#I have had to do too much shame groveling

[witchothewest]

I may be incapable of asking for help but I do need everyone to know when I’m being so so brave about fighting The Horrors™️

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hey! I love your Cregan fics💕 is it okay if i ask for another fluff Cregan fic?👉👈 i just can't get enough of Cregan fluff

Poison Berries

Who would win? 100 tongues slandering the lady of Winterfell or 1 Cregan Stark?

Cregan Stark x Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, insecurities, implied body shaming, protective!cregan, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: this is totally me projecting cos my sis and i got body shamed today. it be ur own family i swear

"Where is my wife?" is the first thing Lord Stark says when he returns from his errands. He grunts as he dismounts his horse, eyes fixed upon the stable boy who takes his horse by the reins.

He grunts again at the lack of response and explains, "she told me she would be here when I returned."

The boy shrugs, "I don't know, milord. 've not seen milady all day."

He huffs and nods. He decides to simply look for you in your shared chambers, thinking you would probably be there. Finding your quarters empty, he heads to the library, then the solar, the kitchen, and soon- "where is my wife?!" is heard and repeated all across Winterfell.

Someone tells him you went into the woods to forage, and so naturally, he asks who you left with. He receives no name, and quickly it dawns you had left the safety of stronghold alone. His heart races. How long have you been out? By the old gods, how long have you been out?

Cregan mounts his horse at once and patrols the land. He screams your name out so loudly it disrupts the surrounding wildlife.

He snaps when he hears a response. He is unmistaken; that was your voice calling out his name. Quickly, he answers your call and rides toward you. He nearly leaps from his horse when he spots you, face crestfallen, hair frosty.

He calls your name again, much softer now, voice laced in worry. He captures your cheeks in his hands, hissing when he feels it's unnatural coolness, "are you well?"

You hold a guilty expression as he moves to rub your shoulders.

"Why have you left unaccompanied?" Cregan huffs hotly, his breath condensing with the air, "has something happened?"

"Cregan-" you place your hands on his chest. He stops rubbing your arms.

He watches how you lower your gaze. His face hardens with concern, "my love, speak to me."

You look up at him, eyes now pinkish and teary.

His jaw clenches. He huffs through his nostrils.

"I overheard... ..."

Cregan's expression softens. He clutches your cheeks, "speak," he rubs your skin with his thumbs, "I implore you to speak."

Your sigh turns to fog. You shrug, "they do not think I... I am a true Northern bride."

"True?" he snaps, "you are a Northern bride," he brushes your hair back, "I am Northern and you are my bride."

Your tears become too heavy.

Cregan's stomach churns as he wipes your tears. He hushes you and mutters under his breath, "there can be no truer bride than that of the Lord of Winterfell's."

"I fare horribly in the cold."

"You will grow accustomed to it."

"I do not know how to start a fire."

"Then I shall teach you, if you must lear-"

"But I do not look the part!"

Cregan's face drops.

Your tears begin to turn to frost. Your voice is small, "I do not look like the other ladies. I do not wear the furs well, I do not look shapely... I feel beastly. I was not forged by steel as you are, husband."

He rubs your cheeks, determined to warm you, "and who would slander my wife? Force her to feast on lies?"

You scoff and lower your gaze

"Would that you need be forged by steel-"

You shake your head, "it does not matter."

"It matters greatly," he releases your cheeks, "I will have them answer to their accusations," he clenches his fists, "and we shall see how their furs suit them when they've wet them."

You look up at Cregan, brows furrowing at the sight of his increasing fury.

"I would have them grovel," he mutters, "and sentence them to the Wall if they do not-"

You lips part, "Cregan-"

"Do they believe I would not do that much for the lady of mine own house? My lady?"

"Cregan," you rub the collar of his cloak.

He examines you. A line forms between his brows as he reaches for your wrist.

You look at each other for a moment. His thumb rubs circles on your skin. You raise your brows, "I... I picked a few berries for you," you turn to the basket that laid forgotten on the ground.

His gaze shifts to it.

"Though, I must admit... I am uncertain if they are edible."

He chuckles and takes your hand in his. He kisses your knuckles.

You offer him a soft smile.

The man hums, "perhaps we shall see by feeding them to the slanderers."

You whip your head back, "Cregan."

