting near your jewelry box felt as if it was mocking you. 

Julia said your name with a sigh. “You made your choice. You pushed him away.” 

“I know,” you murmured, tracing the embroidery with your finger. “But feelings do not disappear so quickly.” 

“He wrote letters,” she said. “After you moved from Bridgerton House to recover here, after I refused his calling on you for the hundredth time, he wrote letters and delivered them by hand.” 

You picked at a loose strand of white thread on the purse, jaw clenched so tight you thought your teeth might crack. 

“He told me he did not care if you didn’t want them,” Julia continued softly. “He just needed you to know how he felt.” 

“This is how it has to be,” you finally said, voice shaking. 

“And what makes you think that?” Julia challenged. “You believe you have to live a life of misery simply because half the ton does so in the name of reputation and riches?” 

“Two things I no longer have any of,” you murmured. “Cardew’s pedigree is enough to get both back for my family. It is my duty, Jules, and I can no longer hide from it.” 

Your lady’s maid looked at you with desperation in her eyes when there was a knock on the door followed by your mother calling your name. You nodded your permission and she opened it.

“Lady Worthing,” she said, curtsying just so to your mother. “I’ve finished getting her ready—I’ll give the two of you some time alone.” 

“Thank you, Julia,” your mother said with a smile. She turned back to you, her eyes softer than ever as she moved forward and set her hands on your shoulders. 

“My darling,” she said, “you look so beautiful. I did not lie when I called you the crown jewel of our family.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at her compliment, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. “Thank you, Mother. I’m glad I can make you proud.” 

She murmured your name, turning you so you faced the mirror. You saw yourself more this time, feeling more assured with your mother standing behind you holding all the stars in her eyes. 

“I have always been proud of you, darling,” she murmured. “Even if I did not show it in the best way. I love you more than words can express. I meant it when I said you are our greatest achievement.” 

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back against her. She allowed you to sink into her and you felt the tears brimming in your eyes. 

“...I’m afraid, Mother,” you whispered. “To marry. To be a wife.” 

She was silent for a moment, busying herself with adjusting your jewelry before she spoke.

“I was afraid too,” she admitted. “I hardly knew your father outside of a few promenades, and one lovely bouquet of flowers. It was almost fully arranged by our parents. But when he proposed, he vowed to always be my friend, and to always take care of me.” 

“Has he?” you asked. 

“Yes,” she said. “We did not love each other on our wedding day. But he has always been kind to me, and he has always advocated for me, and we have always been there for each other. We love each other now, in our own way. And,” she smiled, smoothing down the lace on your sleeves, “together, we brought you into the world. I would do it all over again if it meant I would get you in the end.” 

You could not imagine considering Lord Cardew a friend, nor the opposite. He saw you as just another pretty jewel to adorn himself with. 

Anthony saw you as a friend— as more. He always listened to what you had to say, always entertained your jokes with some of us own, never talked down on you. He saw you as an equal. 

 “I do not know if any woman is prepared to marry,” she finally said. “Even those that marry for love still have initial doubts. There are so many expectations of our behavior when we are told so little of what we must actually do.” 

“How do you do it?” you asked. “You married a man you didn’t know. You raised a child. You held face against a society that shamed you for only having a daughter.” 

“All you can do is trust in yourself, and in those around you,” she said. “If you are with the right person, everything will feel as natural as breathing. You will not care what anything thinks of you, because there is only one opinion that matters.” 

There was one man you felt natural around, one who you felt you could speak your mind around and not be judged. One man that you’d fallen in love with, that surely hated you in return for what you’d done to him. 

Your voice came out as little more than a whisper. “What should I do, Mother?” 

“You know what you must do,” she said softly. “All I can do is support you.” 

-

You’d rubbed your palms on your dress at least fifteen times since you’d arrived. A fruitless effort, considering you were wearing gloves, but you could not stand still. 

Your conversation with Lord Cardew had taken everything out of you, your dance with him even more so—an especially damning fate seemed ahead of you. But you could tune him out well enough, at least. 

It was an entirely different deal when the Bridgertons showed up. 

Violet walked in arm and arm with Anthony and Benedict, and Colin had a loose hold on Eloise. And to make matters worse, Daphne Bridgerton, alongside her husband the Duke of Hastings, were making an appearance. What an honor, to have the chance to embarrass yourself in front of such highly ranking nobles. 

Eloise branched off immediately after they passed the threshold, much to the protests of her mother, but your mother immediately pulled you in their direction. You could only imagine her thoughts—if she could get the Duke of Hastings touting for the Worthings, that would make things much easier.  

Anything for the optics, you supposed. But when you met Anthony’s eyes for the first time, you had to avert your gaze. He just looked so damn sad. 

“It is good to see you again, Violet,” your mother said. “And it is an honor, Duke and Duchess Hastings.” The both of you curtsied, and you could see the Duke’s slight smile. 

“I consider it my honor to meet the woman who has been the center of such conversation this season,” he said. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and thankfully Violet stepped in. 

“It is good to see you as well, Cecilia.” Violet smiled as she looked at you. “Especially you, my dear.” 

You bowed your head. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton, Duke Hastings. I am grateful to be here.” 

Benedict smiled, the notion warmer than anything you deserved. “You look lovely, Miss Worthing. Especially for someone who escaped death with such recency.”

Anthony’s eyes remained on you the entire time, and more than anything you wished you could read this mind. The man probably hated you, and he had every right to do so. You just wished your feelings for him weren’t so insurmountable. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled as believably as you could. “Thank you, Mister Bridgerton. You also look well.”

Your mother nudged your shoulder and your gaze met Anthony’s once more. He still hadn’t looked away from you. 

