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lynxgriffin · 3 months ago

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Eldritchrune - Kris's Birthday

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

Close to the end of their journey, Kris has a small celebration with the beasts, and reflects some on both their past with their brother, and the light world ahead.

(Reminder that I draw these scenes out of chronological order!)

YAY managed to get another part done! This one won the poll, so had to go with it first! At least Kris finally gets a nice, happy moment with all the beasts they've recruited!

Alt text under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide opening shot. Kris sits facing Ralsei, with the rest of the Fun Gang surrounding them. The Gang now consists of Susie, Noelle, Lancer, Berdly, Catti and Jockington, and Monster Kid. The Fun Gang have set up camp in a hollow crater, the landscape around them rocky and barren. Everyone is lit solely by the glow of a campfire in the center of the crater. Ralsei addresses Kris: “Get plenty of rest, Kris.”

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris and Ralsei, still across from each other with the fire between them. Ralsei continues, “Tomorrow we face the last bound god before the Dark Fountain…it’ll be our toughest fight yet!” Kris responds, “Yes. I understand.” They stare into the fire.

Panel 3 - Closeup on a happy Ralsei as he holds up one claw. “And since we’re so close to the end…”

Panel 4 - “...I thought I’d conjure up a special surprise for you!” Ralsei moves his claws, and magically congeals a plate, food and frosting all together in a swirling center.

Panel 5 - Ralsei holds up the finished object in front of the fire: a small frosted cake, topped with strawberries. “SURPRISE! Happy birthday, Kris!” he declares with a broad smile.

Page 2

Panel 1 - Ralsei holds the cake up in the foreground. Kris looks at it in surprise. Behind them, Susie and Noelle look on with interest. “Wow! Is today really your birthday, Kris?” Noelle asks.

Panel 2 - Closeup on Kris. They scratch at their head in confusion, and respond, “I… Is it? I’ve lost track of the days since arriving here…”

Panel 3 - Medium shot as Ralsei happily hands the cake to Kris, who takes it. He says, “Well, I’m not sure if it’s exactly today. But by my estimates you should have had one by now! So now is as good a time as any!”

Panel 4 - A wider upshot as Kris takes the cake, and the beasts watch. Berdly leans in closer, curious, and asks, “What do you humans do on these ‘birth-days,’ as you call them?”

Kris replies, “Well, typically…you eat cake, or some other sweet treat, and you spend time with your friends and family.”

Panel 5 - Kris stares into the fire again, and continues, “And usually, they also give you gifts.” Behind them, as if in abstract shadow, is an image of a younger Kris surrounded by the other Dreemurrs, all smiling. It seems to be a memory of a past birthday.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Closeup of Kris still looking into the fire, their eyes hidden by their hair. A shadow seems to fall over them. The memories of happier times still hurt.

Panel 2 - Lancer pipes up: “Ya got the cake and friends part right here!” Kris turns to see Lancer and Susie smiling at them, and gives a small smile back.

Panel 3 - Noelle leans in over Kris as well, her head taking up most of the panel. She says, “Sorry, we don’t have any gifts for you…but two out of three isn’t bad, right?”

Kris’s smile broadens a little, and they reply, “No, it is not.”

Panel 4 - Kris pulls out a smaller knife…

Panel 5 - And in a shot focused on the cake, begins to slice the cake into equal pieces with the knife.

Panel 6 - Kris offers a piece to Catti, who happily licks it up. “Tasty.”

Panel 7 - Kris tosses a piece across the fire to Berdly, who catches it in his mouth. “Thanks, Kris!”

Panel 8 - Kris turns around and tosses another piece into Susie’s open jaws. “Hell yeah, cake!” she says, excited.

Page 4

Panel 1 - A wide shot as the whole Fun Gang sit around the fire, enjoying their cake slices, small as they are. Kris works on eating their own slice. Noelle says, “That was good! …Do you think there’ll be lots more cake in the light world?”

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris, who turns to look up at Noelle. “Yes, there are. But I would have thought you’d be interested in the humans more,” they say around a mouthful of cake.

Panel 3 - Noelle looks off to the right, and responds, “Sure, I’ll have some, if they’re soft… I don’t like the hard bits, like armor and bones.”

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Noelle leans back against Susie, snuggling into her side. “I mostly want to get to the Light World and quiet this feeling in my mind…once I do that, I’ll be happy,” She says.

Susie grins, and says, “More for me, then! I can’t wait to get to the Light World and all that food…”

Page 5

Panel 1 - Susie rests her head on the ground, and continues, “I’m gonna eat up all those humans and finally feel full!” She smiles and licks her lips at the thought. Lancer sits just nearby.

Panel 2 - Wider shot of all the beasts around the fire. Across from Susie, sitting in a loaf, Catti says “Greedy.”

“Oh come on, like you aren’t excited for the food!” Susie responds with an annoyed look.

Panel 3 - Medium shot as Catti looks up towards the dark clouds above them, grinning broadly. Behind her, Jockington also looks Skyward, his body wiggly. Catti says, “Not just that. Open skies. Sun. Fresh smells. New magic.” Jockington adds, “It’s been, way too long since we, learned a new technique!”

Catti reiterates: “Lots of things. Looking forward to them.”

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Kris turns to Monster Kid, who’s been quiet this whole time. They’re mostly buried underground, but their tail is currently out of their mouth. Kris asks them, “You’re looking forward to leaving the Dark World, too?” They reply, “Y-yeah, Kris! I wanna eat some humans too, but…also wanna be someplace niver, y’know?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Monster Kid’s face as they continue: “Here it’s really hard to find food. And it’s so dark and cold, and e-everyone’s trying to fight each other… I hate it, yo.”

Page 6

Panel 1 - Wide downshot of the whole Fun Gang huddled together in the empty crater. The barred landscape stretches out around them. Berdly looks to the skies, and says, “Yes, it’s true. The terrain here is so bleak and devoid of sidequests.”

Panel 2 - Closeup on Berdly as he smiles, looking excited and proud. “But if the Light World has as many humans as you say, I’ll be able to max out my volume in no time!”

Panel 3 - Susie looks away and sticks out her tongue, clearly annoyed at the prospect. “Oh goody, we’re aaaall excited for that…”

Berdly, not picking up on her sarcasm, just continues to beam proudly. “And rightfully so!”

Panel 4 - Noelle nudges her enormous nose against Kris’s back, and says, “We’re all really excited to see the Light World with you, Kris.”

Kris turns back towards her slightly, and smiles. “Me too.”

Panel 5 - Kris reaches around the fire to hand the now empty plate back to Ralsei, who takes it.

Panel 6 - Ralsei makes the plate vanish into shards of nothing with a wave of his claws. “Then let’s get some rest!” he says, satisfied.

Panel 7 - The small campfire is now extinguished. Only a thin wisp of leftover smoke rises from the blackened wood and coals.

Page 7

Panel 1 - A wide shot of the crater, still at night. With the campfire out, all of the eldritch beasts are now asleep. Monster Kid is buried underground. Catti is sleeping as a loaf, with Jockington resting on her back. Berdly sleeps with his head tucked under one wing. Susie and Noelle sleep snuggled up together, with Susie’s long tail curled around them. Kris lays nestled between them, long hair and shaggy fur serving as a makeshift bed. Ralsei stands off to the side.

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris. They lay awake between the two beasts, staring up at the sky. They look pensive.

Panel 3 - Slightly closer, Kris looks down and to their right. Ralsei asks from offscreen: “Kris! Are you feeling all right?”

Panel 4 - Downshot of Ralsei as he looks up towards Kris. He spreads his arms out in a hopeful gesture. “I know perhaps this isn’t the sort of birthday you would have had back home, but I was hoping I did okay on such short notice…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Kris as they close their eyes. “I just…” They take a deep sigh.

Panel 6 - Kris looks up from the makeshift bed, looking sad. “I can’t remember the first birthday I had with mom and dad and Azzy anymore.”

Page 8

Panel 1 - Shot of the dark skies above. Thick clouds silently roll across a starless expanse. “The whole day feels like it’s completely gone.”

Panel 2 - Wider shot, with Ralsei in the foreground. He still watches Kris carefully. “Oh, I see. I suppose Seam has asked for quite a few payments from you during your time here…perhaps you sold the memory?”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Kris as they squeeze their eyes shut, trying to block out budding tears.

Panel 4 - “Yes. Likely,” they say. Kris sadly holds up their left hand above their head. Their hand is missing the pinkie finger…another payment to Seam.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Ralsei as he looks downward. “I’m sorry, Kris.”

Panel 6 - Medium shot as Kris hugs themself, still nestled in the hair and fur. “Asriel would usually get me a book he thought I’d like, and I’d complain about it, but then read it cover to cover in one night. Once I learned how to read, anyway,” they say with a small smile.