"A jest... a jest, my lady."

[luludeluluramblings]

I’m the anon who sent the pregnant Reader ask! And omg Sugar Baby! Reader is such a delight. Imagine the absolute 😦😧😨 journey on Bruce’s face upon realizing this man who is closer to him in age, old enough to be his daughter’s dad not only MARRIED but had the audacity to knock her up to. I can see little menace Damian asking Husband plenty of indiscreet questions and being straight up rude. Bruce lets him, and he has plenty of questions for the husband, too. How dare he seduce Bruce’s young, impressionable and sheltered daughter, has he no shame?

And of course they offer for Reader and husband to stay at Wayne manor while she recovers. All the hotels in Gotham are suddenly booked so they have to stay over, right? Husband can go right back to work too, Reader will be fine with her family. And why don’t they look at midwives or some of the best hospitals in Gotham, consider giving birth here? Not that they all wouldn’t track the rest of her pregnancy and fly out when she gives birth, but it keeps things simpler.

The sad thing about this concept, fun as it is, it’s that the Batfam is absolutely going to ruin Reader’s relationship either by sabotaging her husband, his business, maybe plant cheating evidence for her to find like Meta! Reader’s prom date. Obviously they will all be there to help pick up the pieces and aid Reader in recovering as well as caring for the baby.

Bruce holding his grandchild and Damian as an uncle too! Wholesome despite the circumstances.

Adding to this and adding a slight NSFW warning for at the end!

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

See, I feel like the counter to this would be Husband having a begrudging Alfred in his corner. Like, Alfred isn’t happy about this guy being married to Reader. But, unfortunately, this is the healthiest relationship anyone in the family has ever been in and he doesn’t wanna ruin that for Reader.

Although, the petty passive aggressive bullshit Hubby’s gonna go through at the manor will probably escalate to the point of them sabotaging his business or making Hubby and Reader snap at the family together.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Reader’s not stupid enough to fall for planted cheating evidence. They know their husband (man’s too old to be trying that nonsense and they also take good care of him themselves.) Plus, they probably told Hubby about how neglected they were by their family. Hubby’s gonna be prepared mentally for the bullshit, even if it does eventually overwhelm him.

But, if you want angst, which I’m guessing you do. I’d say Hubby could tragically die. The family either went to far with the sabotage or an accident happened at work.

(Or, because the dude I imagined Hubby being is Philip Graves, he has to fake his death temporarily for work reasons. Oooo, hubby can grovel and show the Bat family how it’s done when he comes back.)

Either way, you have a distraught Reader. But, I would also add Reader has a difficult pregnancy . That’s why hubby was spoiling her so much.

Imagine the bat family dealing with a hormonal pregnant reader that blames them for their husband’s subsequent death while also being in pain?

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Also, if the family ended up insisting y’all stay at the manor you KNOW your husband would fuck you on every available surface without fucking care. He’d clean you and the place up right after, but everyone in that house would know how good he’d be dicking you down.

Alfred don’t care, he dealt with horny Bruce. Bruce, though, he just sit in his bed silently screaming in his own personal hell. Everyone else is traumatized. Especially when you be calling hubby daddy when he be hitting it just right.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

(I’m tagging this as SugarBaby!Reader and this is going to have to be a series at this point. One day, one day.)

[gor3-hound]

GIVE ME LOVE // NAOYA ZENIN

ft. brother!naoya x sister!reader

a/n: art by @/sakurai_itachi on twitter/x !! another commission for my fave @nexysworld ♡ more naoya... i feel like i'm single handedly populating the naoya x reader tag atp 😭😭😭 as always, feedback and reblogs super appreciated !!

cw: 18+ content, brother/sister incest, breeding, misogyny, kinda dub-con but very barely, spit, kissing, p in v, creampie, biting, tinyyyy amount of blood, naoya has feelings that he doesn't know how to handle, cockwarming

word count: 1.9k words

Growing up in the Zen'in clan taught you one important lesson - women would always be seen as inferior to men. It did not matter how hard you worked to prove yourself to the Elders in the clan. You were a woman, and that was crime enough.