You bowed your head once more. “Lord Bridgerton. It… is good to see you.”

No wonder you actually ended up falling in love with Anthony. It was the only way anyone could believe this ruse—you were quite an awful actress. 

Anthony lowered his head as well, his poise stiff. “A pleasure, Miss Worthing.”

“We’re glad to see you’re doing well,” Violet said, her smile a bit thin. You could only imagine the conversation that would occur between her and your mother later. “You caused us all quite a scare.”

“Oh, Anthony was so worried,” Daphne said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’m thankful we have the chance to attend this ball so I could see you in person.” 

“I’ve recovered well,” you nodded, and you looked at Violet. “My family and I thank you immensely for your kindness and your doctor’s care. We’ll be in your debt endlessly.”

“There is no need for that,” Violet said. “It is enough that you are still here.”

Your cheeks burned but you tried to smile anyways. You wanted to burrow into a hole and never come out. It seemed the Bridgertons were capable of endless grace in public when they surely had to despise you. 

“Eloise has run off somewhere over near the strings,” Benedict provided in the silence. “I’m sure she would appreciate your companionship tonight.”

You glanced at your mother and she nodded, and your smile at Benedict was much more genuine. “Of course. I’ve been meaning to talk with her.” 

You mouthed thank you to him when your mother could not see, and he nodded. He’d always been so decent to you. 

You could not help but glance at Anthony as you went, and his gaze followed you. He would resent you if he had any sense, but it seemed the opposite—the sadness in his eyes was fatal.

You took a glass of lemonade from the refreshments table when you passed it, needing something to do with your hands. You found your way to Eloise’s side soon enough, and her eyes lit up when she caught sight of you.

“It is so good to see you,” she breathed. “I’ve only just arrived, and I’ve already had to fend off suitors. They just cannot seem to understand I hold such little care for them.” 

“I am just as glad to see you,” you admitted. “I do not think I can get through this night alone.” 

“I cannot imagine why,” Eloise said sarcastically. “I’ve heard the news. And I must say, it is your poorest decision this season.”

Your laugh was mostly out of surprise, and you nearly dropped the flute of lemonade you were holding. You were on edge far more than you expected—you almost wished your glass was full of champagne. 

“At least somebody is speaking plainly,” you murmured, your gaze distant and unfocused. “I think the rest of your family must hate me, but they’re all too kind to say it.” 

Eloise frowned. “Why would any of them hate you?” 

Your grip tightened on your glass. “Because I caused an immense scandal and then ended things with Anthony?”

She huffed a laugh, her eyebrows now rising. “Our family has weathered many a scandal, and we are still here. Or have you forgotten how Daphne’s dearest husband chose to court her?”  

“That is different,” you insisted. 

“I think it is worse, actually,” Eloise said plainly. “Simon is a duke, and Anthony nearly killed him before Daphne knocked some sense into him.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Truly, it was a disaster. We Bridgertons have a knack for them.” 

“As do I,” you said with a loose laugh. “I was stabbed, Eloise. I nearly died in your brother’s arms.” 

“And we nearly died in our drawing room,” she said. “Anthony, most of all. He cares for you immensely.” 

“Surely he cannot,” you insisted. “Not after what I’ve done.” 

“I am not blind,” Eloise said, “and neither are you. So do not demerit our intelligence and pretend as if you do not see it.” 

“I— I know.” You wrapped your arms around your midsection, and you grimaced as the jewelry on your wrists brushed against your skin. You were covered head to toe in finery that didn’t belong to you, and you itched from the inside out. “But I don’t know where to go from here.” 

“It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?” Eloise looked across the room, where Lord Cardew stood talking to your mother, and then over at her brother, who couldn’t have been less interested in the lady trying to strike up conversation with him. Then her gaze fell to you. “You’ve got a choice to make.” 

“I’ve already ruined things,” you murmured. “I— I can’t just back out of this.”

“I can tell you that you certainly haven’t ruined things with my brother. And Lady Whistledown’s speculation is the only thing binding you to that lecher.” Eloise shrugged. “You’ve already broken off one courtship. What’s another?”

Your eyes met Anthony’s from across the room. Once again, he’d already been looking at you. You averted your gaze quickly, feeling the heat rush to your face, and you tried to steady your breathing. He had no right to still have such an effect on you. 

“I need some air,” you murmured. “Will you—”

“Of course,” Eloise said. “You are simply touching things up in the powder room.”

You nodded your thanks and slipped out of the ballroom, finally able to drop the facade you’d been trying to uphold. You truly felt as if you were overheating, and the cool air was hardly of aid once you reached the outdoors.

Everything was all wrong—your dress, this damned tiara, the bracelets and the necklaces and every jewel that Cardew thought he could buy you with. 

It all belonged to him. You would not be another prize on his shelf. 

You couldn’t help yourself. You began to shed the jewelry as your pace sped up, ripping bangles from your wrists and pendants from your neck—by the time you reached a deserted area of the gardens, you were considerably lighter and considerably close to tears. 

You let out a frustrated sob as you slammed your fists against some artistic stone structure. It earned you nothing but pain, but it grounded you in some strange way. You tore off your gloves and threw them to the ground, a shaky breath escaping you as you screwed your eyes shut and  pressed your palms to your forehead. 

You could not marry traditionally, you could not follow through with your feelings for Anthony, and now you could not follow through with this ill-advised plan. 

Were you truly this useless? To bring ruin to two families with your knack for destroying things for it all to amount to nothing? You waxed poetic about the life you thought you deserved to live, about going to university and gaining your independence and never marrying, and yet here you were, near tears in the gardens of the ball you were meant to reenter society at. 

“Miss Worthing.”