Panel 7 - Low angle shot as Kris continues to reminisce, watching the dark clouds above. “Mom and dad also always got me a square of chocolate. I don’t know how they afforded it.”

Page 9

Panel 1 - In a flashback panel, Asriel and Kris sit across from each other outdoors, each leaning against trees. Simple woods surrounded them, and a lazy river rolls by just past them. Beyond the river are a few small homes and farms from the town. Kris holds an apple, while Asriel has a book and feather pen. Both are talking, looking happy.

Kris speaks over the flashback: “Azzy and I would go and sit by the river in the summer, and he’d point out plants and animals and tell me to give them science names. Even when I said crass or foolish ones, he wrote them down and said he would petition to get the names changed.”

Panel 2 - Closeup on Kris as they look away, the memory still feeling a bit sad to them.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Ralsei, interested and responding to the stories. “Your brother sounds like a generous soul.”

Panel 4 - Kris looks down, still sad and reminiscing. “He didn’t have to be so nice to me. Everyone said he’d leave town and go do great things.”

Panel 5 - Another flashback panel, this time in Azzy and Kris’s shared room. It looks similar to their room in canon, but much older and more bare-bones, with simple wood walls. Kris sits on the edge of their bed, listening. Asriel sits on the edge of the bed, looking pensive, his cheek resting against his hand.

Kris continues over the flashback: “But he…he told me that he didn’t like that pressure. That I was more fun to hang around than whatever great thing the town expected him to do.”

Page 10

Panel 1 - Closeup on Ralsei. He looks on, his tattered scarf flowing behind him. A curious smile crosses his face. “The way you have spoken about him, all this time…I am so curious to meet him.”

Panel 2 - Kris nestles down into the bed of fur and hair, and shuts their eyes, drifting off to sleep at last. They mumble, “Maybe…maybe soon.”

Panel 3 - Wide shot of all the beasts, asleep in the crater. Kris finally sleeps as well, tucked between Susie and Noelle. It’s dark, and quiet. In the foreground, Ralsei remains awake and watching, his back to the camera. It’s unknown what he’s thinking.

#lynx art #eldritchrune #deltarune au #kris dreemurr #ralsei #susie #noelle #lancer #berdly #catti #jockington #monster kid #whole crew is here!#and for those curious: Kris traded away their finger to Seam at some point

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ineffectualdemon · 9 months ago

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Things baked into Terry Pratchett books that I didn't realise at first but very much needed and benefited from:

Being unpleasant, weird, socially difficult, off-putting, uncomfortable to be around, annoying, obnoxious, etc does not equal being a bad person

And it definitely doesn't mean others don't have a duty of baseline care about you

They don't have to like you but there is a baseline "we live in a society and I care about what happens to the people around me" type of duty that you are owed

They can think you're unpleasant to be around and even stupid and cringe in your presence but there is a duty of care to your existence

And if you are doing bad things you can stop

There are always chances to think about your actions and why you're doing them and if you really believe it's the right thing

There is always an option to stop

And some people do

And some people don't

But if people do that doesn't mean they aren't still maybe unpleasant to be around or awkward or uncomfortable

The "bad guys" in Terry Pratchett tend to

1. Believe they are in the right

2. Never question that belief

3. Have multiple opportunities to not be doing what they are doing but fully commit

4. May have points that at least feel reasonable on a surface level if you don't think about them too deeply

5. Face consequences of their own actions. Which includes the protagonist having to slap them down. If they didn't put the stuff in motion and refuse to back down they wouldn't be getting slapped

They aren't cartoon baddies they are really realised characters with convictions that they believe in and truly tend to believe their actions are the best thing to be doing. That they are doing what others should have already done

But in Terry Pratchett what makes you on the wrong side of the narrative is not your personality or your looks or how sociable you are

It's your continuing actions that define you AND your unwillingness to change

And I think I very much needed that reinforced in my life

#gnu terry pratchett #discworld

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demonic0angel · 3 months ago

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Health Insurance (click for clarity)

I have a headcanon that Maddie and Jack did not have health insurance or insurance at all tbh, so Jazz really enjoyed the benefits of marriage.

So basically, in this idea, Dick and Jazz marry (bc Dick needed custody of Damian but he’s a single 20-something year old man, while Jazz was getting hounded by the Ghost Zone/her parents idk) but never fall in love. The two of them make a deal to get married and then parent Damian together, but then Dick finds out that they’re falling in love with each other’s siblings so he’s like “let’s divorce”.

It goes well and they both split things evenly or equally and it’s a very peaceful, amicable divorce.

Until they get to the custody of Damian. And then all hell breaks loose.

One of the dirtiest, most underhanded, and vicious custody wars ensue. In the end, they get split custody of Damian between Gotham and Blüdhaven. (He’s weirdly happy with it bc they fought so hard for him and they didn’t involve him at all except for courtesy questions).

Part two

Image description below:

Panel 1 has Dick’s solemn face as he’s looking away.

Dick: Jazz… we need to talk. I know that you’re in love with Jason…

Panel 2 has Dick’s side profile while we see Jazz stare at him in shock, holding a spilling teacup as she’s dripping tea.

Dick: *still looking sad* And I’m also in love with your brother Dan, so I think we should divorce.

Panel 3 is the both of them across from each other, in a very simplistic style. Jazz still looks vaguely shocked and Dick still looks sad.

Dick: I know that we both care for each other, but we’re in love with different people.

Panel 4 has Jazz finally snapping back to reality, as Dick continues talking.

Dick: It’ll be an amicable divorce, so I think that—

Panel 5 has Jazz standing up with a BAM! and knocking her teacup when she slams her hands on the table. Dick looks startled.

Dick: !

Panel 6 has a close up of Jazz’s panicked expression as she’s shouting.

Jazz: BUT WHAT ABOUT THE HEALTH INSURANCE?!

Edit: I changed the pictures to add the right font and a ring on Jazz’s finger.

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nebulaafterdark · 5 months ago

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The Rats (Pt. 5)

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Two days pass before Y/N is called to stand round her mother’s council table and discuss strategy for their return to King’s Landing.

“With Aemond and Helaena gone, they have no dragons. But they do have a formidable land army, it would be my great honor to return on dragon back and present your terms. Once they agree, I will send word here.” Aegon says.

“And if they won’t agree?” Daemon arches a brow.

“How we proceed from there will be left up to the Queen.”

“We’re supposed to trust you?” Daemon sneers, “this is your fault.”

“For the sake of the seven, Daemon.” Y/N throws up a hand, wincing as it pulls the scabbed flesh of her side. “After all he has done for my mother’s cause, can you not afford him the smallest bit of grace?”

“He still breathes our air, does he not?” Daemon drawls, “this is a concession made for you, daughter.”

“I shall go with him to King’s Landing then.” Y/N offers.

“No,” Rhaenyra says, immediately. “You are my heir, the risk is too great.”

“Then we offer our terms by raven,” Y/N insists. “After they agree, our fleet returns together. Aegon swears his allegiance, on bended knee and you ascend the throne as our rightful Queen.”

“Who’s to say Alicent will not ignore the fucking message?”

“Aegon is her King.” Y/N narrows her eyes at Daemon. “One does not ignore letters from their fucking King.”

————————————————————————

“Mother?” Dahlia tugs at her skirts.

Y/N blinks away the fog clouding her mind. “Yes, my love.”

“You look sad, or frightened.”

“Forgive me.” Y/N forces a smile, “I am expecting a message. You know how I dislike waiting.”

Dahlia nods, plopping into her mother’s lap, as her father plays happily with her siblings. “Do you think it has to happen?”

“What, my darling?” Y/N wraps both arms around her.

“That brothers and sisters must fight for the throne?”

“No one is fighting,” Y/N assures her.

“I saw what the bad men did to Aunt Helaena.” Dahlia whispers, “it was because of Uncle Lucerys…when he went to the heavens. Uncle Aemond sent him there, because Luce took his eye.”

“Who told you this?” Y/N demands. “Alicent?”

“Grandmother did not tell me a thing. No one ever does.”

“Because you are a child, and this burden is not a child’s to bear.”

“I hear things,” Dahlia tells her, “and I see them. Though I would rather hear them from you or father. At least you are kind about it.”

“Has someone been unkind to you?”

“Not to me, but to father, in front of me.” Dahlia leans into her mother, “and sometimes to you, in front of me.”

“I apologize, my darling.” Y/N kisses the back of her head, “our family history is…a unique tapestry, by no fault of yours. There are many people we love dearly who’ve been hurt and those who’ve hurt us.”

Dahlia says, “if that is what it means to sit the throne, I do not want to.”

“That is not what it means to sit the throne.” Y/N explains, “your great grandsire, Viserys reigned peacefully, all his years. But I will not force it upon you.”

Dahlia nods.