More than anyone, Naoya had every right to resent you. Your mere existence was an inconvenience to him, but more than that, your birth dishonoured him. He already had to fight harder than your brothers to climb to the top and become the head of the clan, but sharing a womb with a woman was unforgivable. He was constantly ridiculed for having a female twin, and in turn, you were treated as a stain on the Zen'in name for bringing shame to a Zen'in heir.

Despite everything, Naoya could not bring himself to hate you. You were nothing but a woman, a thing. But he could not see his own twin as such. You were close when the two of you were younger, but as the years went on, you grew more and more distant. Now, with both of you past the age of adulthood and his claim to the clan stronger than before, you've been completely avoiding him.

If anyone asked why he was so obsessed with your absence, he would lie and say that his ego would not allow a mere woman to disrespect him so heavily by thinking she could be the one to ignore him, but the truth of the matter was that he missed you. Dearly. The thought alone had him burning red with embarrassment. He was meant to be better than this, and yet he was letting his emotions get the better of him over a stupid girl.

He strolls to your room late at night when he's sure he won't be caught. He doesn't want to explain to any of the assholes in his clan that he was about to grovel to his sister because he missed her company. He'd never recover. In fact, Naoya would rather die on the spot than be caught being so soft around you.

Naoya takes a deep breath before he pushes open the door to your room, eyes falling on your form sitting at the edge of your bed, bent over a book. He runs a hand through his hair before rapping his knuckles against the open doorway to get your attention.

“Hey.” He murmurs, shifting awkwardly between his feet, clearing his throat when you look up at him. “I piss you off or something? No need to be a bitch about it. Can't do anything if you don't tell me.”

He inwardly cringes at his words. He doesn't know how to do this, but he was willing to apologise if he upset you. He shuts his eyes for a moment sighing before speaking up again. “You've been avoidin’ me. Don't let what the old bastard said at dinner the other night get to you. I know you're a woman, but you're still a Zen'in. No need to be so sensitive.”

“I haven't been avoiding you.” You say in response, brows knitting together. Both of you know it's a lie - you'd always been an awful liar. Naoya scoffs, raising a brow at you. “And it had nothing to do with father. I've gotten used to him over the course of over two decades being his daughter.”

“You are avoiding me.” He huffs, stepping into the room and kicking the door shut behind him. “Don't bullshit me. You're a fuckin’ awful liar.”

Your jaw tenses for a moment as you close your book, setting it on the bedside table. Your eyes flick up, meeting him as he sits at the head of your bed, leaning back against the pillows.

“Father has not bothered me.” You repeat, running a hand over your face. “But our eldest brother has spoken of marrying the girl he's seeing. You spend too much time with me. We aren't kids anymore. My presence isn't helping your reputation. If we were seen less together, you could have more luck producing and heir to solidify your claim to-”

He should hate you, really. You'd ruined his chances at the life he wanted - the life he deserved a chance at by birth. He wasn't used to this tightness in his chest. Why was he so upset by you acting as if you were the reason he was seen as lesser by the clan if it was the truth?

“Are you fuckin' kiddin’ me?” Naoya hisses, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “We both know my claim was practically non-existent the moment your gender was revealed at birth. Not spendin’ time together isn't gonna do shit.”

He pauses for a moment, his eyes dropping to flicker over your body in a way that makes you tense. You can feel his gaze burning through you, a knot twisting your stomach. His expression darkens as he meets your eyes once more - he's made up his mind.

“You can fix this, y'know.” He murmurs, shifting closer to you in the bed. He chuckles as you back up, grin spreading across his face when you're pressed back against the headboard with nowhere to go. Naoya let's his head dip forward, nosing at the crook of your neck.

“So worried about my reputation. It isn't your place as a woman to worry about me.” He growls against your neck, continuing the trail of heated kisses along your skin, tongue darting out to taste you. He bites down before pulling back to meet your eyes. “If father needs an heir to legitimise me, we'll give him one.”

“Naoya, we can't. You're my brother-”

He cuts you off with a laugh, running his tongue along his teeth before he continues sucking marks along the length of your throat. “And? Our cousin did it, and he's on a vacation in Venice with his sister. As long as it's not a servant girl, our dear father doesn't give a shit.”

“You're nothing.” He hisses against your skin. To him, it isn't an insult. It's a mere fact. His breath is hot against the skin of your neck as he pulls back just enough to gaze at your body, hands moving to gently pull open your robes. “I can make you something. Give you some power in the clan. Just need you to go along with this, yeah?”