The whispered words blared through the silence, and you knew who it was without having to turn around. It still sent a shock through you, your breathing faltering for a moment. Your eyes stayed shut. 

“Why are you here?” you asked, your voice watery. 

“You do not know me if you think there is anywhere else I would be,” he said. 

“How did you find me?”

“I followed the trail of jewels. You’ve left an awfully expensive path in your wake.”

“All of it is worthless,” you mumbled, finally letting your hands drop. “It all belongs to Lord Cardew.”

“You’ll have made a magpie very happy.” 

“Enough with the jokes,” you said. “Why are you here?” 

“Why do you think?” Anthony asked with a slight laugh. 

“I do not know,” you responded. “That is why I asked.” 

“I am here because I want to talk to you,” he said. “You cannot just avoid me for the rest of the season.”

You turned away. “I can try.”

“I will not let you,” Anthony enunciated. “I will not let you make the biggest mistake of your life because you believe it is your duty.”

“If you are here to change my mind, you are wasting your time,” you said stiffly. 

“I don’t believe I have to do anything,” Anthony said. “It looks as if you’ve come to the conclusion yourself.” 

“And what makes you think that?”

“You have not even glanced in Cardew’s direction this entire night,” he said. “You’ve been looking at me instead.” 

“Because I have felt your eyes on me with every moment.” 

Anthony huffed. “Can you blame me? This is the first time I have seen you since that night.” 

“Then you should remember my words from that night,” you bit out. 

“Why are you so intent on pushing me away?” Anthony begged. 

You scoffed. “Why are you so intent on bothering me?”

“Because I cannot stand here and watch you marry another!” he exclaimed.

Your brows furrowed and you turned around. Anthony stood in front of you, his outfit impeccable but not at all looking put together. Desperation colored his eyes, and you saw how truly undone he’d become. 

“I— I thought I could, but I cannot.” He shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw as he glanced away. “Every moment you are in the vicinity of that man is a test of my strength. And I do not know how strong I am.” 

“I don’t understand,” you said hollowly. “You should hate me.” 

“I could never hate you,” Anthony murmured. “I thought I could, when you first told me of your plans, but— but I could hardly even dislike you.” A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he shook his head. “My mother had been bothering me for nearly a decade to find a wife and settle down, but I thought love was a fool’s game. I would have my fun as a bachelor, and then settle down with the most advantageous match. There was no need for further emotional baggage—when you love, you can lose. And I refused to lose again.” 

For a moment, your heart stopped in your chest. He lost his father, he nearly lost you, and then you pushed him away like he meant nothing. 

“Anthony—” you whispered, but he shook his head. 

“Please,” he said. “I have a lot to say.” 

You nodded, and he did as well. 

“Our deal was perfect for that. You were nothing but my sister’s nuisance of a friend—a bad influence that I could never see as more.” You could not help your soft laugh, and Anthony’s smile turned a bit more genuine. 

“But then we spent more time together. I… truly began to know you.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “You shattered every preconception I had of you. I began to look forward to our meetings, to our promenades—I would get home from calling on you and could think only of the next time I would see you.” 

“Throughout it all, you made me realize I was worthy of love,” he said. “You— you made me realize that I wanted it. That I wanted you.” His throat bobbed, and you could see his eyes glistening. “That I loved you.” 

You could hardly find the strength to speak. You felt as if you could melt into a puddle at his feet just from his words. You were so intent on avoiding Anthony because you couldn’t stand the thought of hurting him anymore— you believed he would be better off without you, without the scandal you’d dragged him into. 

But he… he loved you. 

He loved you just as you loved him. 

“I do not expect you to share any of my notions, and I know you value your freedom more than anything,” Anthony murmured. “So if it is not me you wish to be with, I understand, and I will accept it without complaint. I just beg of you—do not become that wretched man’s wife.” 

All you could do was stare at him for a moment more, words beyond your reach before you finally managed to speak through your emotions. 

“I tried to tell myself the exact same thing,” you said softly. “That you could not be happy with me. That I could never be happy chained to another—truly, that I could never love. Not when freedom is what I have always desired most. But Anthony…” you moved forward until you were mere centimeters apart, unable to suppress the shiver that ran through you at the proximity, “I have never felt more free than when I am with you.” 

“Miss—” Anthony started, but he paused and shook his head before saying your first name instead. His eyes were softer than anything. “Are you truly…?” 

“I could never fathom you sharing my feelings,” you said thickly. “That is why I pushed you away. But I love you, Anthony Bridgerton. And I think I have loved you for quite some time.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, turning away so as to not betray the fullness of your emotions, and though you opened your mouth to provide some excuse, you were not granted the chance. 

Anthony’s hand encircled your wrist, pulling you back around, and just as soon did you feel his lips against yours. The tightness in your chest dissolved almost immediately as you all but fell into him, Anthony wrapping his arms around you to support you as your hands found purchase on anything they could. 

Your focus became devoted solely to the feeling of him, his soft lips against yours even as they plied for access. Anthony held you as if his only desire were to protect you from the world, and it made you feel a way you’d never even imagined. Only when air became a necessity did he pull away, his labored breaths in contrast to the pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Never in a thousand years did I think you would feel the same,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face on either side as he gazed into your eyes. “I thought myself a fool, falling for the one woman I could not have. You’ve no idea the relief it brings to hear you share my feelings.”

“I suppose I am just as foolish as you,” you breathed. Your heart felt as if it could burst. 

The corners of his lips quirked up in a smile. “I cannot imagine what my mother would think—that after so long spent searching for a wife, I fell for the one woman who never wanted the title.” 