“You are my daughter first and my heir second. That is how I was raised, equal to my brothers in every way.” Y/N presses on, “I do not believe that brothers and sisters must fight. I think rather, it is a tragedy when they do.”

“So father and grandmother Rhaenyra are not at war?”

Y/N sighs, pointing to Aegon, blowing raspberries on Laenor’s belly. “Does your father appear to be at war?”

“No.” Dahlia shrugs, fighting back a grin.

“We needn’t fret then.”

Aegon the fourth begins to fuss, having been left to his own devices too long.

Dahlia climbs off her mother’s lap, tapping her youngest brother’s nose. “Shh.”

The babe grabs for her finger, holding it tightly in his grasp, as Dahlia coos at him.

————————————————————————-

“Is everything alright, my dearest love?” Aegon asks his wife, when they are finally alone in their quarters. “You were awfully quiet at supper.”

“Do you know what your daughter asked me?” Y/N turns to Aegon, as he strips down to his small clothes, for bed.

“Gods only know,” he laughs, “which daughter was it?”

“Dahlia.”

“Dahlia,” he repeats, fondly. “What did my girl ask you?”

“Whether or not brothers and sisters must fight for the throne.” Y/N informs him, “she also presumed that you’d be going to war against my mother.”

Aegon sighs, “and what did you tell her?”

“No, of course. But she’s overheard a great many things in her life. I’m not sure the simple answer will suffice.”

“The whispers round these halls are insidious.”

“It is every hall,” Y/N shakes her head. “She watched that man hold a knife to Helaena’s throat.”

Aegon abandons his sleep clothes on the chair to comfort his wife.

“I have failed her.” Y/N sprawls out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“You have not.” Aegon climbs in beside her, wrapping her carefully in his arms; mindful of her injury. “You are a wonderful mother, my love.”

“I’m meant to protect her.”

“You did.” Aegon insists, “you protected our children and my sister’s.”

Y/N nods against his chest, “why then do I feel so awful?”

“Awful mothers do not spend their nights lamenting imagined shortcomings.” Aegon presses his lips to the top of her head. “Our children know love and that they are worthy of it. I think it speaks volumes she was comfortable enough to raise this matter with you.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Y/N leans up on her elbow.

“I do.” Aegon meets her eyes.

She leans down, pressing her lips to his, before turning over to make herself comfortable with her back to his chest. “This is the longest we have not lied together, save for the weeks following the births of our babes.”

“I’ve no desire to cause you more pain.” Aegon murmurs, “but if you are feeling up to it…”

“I think it might help me find sleep.”

Aegon wastes no time reaching round her hip, hiking up her nightgown and slipping a hand beneath her small clothes, rubbing slow circles over her pearl until she is wet and wanting. “This is good fortune, you know?”

“Of course,” Y/N laughs, indulgently.

“Laugh all you want.” He groans, low in his throat. Shoving the pesky garment down past her knees and easing his cock into her from behind. “Your cunt has gifted me the greatest winning streak in all the realm.”

“And how is that, my love?” Y/N sighs as his fingers continue dancing along her pearl.

“Four wonderful children and years of happiness. Though I’d like to make it five.”

“Get to work then.” She reaches back, to bury a hand in his hair. “Ow,” she hisses, moving for her bandage, but Aegon’s hand is already there.

“Shhh, shh, shhh.” Aegon hushes her. “Be good for me, darling girl. Be still.”

“I can’t.”

“Try for me.” Aegon breathes, fucking her slow and deep, watching her sweet fingers curl around the pillow instead. “That’s the way,” Aegon praises, “lie there and take me.”

Y/N relaxes into the mattress.

“I love you.” He breathes, against her ear.

“I love you.” Again she begins reaching for him, only to be caught by his hand.

Aegon laces their fingers together. “Whilst your mother is Queen, we will spend many a day lazing about our chambers. Entertaining our children, creating more, watching them grow. We’re going to live happily together, the way we’ve dreamed it.”

————————————————————————-

Before first light they are called to an impromptu meeting of the small council.

“There’s been word from King’s Landing.”

“And?”

“Alicent has agreed to our terms,” Rhaenyra announces. “Her only request is an audience with the acting King and Queen before the declaration of allegiance.”

Aegon’s mouth is agape when Y/N turns to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“This is wonderful news.”

Daemon rolls his eyes.

“Indeed,” Rhaenyra beams at Y/N. “We will fly out within the hour. The four of us,” she motions to her daughter, half brother and husband, in turn.

“Oh happy day,” Daemon grumbles.

“The children will remain here, until the transition of power is complete. Then we return for them on dragon back.”

“Too easy.” Daemon rounds the table to Aegon. “Surely a trap, laid by your bitch mother.”

Y/N slaps her palm against the table, “you may not speak that way of my husband or his house. My daughter has overheard, the servants whisper in the halls.”

“Then see their tongues removed.” Daemon sneers.

“Enough.” Rhaenyra holds up a hand. “We are a family. Aegon is my father’s son, your brother’s child, my daughter’s husband. With grievances of his own, surely; yet here he stands.”

“We’re supposed to forgive all of it? Clouding my brother’s mind with milk of the poppy, usurping your throne, forcing you into such a state of distress that we lost our unborn child?” Daemon shakes his head, “and Lucerys?”

Rhaenyra blanches.

“You are innocent?” Y/N scoffs. “Tell my mother how I came to be here on Dragonstone. Tell her what my little girl saw the men you hired do.”

“I did not order them to harm children!”

“As my husband did not order the murder of my brother.” Y/N says, pointedly.

“We cannot hope for a better future if we cannot be better ourselves.” Aegon looks to his uncle. “I am not asking for forgiveness, nor your kinship. I am asking for peace in the space between us, and I swear to you, it will be a significant amount of space.”

They are dismissed then, to don their riding gear before meeting Rhaenyra and Daemon near the dragon pit.

“Good morrow, my girl.” Y/N greets her dragon, passing a hand over her scales.

Sunfyre butts his nose against Aegon’s chest, smiling as he does.

“Hello, there.” Aegon grins, patting his snout. “We’re off to King’s Landing, shortly.”

Stormborn waits her turn to be greeted by Aegon, enjoying her rider’s affection as she does. When Aegon does come to her, he is met with a content hum.

“There we are, sweetling.” Aegon pets her bowed head.

“Good morrow, Sunfrye.” Y/N steps over to the golden dragon.

He does not sing for her, the way he always does, glaring as he leans into her hand.

“You’re still angry with me, aren’t you?” Y/N sighs.

The golden dragon huffs.

Aegon chuckles. “Now, now, Sunfyre. Infuriating as she is, we love her.”

Sunfyre blinks at Y/N, expectantly.

“Forgive me, my friend. I do not intend to take Stormborn from you again. That is why we fly together this day.” Y/N says, leaning her forehead against him.

Sunfyre begins crooning.

They will tell stories someday of a Queen and King Consort, so deeply in love their dragons could not bear to be parted; and how their marriage, born of duty, saved the mighty house Targaryen.

Taglist: @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight @ninastyless @aleemendoza2425-blog @livingdead-reilly @whenmypartysover @darlingisntit @nayaniasworld @uniquecroissant @spacexdrago @kaysav608 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @wolflover384 @jaydemon99 @minttea07 @lightdragonrayne @baybaybear1 @oh-you-mean-me @niyahnotnia @holymusicalmothman @lxdyred @godofstory @cloud-toast @jankityjankjank @lenadoerrer

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #hotd smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen smut #aegon smut #aegon ii #aegon imagine

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peppertoastuniverse · 7 months ago

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pep reads: fluffiest fluff edition

I've just been CONSUMING so many jjk fanfics... here are the softest fluffiest fic recommendations since I think we all need it right now. This list is in no particular order – there's so many talented writers out there! These ones just made me MELT extra hard. Mostly no smut, I just needed to be held.

gojo satoru

☆ only you by Kaiseriin [A03: mini series] [status: unknown] [Cursed speech!reader] Other than Gojo, not many people understand the sign language you use to communicate as a cursed speech user. When some students from Kyoto arrive, one tries to learn so he can get closer to you.

☆ summer skies, winter lies by miyaspudding [A03: long fic!][status: ongoing]

"how cruel was fate? how much had he sinned in his past life, for the woman he loved to belong to his best friend? how little did god love him?"

in which gojo satoru learns that emotions are not weaknesses but consolations; and geto suguru realizes that he's always been a little too late for everything. because the furthest distance is an inch away, and the furthest thing from truth is "just friends".

☆best of luck. by reinerispretty [A03: one shot! part of a mini series] [status: unknown] In which Gojo Satoru shows up unannounced, twice.

☆Ah, you were both equally idiotic by Hiroka [A03: mini series] [status: unknown]

4 times others realized something was going on between Gojo and you, and 0 times you both realized it.