He kisses you to silence any protests that might bubble up, pushing the fabric away from your body as he works on undressing himself. He kisses you like he wants to possess you, teeth pulling at your lower lip, hands grasping your waist tight enough to bruise as soon as they're free. Naoya slips his tongue into your mouth with a groan, tasting you, claiming you. 

You break the kiss when you feel his fingers hook themselves in the waistband of your panties, eyes shooting open. “Naoya, wait-” 

“Shut up.” He hisses, but there's no real bite behind his words. He lines himself up with your entrance, chest rising and falling more rapidly than usual as he struggles to calm his breathing. “This is your duty. You ruined me. You can… you can fix this. You said you wished to help me solidify my claim, yeah? That's why you're avoidin’ me? This is how you can make up for all the years of ridicule I was subjected to.”

He presses forward slightly, just enough that you can feel the pressure of his cock trying to break through the tight ring of muscle. You take a deep breath, waiting for movement that doesn't come. He's just staring at you - waiting for some kind of agreement, you realise. With a shaky breath, you push back against him, nails digging into his arms as he presses forward, slowly sinking into you until he's buried to the hilt.

Naoya knows you're a virgin - not only because you're his sister, and he knows you enough to know you wouldn't destroy your honour before marriage - but also because of how fucking tight you're squeezing around him. He's warring with his body, trying to bring himself to go slow, to ease you into it.

But he's selfish. Even when it comes to you. He can't stop himself. He fucks into you roughly, shushing you gently as you make soft, pained noises. He grunts words of praise under his breath - so tight, so good for me, doing so well. Anything he can think of to soothe you.

“Gonna stuff you so full… gonna have you dripping me for weeks.” He groans, bracing himself with his arms either side of your head, holding his weight up as he fucks into you harshly, each thrust making the bed frame creak. The sight of your lips parted makes him feel a little dizzy, the pleasured little gasps spilling from them making his cock twitch. Drool pools on his tongue as he leans over you, and he opens his mouth to let the spit trickle onto your own before he leans down to press his lips against yours. The movement of his hips grows sloppy as he licks into your mouth, tongue exploring you forcefully, like he's attempting to claim every inch of you.

He bites your lip when he pulls back, drawing blood. His gaze is hooded with lust as he fucks into you, tongue darting out to lick the blood clean off your lip. He grins as he straightens back up, his hands grasping your hips as he begins to fuck into you with slow, deep thrusts, grunting as your cunt clings to him every time he starts to pull back.

“Milkin’ me dry, huh? Clenchin’ around your own brother's cock, don't even want me to pull out…” He punctuates his words with a particularly harsh thrust, pulling you back against him. “Gonna cum… gonna fuckin’ cum, shit. Cum first, baby. Wanna feel that cunt grippin’ me before I fill you up.”

It doesn't take much more than that to have you seize up, body tensing as your release rushes over you in waves. He fucks you through it, drawing out your pleasure until he stills inside of you, choking out a moan as he shoots his load deep inside of you. He stays there for a moment, just taking in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

His gaze flutters down to you, and he collapses on top of you with a sigh before flipping the both of you over so you're lying on top of him without pulling out. His arms snake around your waist, your head resting against him.

“Didn't take you for a cuddler.” You tease after a moment, practically going up.

“Shut up. Fuckin’ brat.” He huffs, a hand coming up to the back of your head to press your face into his neck. “S'not cuddlin’. I'm making sure it takes. Gotta keep you plugged, yeah?”

You both know that's not the whole truth, but you say nothing as you settle against him, shutting your eyes as you relax in his arms. You'd deal with whatever this leads to in the morning, but for now, you were content to fall asleep with your brother.

[celestialprincesse]

🎀🍼

What time is it?! More single mom!reader time!

Someone dropped into my inbox asking for Single mom! getting upset at her daughter and yelling at her and then crying about it. I needed a minute to cook but I'm here now.

"Come on, Lottie." You huff desperately, covered to your elbows in suds and applesauce as you try and fail to get your daughter into the bubble filled tub. "If you take a bath, I'll let you watch Bluey before bed." Has the three year old perking up, albeit barely, still stroppy about some trivial thing or another. She's probably still sour about you saying no to having cake for dinner, despite the fact that you'd relented this morning and allowed cake for breakfast, on the condition that she also had some strawberries to 'cancel the sugar out'.