You let out an airy laugh, relishing the feeling of his skin against yours. “Nor did I see myself falling for the one man who resented the chains of marriage as much as I.” 

Anthony pressed his lips against yours once more, and your hands traveled up until they tangled in his hair. You kissed until you were nearly breathless, but Anthony still managed to pull a very unladylike sound out of you as he bowed his head, kissing down the line of your jaw, your neck, until his teeth nipped your skin just above your decolletage.

“Anthony,” you gasped, clenching your fingers as they buried themselves further into his dark locks. You had never been this close with a man before, never this intimate — you never thought you would even desire it. 

But Anthony lit a fire inside of you that only he could quench, and yet the only thing he seemed to do was stoke it further. It was equally maddening and dizzying, the control he so effortlessly had over you. 

“I never knew how much I would delight in hearing you say my name,” he murmured, his lips trailing against your skin. “No more Lord Bridgerton, I beg of you.”

“I should think I’d like to hear you beg—” you breathed, but Anthony cut you off yet again as he pulled you into another searing kiss. You could hardly stand it anymore as your hands fell down to his shoulders, and you pulled away for just a moment as you began desperately undoing his waistcoat, Anthony taking the hint and removing his jacket. 

“These buttons were not designed with the needs of a lady in mind,” you huffed in frustration, fumbling fingers failing to make progress, and Anthony chuckled breathlessly.

“Have we finally found something I best you in?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Just take it off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

You groaned as you looked at him. “If you insist on teasing me this way, Lord Bridgerton, I shall go back inside and act as if nothing has happened.”

“There is no need for idle threats,” he defended, and you bit back your smile. Anthony made deft work of his waistcoat, and the second he tossed it aside he was back on you. 

“Besides,” his voice was a whisper a millimeter from your ear, and warmth blazed in your core, “I believe I told you to call me Anthony.”

“And I believe you should have to try harder than that.” You smiled into his kiss as you trailed your nails down his back, the thin fabric of his dress shirt doing little as you felt his involuntary shiver. 

“You’ve no idea the effect you have on me,” he groaned, once again dipping his head as he peppered even more kisses down your neck, sliding down the sleeve of your dress to allow himself better access. 

The night air on your newly freed skin did little for you, any coolness of the breeze instantly negated by the heat of Anthony against you. Your nails dug into his back as he moved down, each spot where his lips touched your skin erupting with fire. 

You gasped out his name, barely able to handle it—the feeling was so foreign yet familiar, as if you had been waiting all your life for Anthony in this way. 

You could hardly believe you nearly lost it of your own accord. 

“It appears I do not have to try hard at all,” he said, “the way you cry out for me.” 

You laughed breathlessly, though his words were indeed true. You knew, in this moment, that you would do anything for Anthony Bridgerton—and he would do anything for you. “How I fell for a man as irritating as you, I haven’t the slightest.” 

You caught the slightest glimpse of his grin before he ducked his head yet again, and he had only just begun pushing both sleeves of your dress down when a woman’s voice could be heard behind you. 

“Anthony— oh!” 

The unfamiliar voice struck fear into your heart you had never felt the likes of before. Anthony moved away from you quicker than you’d ever seen, you just as hasty as you tugged the sleeves of your dress back to where they belonged and attempted to smooth out everything that Anthony had so easily sullied. 

You’d never imagined this was how your reputation would be ruined, with Anthony Bridgerton in the gardens of some ball, but when you finally had the sense to look and see who had caught you in a most uncompromising position, you could hardly stifle your incredulous laugh. 

“Sister?” Anthony questioned in disbelief, so many emotions warring on his face you had to turn away to cover up your growing grin. 

“Anthony,” Daphne greeted in kind, fighting to conceal her smile as her eyes drifted to you. “Miss Worthing.” 

“Your Grace!” Your shaky fingers were hardly of use to you as you pulled your gloves back up to where they belonged and once again ran your hands down the skirt of your dress to smooth out the wrinkles. Your cheeks burned under her gaze and you were innately aware of the fire underneath your skin brought about by Anthony’s touch in contrast to the cool night air. “What brings you here?” 

“Mother was quite… nervous about tonight,” she explained. “She indulged in one too many glasses of champagne, so she is taking her leave with Benedict for aid. She requested I find you to alert you of her departure, but it seems she was not the one whose disappearance should have been questioned.” 

“I’m sure you know this is quite compromising.” Thinly veiled amusement crossed Daphne’s face as she eyed you pointedly. “I am afraid you must marry him at once Miss Worthing, else I shall have to duel you to protect my brother’s honor.” 

You laughed breathlessly as Anthony looked up at the sky, his face turning a deeper shade of red than you had ever seen. “Your Grace, are you suggesting that I have ruined him?” 

“Indeed I am,” she confirmed, and you could see how it took every muscle of her being to retain a serious image. “This is not a light matter, miss. I do not understand why you are laughing.” 

“Daphne,” Anthony groaned, avoiding her eyes as he occupied himself with his jacket. “Why do you insist on being a nuisance?” 

“Anthony,” she inflected his name the same way he did hers, “I cannot have this woman sullying your name! I know it was of no will of your own, but this can not stand as is. But do not worry; I am prepared to defend your honor to my last breath.” 

“My sincerest apologies for what I have done, Duchess Hastings,” you responded gravely. “I am prepared for pistols at dawn.” 

Anthony huffed as he buttoned his waistcoat back up then went to retrieve his jacket from the bushes. “You exaggerate, the both of you. This cannot be what I was like last season.” 

“You were worse, brother. But do not worry,” Daphne said with a grin, “I should think a taste of your own practices is only fair after all you put Simon and me through.”

Anthony sighed with a slight roll of his eyes. “I… suppose… that it is what I deserve.” 