[Oneshots from the Old Beats Cinematic Universe]

☆ For A God, Shopping Is a New Adventure by Bun_sun [AO3] [status: on going!] [Baker!reader]

“Would you like anything else?” “Actually, yeah.” He flashes you a grin that only promises trouble, pushing his sunglasses down with a way too exaggerated flirty expression. “Can I get your number too?” “Haha, really funny Gojo. Now, I have more clients so...” But he's already getting his phone out, as if he hasn't listened to a single word you've said. “...Oh, you're for real.” ~ ~ ~ ~ Reader owns a small cafe with their own baked goods. Gojo comes in one day, and absolutely falls in love with their pastries (and with them).

☆ I Want to Kiss You / キスしたい by arminsumi [A03][status: unknown]

You and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.

You've come to visit Japan to meet these two boys you met online. Though Satoru can't speak English and you can't speak Japanese, the two of you still fall in love. There's seems to be romantic tension between you and Suguru, too.

geto suguru

it's so hard to find suguru fics without him being used as a plot device for gojo

☆ gentle glow / deep thought by waffiez [AO3: one shot] [status: completed] "I thought about you, you know." Despite the softness of his voice, it cut through the otherwise silent atmosphere profoundly and made your heart skip a beat. "Is that so?" "It is." ☆☆☆ in which you awake to your best friend suguru asleep at the edge of your bed, having returned from a lengthy mission and only really wanting to see you.

☆ unnamed drabble by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: drabble] [status: completed]

comfy fluff w sleepy needy sugu <33)

☆ Wash It Away by @shadowsandshapes [A03/tumblr: drabble][status: completed]

Sometimes you forget Geto is just a guy. But then he shows a sense of vulnerability that surprises you. After a particularly emotionally draining battle, you run him a warm bath and take care of his aches. ☆ Wisteria and Ciabatta by @hayakawalove [A03/tumblr: mini fic!][status: completed, chapter 2 has smut!]

Traveling merchant Suguru has led a relatively tame life thus far. Growing his flowers, baking his bread. One day, when he ventures out further than normal he comes across something more beautiful than all the flowers in the world. You. ☆ the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects by @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat [tumblr: long oneshot!] [status: completed]

bonus!

☆ Digest Your Feelings (DYF) – First Years! by @whalesforhands [A03/tumblr: part of a longer series of fics] [status: completed] new classmates, new life, new friends(?). a look into the life of the dyf au characters in their first year.

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dawnslight-aegis · 7 months ago

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and that's a wrap on my tarot series! the upright majors, at least. there may be others sometime in the future if I am seized by a combination of insanity and hyperfixation once again.

you might notice a few cards are a bit (or in the case of the fool and alternate chariot, a lot) different! I did a few retakes for consistency/style.

below the read more I've included a bunch of notes about symbolism and reasoning behind my choices if that interests you!

(tag for individual card posts)

0. The Fool: Ardbert was really the only choice for this one. He's our stand-in, our shard, our mirror. Feo Ul is included partially because of lore (they are my co-WoL's shard on the First) and also because they also fit the themes of adventure and new beginnings and exploration. Most of the cards I played pretty loose on the posing vs traditional depictions, but this one I wanted to hew a little closer, which is why he's on a cliff with a foot hanging over the edge a bit, with his axe standing in for the bindle. This is my second attempt at the card -- the first was in Il Mheg, but I moved it to Kholusia (Ardbert's home) and dawn to more closely symbolize that it's the beginning of something. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 8/10, posing Feo Ul was annoying.

1. The Magician: This card could have had several subjects, chief among them Alphinaud or a more modern G'raha, but I settled on Alisaie a) because the other two cards I had in mind for her (Chariot and Justice) were already taken, and b) the card's focus on physical magic and depicting the "tools of the trade" reminded me a lot of Angelo's creation! So that's why she's here, and why I set the card in Matoya's Relict, among the tools of magicians who came before (Matoya, Y'shtola). I retook the shot because I was unsatisfied with the blurriness/the way the light covered her face in the first one. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 5/10, simple pose but working with Impact's spell effect complicated things.

2. The High Priestess: Another that I never questioned who would appear on it. Y'shtola's arc is entirely about uncovering forbidden, secret knowledge and wisdom, so she fits beautifully. The blue-white orb and the purple staff depict duality between dark and light, and how Y'shtola walks in two worlds, seeing things that are beyond sight, standing before an altar/holy place to the Night's Blessed. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. Premade pose, knew where I wanted to place her -- the only thing was finding a prop for her off hand.

3. The Empress: Hoo boy did Minfi give me some trouble. I knew that I wanted our Antecedent, who provides both authority and care for the Scions, to represent the Empress, but I struggled to find a depiction that wasn't, well, boring. Minfilia is deeply linked with the Solar, and I didn't want to lean too hard into Word of the Mother/Hydaelyn territory, so I settled on a triple goddess-like idea. Attempts: 3. Difficulty: 6/10. Not mechanically difficult, just conceptually.

4. The Emperor: Another one that I knew who I wanted but struggled with the concept. Haurchefant is very much emblematic of the stability, structure, and masculinity provided by the Emperor, but it wasn't until I decided to add his equally-Emperor-coded father that things settled into place. Together, Edmont and Haurchefant evoke the image of father and son as well as king and knight, filling both major male authority roles that the Emperor exemplifies. Attempts: 4. Difficulty: 6/10. Same as the Empress.

5. The Hierophant: this one was one of the hardest to choose a subject for -- the WoL's allies are largely a bunch of revolutionary firebrands, and I disagree HEAVILY with the popular choice of placing Aymeric here. So I landed on Alphinaud -- out of the Scions, he is the one most concerned with tradition and the "right" way to do things, with formal education and structure. He wants to bring Sharlayan into the modern day, not upend the institutions that raised him and that he very much still respects, much like how he still respects his very traditionally Hierophant-coded father. So I placed him in his family home with a sort of smug look since he can be a pretentious little shit sometimes (affectionate). The spell effect is from Kardia, and I paid special attention to having the shapes align perfectly with the lines in the background, to give a sense of stability and order to the shot, especially contrasted with Alisaie's more dynamic and chaotic depiction. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 4/10, entirely in alignment.

6. The Lovers: Hrasevelgr and Saint Shiva are a great choice for depicting the Lovers as two people, but no one does the Lovers in one subject better than Ysayle. Invoking the spirit of a woman who died for love in order to bring harmony to her people, but it truly being her own power and her own choice the whole time... it's great. Her pose is her transformation/summoning pose, turned into a gesture of affection, which I was particularly proud of. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 3/10, posing monsters is always a little funky.

7. The Chariot: This one has two options -- my co-WoL, Marz, and Tataru/Cid/Nero for the NPC variant. All 4 characters share a singular drive and refusal to let anything stop them once they've set their mind to something, and the 3 NPCs have the added benefit of being associated with a literal "chariot" in the form of airship design. Marz's place on Shadowkeeper has some lore associations (Cylva is her shard on the 13th) as well as being a void mirror to Kaede's sin eater shot. For both I wanted to have dynamic poses to evoke the activity of the card. Attempts: 1 (Marz), 2 (NPCs). Difficulty: 3/10 for both, no major hurdles once the lovely @/karoiseka pointed me at an airship in NG+.

8. Justice: The heart of the Justice card is its emphasis on truth, and no character in FFXIV is more committed to truth even in the face of great suffering than Aymeric de Borel. Because of this, the shot is taken at the top of the Vault, where he confronted his father over his concealment of the truth of the Dragonsong War. The card is usually depicted with a woman holding a sword and balanced scales -- Aymeric is holding his sword in a pose used in statues in the Pillars, and the symmetry of the shot/light and shadow split down the middle is meant to give the feeling of balance. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 1/10. I knew my concept, location, and shader before I even went in, and it came out exactly like I wanted.

9. The Hermit: Originally I had Urianger for this card, who still fits well, but when I moved him to Wheel of Fortune, there was a clear second choice: The Exarch. He even resembles the Hermit, with his cloak and staff, holding himself in isolation and possessing secret knowledge with which he guides the party. G'raha has grown out of this role as of Endwalker, but the Exarch fits it to a tee. I wanted to show his longing to return through his body language and reaching out for the portal that shows him the world he is set apart from. Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 4/10. Nothing major but did have to do two entirely separate cards lmao.

10. The Wheel of Fortune: The one I struggled with the most, conceptually. At first I had a more abstract choice, with the 3 starting city state leaders and Tataru, in a sort of "fate leads to the Scions" idea. But then I remembered that Urianger is a fortune teller who uses a wheel-like weapon with a literal wheel of cards, and, well. Yeah. The man is intimately associated with fate and choice, and the choice to place him on the moon is intentional, to separate him from his more secretive depictions in HW/ShB. He is the one who prepares our second option (flight) while giving us the choice to make our first (fight). Attempts: 2. Difficulty: 7/10. He's up on a high ledge that's not normally accessible and that's always a pain in the ass.