"I wan' see Riley!" She pouts, stomping a tiny, chubby foot against the tiled bathroom floor. Ever since you'd dog sat for Simon on his latest deployment, Charlotte had decided that Riley was more her dog than his, and despite the fact that you too, absolutely adore Riley, the thought of bothering Simon any more makes you physically wince. "We can see Riley tomorrow." You attempt to bargain, growing more frustrated the longer you sit on the edge of the bath with your daughter looking at you like you're unreasonable. You never thought you'd see the day where you could get genuinely upset at a three year old covered in apple sauce and glitter glue. You've already had to fish a clip on earring from her mess of hair, and now you're at the end of your very, very long, single mother special edition, extra strength rope. "Wan' see him now!" Has you practically on the verge of tears. Today has been one of those impossible days where all you can think of as you're working out how much you have to spend for the month and whether you need to call a plumber out for the kitchen sink, is whether it's all worth it. Sure, going back and grovelling would be shameful, gut wrenchingly so, but at least then you wouldn't be alone.

"Charlotte, get in the bath or I'll put you to bed with no TV time." The unrelenting growl of your own voice feels foreign as it echoes around the tiny bathroom. You hate playing the bad cop, that was never your role, you'd always been the one to pick Lottie up after her dad laid down the law, take her for ice cream in the park or to feed the ducks. Now you're forced to do both. Charlotte, being three and having no care for the fact that she's making your life more difficult than it needs to be, simply sticks out her bottom lip and quivers her chin a little. Which, under normal circumstances, would make you give in and try to chase her down with a wet wipe, or coax her with the mermaid barbie doll that 'lives' in the bath. "Charlotte. Bath. Now." Of course, she'd had to have your spirited nature and unwillingness to give in passed on to her like a flaming torch, like you were Prometheus, being punished for giving fire to man. "No!" She shrieks, and that's enough to tip you over the edge. "Fine, bed then! Go on! Go and get in bed all dirty and see if I care." You snap, fingers pinching frustratedly at the bridge of your nose, trying to hold back the angry tears threatening to spill.

You're too consumed by hurt and endlessly roiling frustration to see where she storms off to, allowing yourself just a moment to sit on the edge of your shitty bathtub and let it all out. It was hardly ever that you got angry at Lottie. It was practically impossible given your situation. She doesn't understand where her daddy is or why you needed to go without him, nor why she can't always go and play with Simon and Riley whenever she wants.

"Charlotte?" Simon is confused and more than a little concerned at the snotty three year old currently stood at his door, cheeks ruddy with tears and little fists balled as she walks past him into his flat. "Wan' play wif Riley." She babbles, toddling through his entrance hall to the living rim, where the K9 gladly greets her with licks to her cheeks, making her giggle. "Where's mummy, Lottie?" Riley is called to heel, told to calm down so that Simon can understand why he's currently got your three year old crying in his lounge. "Baffroom." The toddler mumbles, seemingly perfectly content to get comfortable on his couch with Riley, burying her little face in the fluffy golden scruff of his neck. "What do you mean, bathroom, poppet? Is mummy alright?" "Mummy cryin'." "Did something happen?" In her usual way, Charlotte completely zones out from his line of questioning, too engaged with snuggling his dog.

The toddler wails and kicks when she's hoisted up onto his hip and carried back through the concerningly open door of your apartment, still swinging slightly on its hinges from where Lottie had thrown it open. "Love?" Simon calls into the seemingly empty house, your daughter on his hip and Riley waiting at his feet, wet nose twitching for any smell of the familiar woman who feeds him treats and scratches behind his ears. In seconds, Riley is tearing into the dimly lit bathroom, jolting you from your meltdown, followed rapidly by Simon and a tired looking toddler. "Love? Darling, what happened?" He's crouching at your bare feet as you sit defeatedly on the rim of the tub, your chin in his hands, tilted this way and that as though to make sure you're not hurt.