“Thank you, brother,” she said. “I only wish we had a witness just so your confession is forever remembered.”

“I wish Mother had not sent you to seek me out,” he responded dryly. 

You and Daphne exchanged smiles with each other before your expression sobered slightly. “ I ask quite a bit of you with this, Your Grace, but… may I count on your discretion? I know we jest, but my reputation truly could not handle something like this. I do not know if…” you glanced at Anthony before looking back to her, “if we are yet ready to seal our union.” 

“Of course,” Daphne nodded, and a relieved smile tugged at your lips. “I shall not tell a soul.” 

“Thank you eternally, Your Grace,” you expressed, but at your short curtsy she shook her head.

“Please, call me Daphne.” She offered a smile of her own, slightly coy. “After what I have just witnessed, I’ve no doubt you will be joining our family soon enough.” 

“Sister!” Anthony scolded, and when you glanced at him his entire face was dusted pink, even the tips of his ears. It was enough to make you swoon. “You cannot just say things whenever you see fit.” 

Daphne merely shrugged, joyfully indifferent to her brother’s protests. “I outrank you now, dearest brother — I believe I can say whatever I see fit, particularly when it is the truth.”

“You are truly impossible,” Anthony muttered as he shook his head. 

Daphne just smiled before she looked back at you. “I believe it best if the two of you leave at separate times, so as to not allow room for any rumors. Miss Worthing, you should go first and return to your mother; you can claim you simply needed fresh air. Anthony and I will stroll around the grounds for a bit before allowing ourselves to be seen — we are simply catching up after such a stretch spent at Clyvedon.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you smoothed your mussed hair and wrinkled dress for the last time. Anthony certainly did a number on you, in more ways than one. “Thank you again, Your—” you caught yourself, correcting your error with a small smile, “Daphne. 

“You may count on me in the future whenever I am in London,” she reassured. “It is my hope anyway that I shall be able to welcome you to the family officially.”

“Daphne!” Anthony exclaimed yet again, glaring at her. “Might you take your leave so we may have a moment alone?” 

“I believe you just had quite a few moments alone,” Daphne said, but a pointed look from her brother had her conceding with a smile. “Alright. I will be by the trees when you need me.” 

Anthony turned to you with an odd look in his eyes when Daphne was out of hearing distance, and when he did eventually speak, his voice was far softer than usual. 

“Do you truly believe I would not marry you?” he asked, and the underlying hurt in his voice did not go unnoticed. “Even if there were not the risk of a scandal, I would not hesitate. My entire heart lies with you.”

“It is not you, Anthony,” you sighed with a slight shake of your head. “I do not… I do not know if I am even capable of marriage.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“I have spent my entire life running from it,” you said, chuckling softly, “and yet, here I am, the one thing I never thought I would be.”

“In love,” Anthony realized, and you nodded. 

“It has always been easy enough to denounce marriage when I’d never experienced anything of the like. The union of my parents was for convenience rather than love, and for as long as I’ve been alive my mother has tried to drill it into my head that my feelings did not matter — so long as the man had the means to provide for me and was not completely awful, he was satisfactory.”

“A future like that— it was so completely absurd to me that denouncing it all was the easiest thing in the world. And then I nearly died and my entire world changed, and I decided that Cardew was the best option to allow myself to completely separate emotion from marriage, but now…” you looked at Anthony, feeling more vulnerable now than ever. “I have found a love in you I’ve never thought possible, and I cannot stop imagining a life with you. And that terrifies me more than anything.” 

“But…” you trailed off again and you turned away from him as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “But I do not know how to approach my future, especially one where we are so closely intertwined.” 

Silence hung in the air for a noticeable period before Anthony cleared his throat, and it was obvious the care he put into his words. 

“You know I never imagined I would marry for love. Truly, I never intended it—I expected to be miserable in marriage. I saw it as nothing more than another duty to take care of. I believed that love was trivial, a ridiculous distraction. You are the one who made me see differently.” 

You turned around with slightly wide eyes, your arms wrapped around your midsection doing little to ward off the cool night air that seemed far colder than it was before. Anthony’s gaze never left yours, the softness in his own at odds with the pure, unbridled passion. 

“I love you. Though I have only just allowed myself to accept the fact, you are someone that I cannot imagine living the rest of my days without. There was…” his throat bobbed as his voice crackled slightly, “there was a moment when I feared the worst, that you would permanently disappear from my life. And ever since you were all but brought back from the dead, I have known that you are the only woman I wish to be with. It is why as soon as I left you, I asked my mother for this.” 

Anthony took a box out of his pocket, and you gasped as he got down on one knee, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. 

“This is the ring my father proposed to my mother with, and their love was beyond anything I have seen before. But it is the love that I feel for you, something so strong, so overwhelming— something I never thought I would experience. And yet here I am, madly in love with the one woman who scorned me with every word, and only pursued me because of my brand as a lesser evil.” 

A laugh bubbled out of you, the sound slightly muffled through your gloves, and you could not help it as your eyes began to fill with tears. 

“I admire you; all of you. The part that loves her family with every part of her being, that looks out for those with less than her when those more fortunate turn a blind eye. The part that fights for the rights of her sex when it is so much easier to just bow one’s head, that puts her happiness on a rightful pedestal— the part that is so terrified to share herself with others and yet deserves a love of the purest form.”

“And I am aware of how the unknown is a fear of yours, as it is one of mine. But I assure you—” Anthony’s voice was filled with such passion, his eyes with such love, that you could hardly stand it, “—I will be there for you every step of the way. We will face our fears as one, and we will shape the future ourselves, not to be bound by anyone or anything.” 