11. Strength: The one that started it all. The original shot of Kaede contained some layer elements I wasn't happy with so I ended up retaking it to better cohere with the others. Strength is about confidence and inner strength "leashing" power, symbolized by the woman and the tamed lion, and there's exactly one good lion model in XIV -- Forgiven Cruelty. It also has the fun side meaning of Kaede conquering and wielding the light that almost killed her. For Moenbryda's, I went with something simple -- her axe to symbolize her strength, but with her archon mark and the Sharlayan Thaliak statue prominently featured, emphasizing her intelligence. Attempts: 2 (Kaede), 1 (Moenbryda). Difficulty: 6/10. Kaede's was straightforward enough (though I had to wait an annoyingly long time for the sky to shift colors correctly), but Moenbryda's involved me floating her up on a building so i could get Thaliak in the shot correctly.

12. The Hanged Man: Holy moly this one was a PAIN IN THE ASS. I knew from the minute I started this what I wanted to do with it -- Lahabrea holding Thancred's ankle as he reaches for Minfilia. The Hanged Man is one that I felt it was especially important to mimic the iconic pose on the card, and this was how I decided to do it, but it took me over an hour and a half to accomplish. Anyway, the Zodiark idol stands in for the Tree of Life, which I really liked. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 10/10. Absolutely infuriating to have to pose 3 actors in three dimensional space like that.

13. Death: I only ever considered Estinien for this card. It stands for transformation and change, for shedding the old to make way for the new, and I chose to depict that by having his old corrupted drachen mail posed behind him like a shadow or an abandoned husk. He has left the hate and the rage behind, but the helmet is meant to symbolize that he always remembers it, and carries it with him so that he can do better. His lance is also vaguely reminiscent of the traditional Death scythe. That spot in Coerthas is where he challenges you in the early DRG quests while controlled by Nidhogg, as well as being just visually striking. Attempts: 1, but it took a while. Difficulty: 9/10. The ground is very much not flat, the helmet is on a minion, and I had to change angles and locations a few times.

14. Temperance: I briefly considered Hythlodaeus here, but Krile fits very well. Calm, competent, but unsure of her own worth. I chose Eureka Hydatos both for its importance to Krile as well as its easily accessible water -- instead of pouring from a cup, Krile is looking at her reflection. This one came together so quickly and easily. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 1/10. In and out of Eureka in less than 20 minutes.

15. The Tower: Originally, before I reshuffled, G'raha was going to be the Tower simply because I didn't know where to put him, and I couldn't think of an ally who is ultimately a destructive force, but it always bothered me because he truly didn't fit. Meteion, though -- despite her innocence and unwillingness, is THE destructive force within Endwalker's story. This card had the highest hurdles -- I had to get 7 friends to help me queue for Endsinger and then leave, and I almost couldn't get my tools to load Meteion in properly. After that it was smooth sailing, however. I used the whole lockout timer, but this was only the 4th shot I took, and it's one of my personal favorites. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 4/10, purely for queuing.

16. The Devil: Addiction, obsession, and control -- Zenos was the only answer for this card. I included Zero as well, despite intending this to be a primarily 6.0 and earlier set, to represent the humans bound in chains to the Devil, using the way she's pinned between Zenos and the scythe to symbolize that she's trapped. Afterward I realized this exact shot and character choice would have also worked quite well for the Tower, as well, but I ultimately prefer the Devil for him. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 3/10. Came together surprisingly easily, despite the fact that I had to make Zero's hat touch pose myself.

17. The Star: Symbolizing hope and new life, I can think of no one better suited than Ryne and the Empty. Ryne herself was given her own new life when Minfilia passed on her power, and the ability to make her own destiny -- and she used that power to revitalize a barren wasteland. My first version of this shot had a photoshopped in central star, but I decided to revisit the concept with an in game effect for the star instead. Helios provided what I needed, with the fun extra benefit of some additional rainbows (happy pride!). Attempts: 3. Difficulty: 3/10. Nothing crazy beyond trying to find a good angle to get the star in the shot, as well as Eden and the rainbow crystal. Second attempt I messed up the framing and had to redo it again.

18. The Moon: The card of dreams, fear, anxiety, and secrets, Gaia is perfect here (and a lovely companion to Ryne as the Star), though I did briefly consider Urianger as well. I wanted to have Gaia on the sand, with the moon hanging between the crystal walls of the Empty above her, but the angles would NOT cooperate to allow me to get the moon in the shot. So, levitation was the only answer. Fortunately it suits Gaia well, especially the distance that it evokes. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 6/10. I hate midair posing.

19. The Sun: Another card that sprang fully formed into my mind. Joy and fulfillment is symbolized by Lyse enjoying the morning light in a free Ala Mhigo, thinking of Papalymo. It also allowed me to get both of these very different characters into a single card, as they are very much a package deal, though I did consider Papalymo for the Hierophant as well. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. Came together very quickly.

20. Judgement: The last two cards of the Major Arcana are very high concept, with very lofty ideals, so they felt hard to pin down. I thought of doing both my WoLs here, or maybe Elidibus with his three forms for light, dark, and balance. But ultimately I ended up on Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus, as the sort of "final judgement" before the battle with the endsinger, the last step before everything ends. Their literal rebirth, the resolution of Emet-Selch's conflict with the WoL, the not-redemption but understanding reached, our efforts judged worthy -- it all just seemed to fit. The card design is simple but I hope the colors and emotion of the scene carry the weight of the arcana. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 2/10. No major roadblocks.

21. The World: At last we arrive at the end, not only the last posted but the last taken as well. I always knew I wanted Venat/Hydaelyn for this card, as she is the literal heart of our world, as well as an Azem who has reached the end of her journey, as Ardbert was one who was at the beginning of his all the way back at the Fool. But when I didn't use Elidibus anywhere else, I decided to add him here as well, since he also served as the heart of the star for a time. Light and dark united together, watching over Etheirys. The one who destroyed our world in order to save it, and the one who saved our world only to try to destroy it. Perfect symmetry, a completion of the circle. Attempts: 1. Difficulty: 9/10. I had to stitch together 3 separate screenshots in photoshop, with the fore and backgrounds cut apart so I could control the opacities separately. Probably the card that took me the longest, but it was worth it.

#ffxiv #ffxiv tarot #tarot #ffxiv gpose #had so much fun with this project #I've wanted to do it for years #I'll link this on twitter in a couple days but y'all get it early

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amateurvoltaire · 2 months ago

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I feel that one of the most overlooked aspects of studying the French Revolution is that, in 18th-century France, most people did not speak French. Yes, you read that correctly.

On 26 Prairial, Year II (14 June 1794), Abbé Henri Grégoire (1) stood before the Convention and delivered a report called The Report on the Necessity and Means of Annihilating Dialects and Universalising the Use of the French Language(2). This report, the culmination of a survey initiated four years earlier, sought to assess the state of languages in France. In 1790, Grégoire sent a 43-question survey to 49 informants across the departments, asking questions like: "Is the use of the French language universal in your area?" "Are one or more dialects spoken here?" and "What would be the religious and political impact of completely eradicating this dialect?"

The results were staggering. According to Grégoire's report:

“One can state without exaggeration that at least six million French people, especially in rural areas, do not know the national language; an equal number are more or less incapable of holding a sustained conversation; and, in the final analysis, those who speak it purely do not exceed three million; likely, even fewer write it correctly.” (3)

Considering that France’s population at the time was around 27 million, Grégoire’s assertion that 12 million people could barely hold a conversation in French is astonishing. This effectively meant that about 40% of the population couldn't communicate with the remaining 60%.

Now, it’s worth noting that Grégoire’s survey was heavily biased. His 49 informants (4) were educated men—clergy, lawyers, and doctors—likely sympathetic to his political views. Plus, the survey barely covered regions where dialects were close to standard French (the langue d’oïl areas) and focused heavily on the south and peripheral areas like Brittany, Flanders, and Alsace, where linguistic diversity was high.

Still, even if the numbers were inflated, the takeaway stands: a massive portion of France did not speak Standard French. “But surely,” you might ask, “they could understand each other somewhat, right? How different could those dialects really be?” Well, let’s put it this way: if Barère and Robespierre went to lunch and spoke in their regional dialects—Gascon and Picard, respectively—it wouldn’t be much of a conversation.

The linguistic make-up of France in 1790

The notion that barely anyone spoke French wasn’t new in the 1790s. The Ancien Régime had wrestled with it for centuries. The Ordinance of Villers-Cotterêts, issued in 1539, mandated the use of French in legal proceedings, banning Latin and various dialects. In the 17th and 18th centuries, numerous royal edicts enforced French in newly conquered provinces. The founding of the Académie Française in 1634 furthered this control, as the Académie aimed to standardise French, cementing its status as the kingdom's official language.