"Charlotte wouldn't get in the bath and - and" You can barely get your words out before you're wailing into your hands again, hiccuping pathetically at your situation and the fact that such a simple thing has the strength to derail you entirely. "Ah. Wondered why she came round mine all huffy and puffy." "Oh my God, I'm so sorry - You must think I'm awful." "I don' think you're awful. I think you're fuc-fudging amazing. Look at you, are you jokin'? Raisin a kid all alone, startin' a new life just the two of you. You're a trooper, yeah? I've seen soldiers weaker than you." "You don't really think that." You sniffle, inadvertently leaning your cheek into his palm when he reaches up to wipe your tears. "Course I do. You're brave and kind and beautiful. You've done a hell of a job with the little spitfire over there. Don't think I've ever come across a woman I admire the way I do you."

The way his words, aloof, distant Simon Riley's words make butterflies flutter in your stomach should be illegal. The way his eyes are so warm and dark like the comfort of a warm bed after a long day makes your heart pound and your breath catch. You know you shouldn't feel like this, for Charlotte's sake, and his, and yours, and yet you can't stop yourself. For the first time, you're falling, hard. Not for danger or the lure of the unknown. No. You're falling for the safe, gentle domesticity that Simon offers you in the waiting palm of his hand, like feeding a frightened animal in the hopes of coaxing them into the safe warmth of a home.

｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

I didn't mean for this to be 1.2k oops I got totally carried away 😚

[snowstained]

one piece characters after a fight (it was their fault)

includes: fighting, shitty apologies (that get corrected), sanji groveling, gn reader, me being too lazy to proof read

characters: zoro, sanji, crocodile, buggy

zoro

won’t actually apologize at first. he knows when he fucks up, but he refuses to admit it because of his ego. you’ll walk into your room to find your favorite snack, a new clothing item, shoes, etc. on your bed as his “apology”. unfortunately, a gift is not an “i’m sorry” and you don’t care about shattering his ego temporarily.

you walked into your room and sat on the bed was a soft, high quality sweater with a cute design that was basically made for you. it so happened that you and zoro got into a pretty big fight last night. you were training together and zoro took your weight from you, took off a couple rings, and handed it back, “you’re way too weak for that much, taking more than you can handle is just gonna result in failure”. ohhhh he had done it. you immediately got offended and blew up at him, going at it for a solid half hour until you just gave up. you marched over to zoro, shoved the sweater into his hands, and demanded an apology. “say sorry, i won’t forgive you, much less accept the gift, until you say you’re sorry” you said, crossing your arms. “i didn’t do nothin’ wrong” he mumbled in response. you shook your head and walked away, deciding he had earned himself the silent treatment. “wait! wait, wait, okay hold on,” he said, and you paused. “okay, well, that was shitty of me and…” he huffed a little, “i’m sorry for calling you weak, i just wanted to look out for you, that was really rude of me. i’m sorry.” turning back around, you smiled, knowing you had finally won and beat the ego barrier. “apology accepted” you took the sweater back and gave him a kiss, and he looked so, so much less cocky now.

sanji

you and sanji don’t fight often, and when you do he is groveling at your feet BEGGING for forgiveness. he’ll cry and moan, offering gifts and services as a peace offering. it’s always a little fun to mess with when he really fucks up though. it also really does not take long for him to apologize, he hates making you upset.

while out shopping for groceries with sanji to restock, you decided to go to the fruit stand right outside the deli sanji stopped at. there were some new fruits you had never tried in the mix, and you were sampling some of them. dragonfruit, rose apples, rambutans, they were so good! while sampling a lychee and thinking of a dessert you could make with it, you overheard your boyfriend talking to someone. you turned around to see him hitting on someone entering the deli on his way out, heart eyes and all. “i’m sorry, could you hold my order for a few minutes?” you asked, glaring in sanji’s direction, “i need to take care of something, i’ll be back in an hour or less” you stomped over to sanji, the fruit stand owner having a ‘yeah he’s fucked’ look on their face. you grabbed your boyfriend by the shoulders and spun him around, “sanji, my dearest. what the actual fuck is wrong with you?! flirting with someone else, especially when i’m only 20 feet away from you? have you no shame? no class? the audacity is amazing me.” sanji managed to stutter out a few “uh, i uh, uhm”s but failed. you dragged him back to the ship, threw him in the kitchen, and went back to grab your fruit and everything else on your shopping list alone. sanji was not getting let off easy today. when you came back, sanji was sitting in a corner of the kitchen crying. seeing you, he immediately ran to you, kneeling at your feet. “i’m sorry! that was mean, and stupid, and cruel, and gross, and dumb, and pervy, i’m sorry! i don’t deserve to be your boyfriend, i’m a no good dirty cook! please forgive me” he begged. you could tell he was truly sorry, but this was a little funny, and you were still mad. “no, not forgiven. your actions speak louder than your words, sanji. why should i forgive you?” you asked. sanji just sobbed more, “i’m so sorry! i love you so much, nobody is better than you! you’re the most stunning, most beautiful, most sexy, more gorgeous, most cute person in the world! i’ll do and get you anything you want, anything!” nah, you liked this too much. “hmm… keep begging, this is fun.” you said. that went on for a longgg time before you forgave him… and gave zoro some bullying material.