“I do not know where my future will lead me, but I know I do not want to face a single second of it without you. If you do not feel the same, I understand, but I will not be able to live with myself if I do not at least try. It is why I ask you,” Anthony said your name with more love than ever before, “will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, a smile breaking across your face even as tears of joy streamed down your cheeks. “Yes, yes, I will marry you!”

Anthony let out a sigh of relief as he grinned, and after he slid the ring on your finger he stood up and pulled you into a breathless kiss. Nothing picture perfect like you’d heard about as a young girl, the kind of effortless gentleman’s act— Anthony kissed you with pure passion, love, desire, and it nearly brought you to your knees. You thought it would have, were it not for Anthony’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you against him and supporting you. 

You could hardly believe the same man who treated you as if you were glass after your injury was the one standing before you now, the one who handled you in such a way that could get the both of you exiled were anyone to see—the one that you thought hated you.  

And you were more than willing to allow it to continue, to surrender yourself fully to your baser instincts, when you remembered something that made your eyes widen.

“Your sister,” you murmured between kisses until you finally managed to pull away, albeit reluctantly. “Daphne is still waiting.”

Anthony laughed breathlessly as he pulled you back in, and your earlier protest was shown to be completely nonsensical. “Let her wait.” 

You grinned as he peppered kisses down your neck, enjoying the sensation until you pushed him away. “Anthony.” 

He groaned. “Why must you be a better person than I?”

“Believe when I say it pains me,” you said. “But the last thing we need is yet another scandal by my hand.” 

“Let them know,” he said, taking your hands in his. “Let all of London know that I love you, that we will be wed. I do not care what we have to face so long as we face it together.” 

“The thought has never been so tempting,” you murmured. “But you should at least alert your sister. It would be improper to make her wait out here all night for nothing.” 

His grip tightened on your hands. “So you do wish to leave together?” 

“Anthony, I just accepted your proposal,” you said with a laugh. “I wish to spend the rest of our lives together.” 

“I believe tonight is a good place to start, then,” he grinned. 

Anthony would not let you leave his side, so you went to Daphne together. First she saw your smile, then her gaze drifted down to your hand—she looked knowingly at her brother, though she could not hide her smile either. 

“It would appear as if I was right,” she mused. “I am always right when it comes to you though, Anthony, so it is not much of a surprise.” 

“Do not mock me,” Anthony said. “I could have left you waiting by the bushes all night.” 

“If you had not proposed to her after the conversation we had the other day, I would have questioned your sense,” Daphne said. “Trust me, I would not have been here long.” 

Your eyebrows rose. “What conversation?” 

“We do not need to start on this,” he said with a pointed look at his sister. “I have already bared my entire soul tonight. I do not need my sister embarrassing me further.” 

“Oh, I would never,” Daphne drawled. “After all, there will be plenty of time for us to gossip together when I come to visit you all.” 

“Won’t you be busy with your child?” Anthony asked. 

She shrugged. “You may be busy with one as well by the time I see you again.” 

You looked at Anthony only to find his gaze was already on you. There must have been some shred of doubt in your eyes, because he only took your hand in his. 

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “We will take things as slowly as you desire.” 

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat and nodded as you squeezed his hands—you knew what was expected of you as a wife, and you wanted it with Anthony, but you could not lie and say that his reassurances did not bring you relief. 

“My best wishes to the new Viscountess Bridgerton,” Daphne said, her voice full of affection as she clasped her hands together. “It is an honor to have you join our family.” 

“It is an honor to be accepted,” you said, bowing your head. 

Daphne smiled. “I assume you want to reveal this on your own terms.” 

You nodded. “I’ve dealt with enough attention from the ton lately.” 

“I am afraid to say that will not go away,” she said wryly. “But I will cover for the two of you.” 

You pressed a hand to your chest. “Thank you.” 

“It is only proper to welcome my sister in such a way,” she said with a wink, and you could not help but smile. “Now run along, you two. Before rumors start.” 

Anthony chuckled, and the two of them embraced before you started on your way.

“Viscountess Bridgerton,” Anthony murmured in your ear. “I love the sound of that.” 

You hummed in agreement. “As do I.” 

You laid your head on Anthony’s shoulder as you walked back with your hands intertwined—not to the ball, but to a carriage for the promise of time alone. You glanced over at Anthony and he smiled, and you pulled him to a stop as you pressed a kiss to his lips. He responded with hunger, the same vigor he displayed when you first stepped into the gardens together, and you could hardly believe he still had it left in him. 

Far too many minutes passed as you kissed and kissed and kissed, not a single care in the world of someone catching you. What could they do? You’d already endured enough scandal to weather anything, and there was no way to punish you and Anthony — you were already engaged. 

Your lips were sure to be bruised once you finally pulled away, Anthony gazing at you with complete adoration as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I cannot believe you are to be my wife,” he murmured. 

“I cannot believe you are to be my husband,” you breathed. “When will we reveal it?” 

“Tomorrow,” he said, intertwining your hands with his own. “Tomorrow, we will tell everyone, and we will deal with everything that comes along with it. But tonight…” 

“It is our secret.”

Anthony nodded. “Tonight, we start the rest of our lives together.” 

“The rest of our lives together,” you murmured. 

Truly, it sounded like a dream. Months ago you could not even consider the thought of marriage without an air of disgust—now, here with Anthony, you could not stop thinking about the fact that you were to be his wife. 

The rest of your life with Anthony would be anything but simple.

And yet, somehow, you could not think of anything more perfect.