Despite these efforts, Grégoire tells us that 40% of the population could barely speak a word of French. So, if they didn’t speak French, what did they speak? Let’s take a look.

In 1790, the old provinces of the Ancien Régime were disbanded, and 83 departments named after mountains and rivers took their place. These 83 departments provide a good illustration of the incredibly diverse linguistic make-up of France.

Langue d’oïl dialects dominated the north and centre, spoken in 44 out of the 83 departments (53%). These included Picard, Norman, Champenois, Burgundian, and others—dialects sharing roots in Old French. In the south, however, the Occitan language group took over, with dialects like Languedocien, Provençal, Gascon, Limousin, and Auvergnat, making up 28 departments (34%).

Beyond these main groups, three departments in Brittany spoke Breton, a Celtic language (4%), while Alsatian and German dialects were prevalent along the eastern border (another 4%). Basque was spoken in Basses-Pyrénées, Catalan in Pyrénées-Orientales, and Corsican in the Corse department.

From a government’s perspective, this was a bit of a nightmare.

Why is linguistic diversity a governmental nightmare?

In one word: communication—or the lack of it. Try running a country when half of it doesn’t know what you’re saying.

Now, in more academic terms...

Standardising a language usually serves two main purposes: functional efficiency and national identity. Functional efficiency is self-evident. Just as with the adoption of the metric system, suppressing linguistic variation was supposed to make communication easier, reducing costly misunderstandings.

That being said, the Revolution, at first, tried to embrace linguistic diversity. After all, Standard French was, frankly, “the King’s French” and thus intrinsically elitist—available only to those who had the money to learn it. In January 1790, the deputy François-Joseph Bouchette proposed that the National Assembly publish decrees in every language spoken across France. His reasoning? “Thus, everyone will be free to read and write in the language they prefer.”

A lovely idea, but it didn’t last long. While they made some headway in translating important decrees, they soon realised that translating everything into every dialect was expensive. On top of that, finding translators for obscure dialects was its own nightmare. And so, the Republic’s brief flirtation with multilingualism was shut down rather unceremoniously.

Now, on to the more fascinating reason for linguistic standardisation: national identity.

Language and Nation

One of the major shifts during the French Revolution was in the concept of nationhood. Today, there are many ideas about what a nation is (personally, I lean towards Benedict Anderson’s definition of a nation as an “imagined community”), but definitions aside, what’s clear is that the Revolution brought a seismic change in the notion of French identity. Under the Ancien Régime, the French nation was defined as a collective that owed allegiance to the king: “One faith, one law, one king.” But after 1789, a nation became something you were meant to want to belong to. That was problematic.

Now, imagine being a peasant in the newly-created department of Vendée. (Hello, Jacques!) Between tending crops and trying to avoid trouble, Jacques hasn’t spent much time pondering his national identity. Vendéen? Well, that’s just a random name some guy in Paris gave his region. French? Unlikely—he has as much in common with Gascons as he does with the English. A subject of the King? He probably couldn’t name which king.

So, what’s left? Jacques is probably thinking about what is around him: family ties and language. It's no coincidence that the ‘brigands’ in the Vendée organised around their parishes— that’s where their identity lay.

The Revolutionary Government knew this. The monarchy had understood it too and managed to use Catholicism to legitimise their rule. The Republic didn't have such a luxury. As such, the revolutionary government found itself with the impossible task of convincing Jacques he was, in fact, French.

How to do that? Step one: ensure Jacques can actually understand them. How to accomplish that? Naturally, by teaching him.

Language Education during the Revolution

Under the Ancien Régime, education varied wildly by class, and literacy rates were abysmal. Most commoners received basic literacy from parish and Jesuit schools, while the wealthy enjoyed private tutors. In 1791, Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand (5) presented a report on education to the Constituent Assembly (6), remarking:

“A striking peculiarity of the state from which we have freed ourselves is undoubtedly that the national language, which daily extends its conquests beyond France’s borders, remains inaccessible to so many of its inhabitants." (7)

He then proposed a solution:

“Primary schools will end this inequality: the language of the Constitution and laws will be taught to all; this multitude of corrupt dialects, the last vestige of feudalism, will be compelled to disappear: circumstances demand it." (8)

A sensible plan in theory, and it garnered support from various Assembly members, Condorcet chief among them (which is always a good sign).

But, France went to war with most of Europe in 1792, making linguistic diversity both inconvenient and dangerous. Paranoia grew daily, and ensuring the government’s communications were understood by every citizen became essential. The reverse, ensuring they could understand every citizen, was equally pressing. Since education required time and money—two things the First Republic didn’t have—repression quickly became Plan B.

The War on Patois

This repression of regional languages was driven by more than abstract notions of nation-building; it was a matter of survival. After all, if Jacques the peasant didn’t see himself as French and wasn’t loyal to those shadowy figures in Paris, who would he turn to? The local lord, who spoke his dialect and whose land his family had worked for generations.

Faced with internal and external threats, the revolutionary government viewed linguistic unity as essential to the Republic’s survival. From 1793 onwards, language policy became increasingly repressive, targeting regional dialects as symbols of counter-revolution and federalist resistance. Bertrand Barère spearheaded this campaign, famously saying:

“Federalism and superstition speak Breton; emigration and hatred of the Republic speak German; counter-revolution speaks Italian, and fanaticism speaks Basque. Let us break these instruments of harm and error... Among a free people, the language must be one and the same for all.”

This, combined with Grégoire’s report, led to the Décret du 8 Pluviôse 1794, which mandated French-speaking teachers in every rural commune of departments where Breton, Italian, Basque, and German were the main languages.

Did it work? Hardly. The idea of linguistic standardisation through education was sound in principle, but France was broke, and schools cost money. Spoiler alert: France wouldn’t have a free, secular, and compulsory education system until the 1880s.

What it did accomplish, however, was two centuries of stigmatising patois and their speakers...

Notes

(1) Abbe Henri Grégoire was a French Catholic priest, revolutionary, and politician who championed linguistic and social reforms, notably advocating for the eradication of regional dialects to establish French as the national language during the French Revolution.

(2) "Sur la nécessité et les moyens d’anéantir les patois et d’universaliser l’usage de la langue francaise”

(3)On peut assurer sans exagération qu’au moins six millions de Français, sur-tout dans les campagnes, ignorent la langue nationale ; qu’un nombre égal est à-peu-près incapable de soutenir une conversation suivie ; qu’en dernier résultat, le nombre de ceux qui la parlent purement n’excède pas trois millions ; & probablement le nombre de ceux qui l’écrivent correctement est encore moindre.

(4) And, as someone who has done A LOT of statistics in my lifetime, 49 is not an appropriate sample size for a population of 27 million. At a confidence level of 95% and with a margin of error of 5%, he would need a sample size of 384 people. If he wanted to lower the margin of error at 3%, he would need 1,067. In this case, his margin of error is 14%.

That being said, this is a moot point anyway because the sampled population was not reflective of France, so the confidence level of the sample is much lower than 95%, which means the margin of error is much lower because we implicitly accept that his sample does not reflect the actual population.

(5) Yes. That Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand. It’s always him. He’s everywhere. If he hadn’t died in 1838, he’d probably still be part of Macron’s cabinet. Honestly, he’s probably haunting the Élysée as we speak — clearly the man cannot stay away from politics.

(6) For those new to the French Revolution and the First Republic, we usually refer to two legislative bodies, each with unique roles. The National Assembly (1789): formed by the Third Estate to tackle immediate social and economic issues. It later became the Constituent Assembly, drafting the 1791 Constitution and establishing a constitutional monarchy.

(7) Une singularité frappante de l'état dont nous sommes affranchis est sans doute que la langue nationale, qui chaque jour étendait ses conquêtes au-delà des limites de la France, soit restée au milieu de nous inaccessible à un si grand nombre de ses habitants.

(8) Les écoles primaires mettront fin à cette étrange inégalité : la langue de la Constitution et des lois y sera enseignée à tous ; et cette foule de dialectes corrompus, dernier reste de la féodalité, sera contraint de disparaître : la force des choses le commande

(9) Le féd��ralisme et la superstition parlent bas-breton; l’émigration et la haine de la République parlent allemand; la contre révolution parle italien et le fanatisme parle basque. Brisons ces instruments de dommage et d’erreur. .. . La monarchie avait des raisons de ressembler a la tour de Babel; dans la démocratie, laisser les citoyens ignorants de la langue nationale, incapables de contréler le pouvoir, cest trahir la patrie, c'est méconnaitre les bienfaits de l'imprimerie, chaque imprimeur étant un instituteur de langue et de législation. . . . Chez un peuple libre la langue doit étre une et la méme pour tous.