crocodile

he’s aware of when he does something wrong and makes it a quick apology with a LAVISH gift. on the few times he really made you angry/upset, he took you on a vacation or made an insane purchase for you.

crocodile had been gone for months, eleven to be exact. normally you’d still have regular communication via transponder snail, but he hadn’t called you or picked up your calls in almost two months. you grew so sad and lonely, having only house staff to talk to. you hadn’t gone out at all either, just staying at home passing time by reading or doing art. it had been officially eleven months and sixteen days since he had been gone when you were having tea with one of the guards and discussing your latest read. you both had started reading books at the same time like a mini book club to keep you occupied. then, your husband barged into the room. “sweetheart, i’m so happy to see you. missed you, c’mere and give me a hug” he said. you just froze up and the tears came without warning. all you could do was break down in your seat, teacup dropping from your hand onto the saucer, spilling onto the table. the guard immediately began to clean up the spill while crocodile just stared at you, shocked and just confused. “hey, hey, i’m sorry. i thought i’d be home sooner, or have time to visit. baby, please, i-“ he stopped, placing a hand on your shoulder and rubbing circles as you sobbed. you were sad, angry, and happy all at the same time. you were upset, but grateful to see him. “i thought- i thought you died! you didn’t call or- or write to me and…” you continued to break down. crocodile picked you up, making sure to pause to know if you’d be upset or not if he did, and carried you to your shared bedroom. the whole time he gave apologies and comfort to you. after sitting you down and letting you cry into his chest for a bit, he had you stay seated and re dressed you into your favorite comfy clothes. he laid down beside you, and you laid on his chest sniffling while he pet your hair. after a bit of silence, he spoke again “i’m sorry, my sweet angel. i didn’t mean to scare you so bad, i got really busy, i should’ve made better time for you. i should’ve made you more of a priority like i normally do. do you forgive me?” he asked. you nodded your head as a yes, and he kissed it. the rest of the day you spent with him, cuddling and reading together. the next day, you woke up to one of the most thoughtful gifts he’s ever given. “i know you have the bananawani, but they’re not really great for cuddling or playing as adults. i thought you could use a companion for the times i can’t take you with, and for the times i can. here, they’re yours, name them” he said to you as you woke up to two sweet little kittens purring in your lap. “and i packed a bag for you and the kittens, we’re going on a vacation. i think we needed a second vacation home.”

buggy

he’s so weird with apologies. he’ll refuse to say sorry and pout like a child, but the second you take away boyfriend privileges he’s crying.