-

taglist, only bc this series has been going on since i still had a taglist lmao. @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

[etz-ashashiyot]

No okay but for real though I am struggling so hard with my anger these days, because people just say the wildest shit to Jews and think it's okay because they've decided to make hating Israel their one personality trait, and I keep finding myself searching for the words that will return the hurt. I just desperately want to dress them down with words of equal weight - something that will give them the same amount of pain, the same level of triggering response, the same level of impotent rage.

But it turns out that a cruel twist of trauma is that the deeper the wound, the more salt you can pack in. And these motherfuckers have never had to deal with a fraction of the history of the Jewish people, most of them. And those who have? Look, even if I wanted to endanger my own people by sinking to their level and providing them with a perfect strawman bad Jew to point to, I'm not going to hurl racist or [x]-phobic abuse back at them because I'm not a lowlife.

Anyway someone staple this to my forehead:

Edit: this is the full quote, read it in its entirety

The anti‐Semite has chosen hate because hate is a faith; at the outset he has chosen to devaluate words and reasons. How entirely at ease he feels as a result. How futile and frivolous discussions about the rights of the Jew appear to him. He has placed himself on other ground from the beginning. If out of courtesy he consents for a moment to defend his point of view, he lends himself but does not give himself. He tries simply to project his intuitive certainty onto the plane of discourse. I mentioned awhile back some remarks by anti‐Semites, all of them absurd: "I hate Jews because they make servants insubordinate, because a Jewish furrier robbed me, etc."

Never believe that anti‐ Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. The anti‐Semites have the right to play. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past. It is not that they are afraid of being convinced. They fear only to appear ridiculous or to prejudice by their embarrassment their hope of winning over some third person to their side.

L-rd give me the strength to not respond to the antisemites, the courage to not respond to the antisemites, and the wisdom to not respond to the antisemites amen v'amen selah. 🙏

[del-thetiredwriter]

There's so much we can do with that Cheater Daemon x wife reader AU

Like Daemon witnessing his wife's burning hatred towards him. She didn't express it in front of him rather it's other actions that prove her hatred

He saw his wife in a storeroom, holding a knife to rip off and slash multiple cuts on a portrait with his face in it. She didn't care that her palm is bleeding from gripping the knife too hard, she's just focusing on saying how he's such a pathetic trash,how ugly he is despite his beautiful face and basically disfiguring the entire portrait. When he asked her about her bandaged hand afterwards,she just said it was an accident while she's walking and none of his business at all

He read her diary full of her regrets for marrying him as well as her hateful words towards his entire existence,even a list of men she should've had married instead of him,Criston Cole was on the list and even the fact he might be into his own niece. Hell she's even planning on how to push him towards Rhaenyra so that she can freely escape him. She even wrote that she rather died or killed by him than suffering by living with him

She even had a conversation with Criston Cole about how terrible her husband is and the knight just listened to it all,he knows how the Targaryens are,he did work for them after all Criston Cole maybe Daemon's potential love rival

Sometimes Reader even pretended Daemon didn't exist,just ignore him and how in her sleep,she sometimes say other men's names except Daemon,it was never his name that came out of her lips when she was sleeping

Part1 , part2

Well these are great ideas. And like you said we have so much material to use. And I did a little work from the things you said. It’s like a part 2.1?

——————————————————————————

Daemon sighed. Visersy would rarely see your brother this thoughtful and sad? Seeing, Visersy clapped him on the shoulder.

"What's the problem?"

"Nothing." replied Little Brother.

“Come on Daemon, you can't fool me. Come on, talk to me. What's your problem?”

The white-haired prince sighed.

"My wife. It's just that my wife has been a little weird lately?"

"Strange? your wife? Y/n? You are kidding."

Visersy handed Daemon a glass of wine.

"Yes. She’s been acting really weird lately. Recently I saw her in the storeroom with a knife in her hand, injuring herself..."

.

“The gods gave you outer beauty, but there is nothing left for your character!” You shouted and added another cut to the portrait.

"Damn you!" And one more cut...

While you were combing your hair in front of the mirror, you heard that damn voice. “My wife~” your beloved husband hugged you from behind. You tried to ignore him.

"What happened to your hand?" ' he asked in a worried but also angry voice. He held your bandaged hand.

"Nothing. I fell while walking, That's all." You pulled your hand back.

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure."

.

“…I won't even talk about what was written in her diary!” Daemon took a harsh sip from his goblet.

“But seriously, how can she compare me to those damn knights! Moreover, her conversation with that guy yesterday! I will kill that guy!”

Visersy nodded understandingly.

"What am I going to do with this woman? She acts as if I don't exist!"

Daemon groaned. Visersy patted his brother on the back.

"What can I say? You reap what you sow.”

[langernameohnebedeutung]

there's a lot of valid takes on why Gen Z is becoming radicalised at the rate they are - all that misinformation, tiktok, red pill, the pandemic - all have good points. But I think another factor is that even politically, their sense of normalcy is entirely different to the one of prior generations. The spiral of the last 15 years, the way the Overton window has moved, the change of style and tone in political discourse, the normalisation of anti-democratic ideas, the obsession with people's private lives, the topics that are front and centre during elections these days, the changing concept of the respect and dignity expected in a public office (god I sound like a boomer) - all of that was shocking to us.

the three generations of my family, all born and raised in VERY different time periods from one another, we've all just been equally shocked and horrified again and again these last 15 years - not just by what is happening but how it is happening and by what is possible and how easy it is to make a total mockery of the democracy and the rule of law. For all of us, that was a feeling of realising that something we implicitly trusted in to the point that it didn't need talking about ... just falling away. Or proving to always have been an illusion to begin with. To someone who grows up right now, this safety and security has NEVER existed.