(10) Patois means regional dialect in French.

#frev #french revolution #cps #mapping the cps #robespierre #bertrand barere #language diversity #amateurvoltaire's essay ramblings

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rottenfyre · 19 days ago

Note

Who do you think would cry/throw up/MURDER first if Pervert!Spider Reader tried rizzing up Thalia or Rhas Al Ghul?

1. Damian: Murder Mode Activated

Damian would 100% be the first to lose it. Seeing you even remotely flirt with his mother or grandfather would flip his already short fuse.

If it’s Talia, he’d go full-on angry bird mode, glaring daggers at you while sputtering, “YOU INSOLENT WOMAN! HAVE YOU NO SHAME?!” before likely drawing his katana.

If it’s Ra’s, he’d genuinely threaten you, saying something like, “You’ve gone too far. I’ll end this madness myself,” while trying to intimidate you with his deadliest glare (which you’d probably find adorable).

No amount of kisses or teasing would calm him down immediately. He’d probably need Jason to hold him back.

2. Jason: Punches a Wall (and Maybe You)

Jason would go straight into rage and denial mode, particularly if you started sweet-talking Ra’s. You jokingly tell Ra's, "You've got a whole 'silver fox with a kingdom' vibe going on. Very attractive," and Jason snaps.

"Oh, hell no. This wrinkly bastard doesn't get to breathe the same air as you!"

He'd unload an entire clip at Ra's while dragging you behind him protectively.

“You’re flirting with the Demon’s Head?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!”

If it’s Talia, he’d be equally furious but also extra petty. “Oh, so you’re into hot assassins now? Great. Guess I’m not enough for you,” he’d grumble while trying not to visibly sulk.

Despite his anger, there’s a 50% chance Jason might step in to challenge Ra’s directly, because he refuses to be shown up.

3. Dick: Throws Up in the Corner

Dick would probably cry and throw up first, especially if you flirted with Talia.

He’d be heartbroken, looking at you with those big, sad puppy-dog eyes. “Why would you do this? I thought we had something special,” he’d say dramatically, clutching his chest like he’s in a soap opera.

If it’s Ra’s, he’d look physically ill. “You’re flirting with a literal centuries-old warlord?! What’s wrong with you?” he’d exclaim, pacing in disbelief while the others try to calm him down.

4. Tim: Overthinks Himself into Oblivion

Tim wouldn’t react physically but would go into full mental meltdown mode. Poor boy is so emotionally fragile when it comes to you. Seeing you openly flirt with either Talia or Ra's would break him completely.

He’d probably mutter something like, “Wait, are you doing this as a joke? Or do you actually like them? Is this part of some elaborate plan I missed?” while spiraling into paranoia.

You casually compliment Ra's on his tailored robes, and Tim, who's watching from the Batcomputer, starts hyperventilating. "She... she doesn't mean it. Right? She's just messing around. RIGHT?!" Then he bolts to the nearest bathroom. If it was Talia? He'd straight-up faint from the stress.

Tim would definitely research ways to counteract the Lazarus Pit just in case you’re actually serious.

He’d also probably cry a little, but only in private.

5. Bruce: Quietly Contemplates Murder

Bruce wouldn’t react immediately. Instead, he’d sit there in silence, arms crossed, radiating pure disappointment.

“Ra’s Al Ghul? Really?” he’d say in that deep, gravelly voice, making you laugh even harder.

If it’s Talia, he’d rub his temples and mutter, “I’ve dealt with a lot from you, but this… this is a new low.”

He wouldn’t say anything outright, but the tension in the Batcave afterward would be suffocating.

The Aftermath:

Damian would sulk for days and try to “punish” you during training by going extra hard.

Jason would get over it by pretending it never happened, but he’d glare at Ra’s every chance he got.

Dick would be clingier than ever, needing constant reassurance that he’s still your favorite.

Tim would probably never trust you around the League of Assassins again.

Bruce? He’d just pray to whatever deity he believes in for patience.

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tarotwithdanise · 5 months ago

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WHAT MAKES YOU THE MAIN CHARACTER IN THE CROWD?

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

send your donations here

PILE ONE

AoW, Temperance, 6oW.

you are the protagonist when you inspire people. when you become someone who lives actively and someone who became an inspiration to people with it's loving nature and unique ideas. you are the type of person who works for what you want instead of just waiting around the corner. you are the main character if you speak with some body movements or in short when you use have a body languages.

when you put much effort into your appearance for example to be well neat looking. you know what you are doing, you know your damn thing and you how to hype and warm yourself up. when you remain silent and calm when there's an argument, downfall or chaotic moment you are experiencing perhaps it can also determine as a reading for as you are someone who is quite influence people. well, maybe you have a sigma aura within you that's why.

when you talk, or if you put everything into how you look or look to people, and you can also know how to take care of yourself or when to warm up for you. others. if you stay calm even in such chaotic moments of life and if you are patient about something you want to achieve. It can also mean that you influence people's lives quietly or speak too quietly. You make yourself. you seem to enlighten them in a simple but calm way. and you can also be the kind of person who reminds someone not to judge others when they determine their future, like reminding them that just because a certain person has less education doesn't mean they can't achieve high goals in life . you can also be someone who is balanced in his life, someone who treats people with balance, like not rich or poor, but equally. it was also your mindset that makes you the main character. you are a person who achieves a lot in certain areas or wherever; you are talented and people may envy you for it. you are a protagonist when you show how you can communicate well or how you respond to people and their negative opinions about you like you simply know how to burn them without actually hurting them.

PILE TWO

6oC rx, 9oC, Judgement.

shocks, you got an alluring aura that may remain a lifetime for people. you are powerful, anyone you pass by turns their heads. you are hard to let go, it's not simple for people for you to forget even though you interact with them for only once. you were also matured and grew up that fast in such a very young age due to your past mostly childhood issues perhaps you are learning and openly willing to resolve this issues. you also know how to pleasure yourself in this world, you know what you deserve like you know how to spoil yourself in small and huge things.

you are aware in your dreams and are about to attain them, you are content from what you already have and you know to yourself that you are born lucky despite these past issues ruining you inside. people perceive you as someone who often changes their physical appearance, someone who puts a lot of effort in their outlook. you also know how to defend yourself in the crowd, you fear no one.

PILE THREE

High Priestess, Death, KoW.

you got a psychic ability and you were aware about that. most people may find you as mysterious and well kept, you are mindful about people who can do bad and harm things to you. you are the protagonist as well because due to your high energy, you are easily able to get comfortable with new people and places perhaps maybe sometimes it can take your energy but overall you enjoy new beginnings. you also love to learn and learn and learn a lot, learning new is a part of your everyday life and you may call them new experiences or lessons that you can use on your near future.

i also see here that many people may have crushes or you may be secret admirers, after all, many people perceive you as an attractive and charming individual. you are also focused and serious when we talk about studies and work, you don't want to disappoint yourself because you know you are the best. people view as light and dark, some may have good opinions about while others don't.

you are a knowledgeable person but you prefer to share this knowledge with those people who are worthy of receiving for you. you are quite picky about that because you know that not all this information can be shared to anyone that easily. you are an observant individual, you rather sit back and observe what is happening in your surroundings rather than be a center of attention but as i said you enjoy meeting new people and visiting new places. i describe you as someone who is naturally introvert but selectively extrovert as a protagonist here.

#pick a card #tarot #pick a pile #free tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarot online #pick a card reading #tarotblr #divination #tarot witch #witch #witchblr

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atlabeth · 10 months ago

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(not so) simple pt 4 - 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. 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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rafestify · 2 months ago

Note

I have an idea! Reader is a part of the Pouge group, but has never interracted with Rafe. She is the one choosing to run to cut Rafe loose. In the middle of it, the boat takes a dip and Reader hits her head passing out

After the Storm — Rafe Cameron

Summary : After a stormy accident leaves the Ex!Pogue!Reader injured, Rafe helps her to safety, and amidst the other’s mixed reactions, an unspoken connection begins to form between them. (season 4 part 2 spoiler alert⚠️)

Rafe Cameron x Ex!Pogue!Reader

Warnings : language, blood, violence (maybe?), english is not my first language.

A/N : changed the plot a bit, i hope u don't mind anon! 🤍

The boat rocked violently as we cut through the dark, churning waves on our way to Morocco. The storm had rolled in fast, catching us all off guard, and now the sky was a swirling mass of black clouds, illuminated only by the sharp flashes of lightning. Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the boat as if the heavens themselves were trying to tear us apart.

I clung to the railing, my knuckles white as I fought to keep my footing. The wind whipped at my hair, and the cold spray of the sea stung my face. Somewhere behind me, Pope was shouting orders to help stabilize the boat, his voice nearly drowned out by the roaring wind. Cleo and Sarah were struggling to tie down the loose sails, while Kiara and John B worked on keeping the deck clear of debris. Everyone was on edge, moving with a desperate urgency that matched the storm’s fury.