But for these kids - the window of their life where they start becoming politically and culturally aware basically coincides with this downward spiral and I think that makes many of them blind or numb to it. I think for many of them, that's just their understanding of how things naturally progress and politics works. That the way previous generations evaluate the current situation - this framework of intentional manipulation and misinformation and radicalisation - is just fair and acceptable behaviour and that of course politicians manipulate the discourse to get what they want and of course it is normal to tell brazen lies and spread panic if that gets you what you want and if you're loyal to the party, you parrot those lines whether you really believe in them or not. (And let's be honest with ourselves - the seed to that has always been there)

And others, who I imagine intellectually know that things are going downhill, are really stuck in this extremely mind-numbing fatalist mindset (climate change is gonna kill us all anyway, haha) which makes you hopeless and desperate. And being hopeless and desperate also makes you vulnerable to all kinds of manipulation and radicalisation - because the offer you a perspective. Or meaning.

If you think about the trad-wife and redpill stuff or generally christian nationalism but also any movement that instrumentalises history with ideological narratives, you notice that their narratives place periods of stability way back in time in periods that match aspects of their idelogy e.g. their fetishisation of the 1950s. Then they come up with some horrible bad evil enemy that destroyed that paradise and created the 'degenerate' misery we live in now. Authoritarians and ideologues and cults have always done this. It's part of constructing the mutual enemy.

Beause this way, they can create their illusion of this kind of mythical, unreachable utopia (the past) that fascists love and attach all kinds of conditions to reaching that - with no pressure for them to ever actually deliver: women staying at home, racial segregation, christian hegemony, eugenics, absolute exclusion of gay and trans identities etc. This doesn't just have the benefit of pushing their politics on a confused youth (though that's a big benefit) - it also helps them hide from young people that these last 15 years, they literally created the chaos that these kids are living in. They sowed this situation and right now, with the radicalisation of the youth, they are reaping the rewards.

And the thing is, we can blame the Tiktok or whatever but I also think it is important that we let younger people know and feel that what's happening right now - is just not normal and not sustainable.

And yes, we need to let go of the naive illusion that "the kid are going to save the world". We should never have had that. But I also don't think a radical heel-turn vilifying all of Gen Z is going to help anyone or do justice to the situation.

[natigail]

Phil: We need to give you a slit because we did a charity stream for Palestine and it's time to reap what you sow because you said you'd get a slit after we're all doomed, which you've filmed and now you have to slit it up. Any last words?

Dan: Why the fuck are you putting a hat on?

Phil *now with The End doomed merch cap*: It's my slit hat.

Dan: Okay, what does that-

Phil: I'm like a tattoo artist, I need to have the edgy energy. Wait *fixes hair*. There we go.

Dan: Yeah. Okay.

Phil: Are we ready? Can I get a "slit" in the chat?

Dan *whining*: No, what does that mean?

Phil: Slit, slit, slit!

Dan: Phil, do you know how to use this razor? Let's have a serious conversation here.

Phil: I do.

Dan: You are about to apply that *razor turned on, Phil playing around*. Stop looking at what your hair looks like with the fucking hat! You're about to do something to my face!

Phil: Okay. Which side do you want?

Dan: Phil. Right. Okay, let's talk about that. I feel like I've got an earring this side, so the slit should be there (opposite).

Phil: And where do you want it through?

Dan: I want it there. Do you see this, Phil? Like yours, it's like the arch of the thing.

Phil: Yeah!

Dan: It should be like that. You can't do it too far down, so people can't see the slit.

Phil: It's going to be more to the middle.

Dan: Okay. And Phil? Don't hurt me.

Phil: How could I hurt you?

Dan: Because you're about to apply a fucking shaver to my face!

Phil: And how do I use it? Do I just go *buzzing sound*?

Dan: Okay, you do it once and then you hold it there for a second and then you stop. You don't move. You don't slice.

Phil: No slicing.

Dan: You don't shuffle. Okay?

Phil: Can you look at me a little bit? Like side angle?

Dan: Wait, wait, I'm going to come back.

Phil: Yeah. We're ready? No, face me more.

Dan *flinches*: Don't- Phil!

Phil: You can't flinch!

Dan: Moment.

Phil: Yeah.

Dan: Don't think about the chat.

Phil: I'm not.

Dan: Don't think about what you look like in your hat.

Phil: I'm not.

Dan: I want you to concentrate.

Phil: I'm concentrating.

Dan: Seriously concentrate. Take a moment.

Phil: I am!

Dan: You're not doing a bit, you're doing my face.

Phil: I know I'm doing your face.

Dan: Fuck my life.

Phil: Look at me a tiny bit *gently moves closer, Dan barely holding in a laugh*. Shut up!

Dan: Why does it feel like you've completely changed the orientation of the razor?

Phil: I've done it! I've done it. Wait, wait. Does it? Ohh!

Dan: Ooh?

Phil: It looks good! It looks good, Dan!

Dan: Does it?

Phil: Yeah! It's quite wide. It's quite a wide slit *laughing*.

Dan: It's quite- Phil. Phil Lester just gave me a wide slit.

Phil: It's more pronounced than mine.

Dan: Oh my-please stop saying I have a pronounced slit. Fuck.

Phil: It looks good though.

Dan: Does it?

Phil: Yeah, you look like you've got an edge to you.

Dan: And now I look like I have an edge and I didn't before?

Phil: Yeah.

Dan: Okay.

Phil: That's great. What do we think in the chat? Matching slits.

Dan: Fuck my ass, what do I look like? I cannot see on this camera.

*proceeds to check up close in camera and it sure it a wide slit*

[itsdefinitely]

you're the one that entered my clown car and now you complain that it's crowded

hey don't cry. the jeri/rys will never be able to share simple human intimacy. they'll never get to hold hands. why are you crying louder