Everyone except Rafe. He was below deck, locked in a small room that JJ had secured with a heavy bolt. After everything Rafe had done, and the chaos he was likely to cause, none of us were willing to take any chances. JJ had tied him up, hands and feet bound tightly, to make sure he couldn’t pull any stunts while we were out here. I couldn’t blame him. Rafe had a way of making bad situations worse, and in the middle of a storm like this, we couldn’t afford even a second of distraction.

Still, the thought of him down there, trapped and furious, sent a shiver down my spine. I could almost hear him yelling, his voice muffled by the thick wooden door, cursing JJ and the rest of us for leaving him in that room. Part of me felt bad for him. But, he brought this on himself, and we all knew it.

“Hold tight!” JJ’s voice cut through the chaos as the boat tilted sharply to one side, nearly throwing me off balance. I grabbed onto the nearest pole, my heart hammering in my chest as the vessel righted itself. The waves were monstrous now, each one slamming into the hull with a deafening crash. The boat groaned under the strain, and I could feel the fear tightening in my gut. If the storm got any worse, there was a real chance we wouldn’t make it to Morocco.

The sudden dip of the boat was enough to send everyone scrambling for a handhold. Below deck, I heard a loud thud. Rafe, probably thrown against the wall in his tiny prison. I imagined him cursing us again, furious and helpless in equal measure.

“JJ!” I called out, my voice barely carrying over the wind. He was near the cabin door, his face set in grim determination. “You sure he’s okay down there?”

JJ shot me a look, water dripping from his soaked hair. “He’s fine,” he said, though his tone wasn’t as confident as I wanted it to be.

The boat lurched again, and I clung to the railing for a moment before steadying myself. My mind was racing, torn between the storm’s fury and the thought of Rafe locked up below deck. The guilt was gnawing at me, despite everything Rafe had done. No one deserved to be tied up and helpless during a storm like this, not even someone as evil as him.

I scrambled across the slippery deck, ducking under ropes and dodging the flying spray of seawater, searching desperately for anything sharp. My eyes scanned the clutter of tools scattered near the supply boxes, knives, a pair of pliers, maybe even a jagged edge on some broken wood. If I could just cut him loose, we could figure out the rest later. Right now, all I could think about was the sheer panic Rafe must be feeling, alone in that small, dark room as the boat tossed like a cork in the waves.

“What are you doing?” Pope’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and demanding. He was gripping the railing nearby, his soaked shirt plastered to his body. His eyes narrowed when he saw me digging through the tools.

“I’m not letting him drown!” I said firmly, though my voice wavered slightly. “He’s trapped down there, Pope. If this boat capsizes or something, he’ll—”

“No,” Pope snapped, shaking his head. “Are u really thinking about him right now?”

“Are you kidding me?” I shot back, frustration boiling over. “If something happens, he’ll drown! You really want that?”

Pope didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced toward the cabin door, his jaw tight. “We locked him up for a reason,” he muttered.

I could feel the weight of the storm pressing down on us, every second stretching my nerves thinner. Cleo, overhearing us, stepped in, her arms crossed despite the biting wind. “He’ll just cause more trouble if you let him out,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “You know how Rafe is.”

“I don't care,” I said, grabbing a small knife from the pile. “I can handle him.”

The wind howled outside as I pushed open the door and descended the narrow steps to the lower deck. The small room where JJ had locked Rafe was at the far end of the hall, its heavy wooden door bolted shut. My hands were shaking, the knife cold and slick in my grip as I approached.

The boat groaned under the strain of the storm, tilting sharply to one side. I had to steady myself against the wall to keep from falling. My pulse was racing, fear and determination swirling together in a storm of their own. I reached the door and unbolted it with trembling hands, the loud clack barely audible over the sounds of the raging sea.

Inside, Rafe sat against the wall, his hands and feet bound tightly with ropes. His head snapped up as the door swung open, his wild eyes narrowing when he saw me. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice rough and laced with anger.

“I’m getting you out,” I said firmly, stepping inside and kneeling down next to him. The room was cramped, the air thick and musty. I could feel the boat lurching beneath us, but I ignored it, focusing on the ropes that dug into his wrists.

“Took u long enough,” Rafe scoffed, though there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Your friends are gonna lose their minds.”

“Let them,” I shot back, sawing at the ropes with the knife. “I’m not leaving you tied up in here while the boat’s about to fall apart.”

Rafe fell silent, watching me closely. His expression was guarded, but there was something else there, something softer, buried beneath the layers of anger and mistrust. For a moment, it felt like the Rafe I used to know, the one who could make me safe when everything else was falling apart, was sitting in front of me again.

The boat suddenly dipped hard, the floor pitching sharply beneath us. I lost my balance, my head slamming against the corner of the counter with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in my skull, and I gasped, dropping the knife as stars danced in my vision.

“Shit!” Rafe’s voice was sharp, panic edging into his tone. “You alright?”

I pressed a hand to my forehead, wincing as I felt a warm, sticky wetness, blood. The room spun, but I shook it off, forcing myself to focus. “I’m fine,” I muttered, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.

Rafe’s expression shifted, the frustration melting into something that almost looked like concern. “Give me the knife,” he said quickly. “You’re useless like this. Let me finish.” I hesitated for half a second, then shoved the knife into his hands, too dazed to argue. He made quick work of the ropes, his movements sharp and precise. The moment he was free, he grabbed my arm, helping me sit up as the boat tilted again.

“You really shouldn’t have come down here,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his words. His hand lingered on my arm, steadying me.

“I couldn’t just leave you here.” I said, managing a weak smile despite the pain pounding in my head.

Rafe stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he helped me to my feet, his grip firm and steady. “Come on,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s get out of here.” Rafe’s grip was firm as he helped me to my feet, his fingers steady despite the chaos around us. The boat dipped again, pitching us to the side, but Rafe’s hand stayed locked around my arm, guiding me through the dark, narrow corridor.

My head throbbed with every step, the sharp pain from where I’d hit it blurring my vision. I had to force myself to stay focused, even though the dizziness was relentless.

I barely registered the climb up the stairs as he helped me up to the main deck. As soon as we emerged from the narrow passageway, the cold wind and rain hit me like a wall. Rafe led me toward the back of the deck, guiding me to the nearest chair. My legs felt like jelly, and I was barely aware of the others as they crowded around us, a mix of confusion and anger crossing their faces when they saw Rafe.

They all seemed furious, their eyes narrowing at the sight of him, but as soon as they saw me, slumped and barely conscious, their expressions changed in an instant. The noise on the deck quieted, and the tension in the air shifted, turning into something heavy, like a collective breath held. They all stood frozen for a moment, just staring at me.

Rafe helped me into the chair, his hand on my shoulder, his gaze flicking between me and the others. He was tense, still unsure of how they’d react, but when they didn’t speak, just stood there silently, he let out a breath.

I dropped my forehead to the desk in front of me, trying to steady my spinning head. The dizziness wasn’t letting up, but the cold air helped clear some of the fog in my mind. I was barely aware of the others now, of their whispered voices, of the storm outside. I just needed to focus on not falling apart.

"Hey, easy," Rafe’s voice was softer now, and I felt his hand briefly on my shoulder. He seemed to hesitate, as if unsure whether to speak or let me be. “You good?”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I let my head rest against the cold wood, the sound of the storm deafening, the boat swaying beneath us. My pulse was loud in my ears, but it was the thudding in my skull that held my attention.

Rafe knelt beside me, his presence a quiet comfort. “You need anything?” His voice was quiet but insistent. “Water? You want me to get—”

“No,” I cut him off, my voice raspy. “Just... just leave me for a minute.” I didn’t want to deal with anyone right now, didn’t want to listen to the others or the mess we were all in. I could barely keep my own head straight.

Rafe didn’t push me. Instead, he sat down beside me, close but not too close, like he was giving me space but didn’t want to leave me. I could feel his unease, his restlessness as he waited for me to gather myself.

The minutes stretched on, the boat dipping and swaying with every wave. The storm outside raged on, but inside my head, the dizziness slowly faded into a dull throb. I sat there, unmoving, barely aware of anything except the steady rhythm of my pulse and the weight of the moment.

Eventually, the storm seemed to quiet, the winds lessening and the rain tapering off. The Pogues, who had stood silently watching, started to break away, but their eyes lingered on me, their concern palpable.

Rafe stayed by my side, his gaze softening slightly when I glanced at him. It was a quiet moment, an unspoken understanding between us, one that neither of us had to say aloud. The tension was still there, but it felt a little less heavy now, like the storm outside had made us all a little raw.

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#outer banks #rafe cameron #netflix #drew starkey #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff

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