you and buggy fought semi often, but it was never bad. mostly you scolding him or saying i told you so. this was one of those rare moments where buggy actually made you angry instead of mildly irritated. buggy is a clown, a silly guy! a silly guy who likes pranks, and takes them too far sometimes. buggy thought it would be hilarious to use his chop chop fruit powers to trick you into thinking he actually got seriously injured in a fight. he came on deck limping, two crewman acting as crutches. one of his legs past the knee was missing, and it was dripping with blood. “holy shit! buggy! what happened?!” you screamed, rushing over to help. he acted like he was out of it and in pain, only mumbling replies that didn’t even make sense. you got him laid down, made a tourniquet out of his bandana, and began to wipe up the blood with a cloth you snagged. and slowly, you realized he was fucking with you. you dropped the rag and stood up, “okay, no, what the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked before storming away. “it was just a joke! it was funny!” he yelled. you avoided him for the rest of the day, and he knew he had really done it this time, but like hell he was admitting it. when it was time for bed, you were cozied up and watching a storm through your window. buggy entered the room, sitting down beside you and getting ready to cuddle up next to you, until you stopped him. “absolutely not, get out. you can figure out somewhere else to sleep tonight.” you said. buggy gave you a ‘huh?’ look. “haha, you’re funny. do you want me to put on some music? i got a new-“ you cut him off, “i’m serious, buggy. out, now.” his cheery expression dropped into an agitated one. “it was just a prank, calm down! it’s not my fault that you can’t take a joke!” he exclaimed. “i said out” you said, pointing to the door. he stopped, looking defeated. he began to walk over to the door, until he turned around all teary eyed and sad. “i’m sorry! please forgive me, really, i’m really sorry! i’ll never do it again, i swear!” he begged. after a little more, you gave in and fell asleep listening to the storm in his arms. and his snoring.

[vampire-matcha]

Part 3 of Cheating!Soap I hope yall are ready to hurt

Hurt/barely comfort if you squint. Soap and reader are both a little (a lot) pathetic.

Johnny didn't move a muscle on the couch. He sat until he was sure you had cried yourself to sleep. He listened as your weeping got more and more subdued, as your heartache wore you down until he could no longer hear your gasps for air. He figures you must have wept yourself to exhaustion. That is, until he hears the bedroom door creak open. He listens to your bare feet pad down the hardwood hallway until the sound is muted by the living room carpet.

Johnny lifts his head from his hands to see you standing there at the other end of the couch. He's never seen you look so weak. So defeated. He did that to you. Your head hangs low and your shoulders are slumped forward; your eyes are dull and your hands hang limp at your sides.

He drops his head again, unable to face what his actions have done to you. You, his angel, his perfect wife. Always patient, always brave, always waiting for him to come home safe. He can't look at you now. He feels the seat beside him sink with your weight. The silence drags on for far too long. When you finally speak, your voice is proven, as if he had personally smashed your throat beneath his foot. He might as well have.

"If this is you..." You pause, searching for the right words. You start again. "If this is you trying to... to figure something out..." You trail off. Your mind isn't all there right now, it melted out through your tear ducts. "If this is you... experimenting..." You take a shaky breath. "Then we can work on this."

He slowly turns his head toward you, eyebrows pinched in confusion. You should be asking for a divorce. You should be telling him to get his filthy ass out. And yet, here you are extending an olive branch. It shouldn't be you. He's the guilty party. He should be groveling at your feet for forgiveness, and you should be denying him.

Your ring still gleams on your finger.

Johnny shakes his head. You've got it all wrong. You're giving him too much compassion. Giving him the benefit of the doubt. It's all wrong. But he can't get the right words out either. All he manages is a shake of his head.

"That's not..." he chokes out. His chest feels like it's encased in iron. Your face crumples again. That awful, anguished look that he had never seen before this night. You make a small, pathetic noise in the back of your throat, trying desperately to hold onto your threadbare composure.

"Then why, Johnny?" You croak out, sounding like you have his fist wrapped around your neck. That would hurt less than this. You gasp for air. "Why did you do this to us?" Us! His poor darling, still thinking of you two as a unit. Can't you see he's ruined it? Why aren't you screaming at him?

"I was scared," he answers. You look at him with great worry in your eyes, now.

"Did he... did he force you?" Oh, there you are again, caring too much for this wretched man before you, giving him compassion he does not deserve. He's quick to deny it. He won't give himself such an easy out. He deserves the shame of the truth.

"No- no! He didn't- we-" he's scrambling for an explanation that won't shatter you completely. You're already fragile and broken. The details will only grind you to bits, won't they? But your looking at him like that, like you won't stop until you know why.

"We were pinned. Communications were dark. There was no way out, and were were in that house for so damn long, I... I didn't think I was coming home." He wants you to snap at him. He wants you to scream at him. That's what you did before you thought you would die? Your last act was to betray your wife? But that's not at all what you do. You're quiet again. Subdued, drowning again in that pretty head of yours.

"Do you love him?" You whisper, the sound made of glass. You barely contain a sob as you stare down at your toes. The answer comes easily to him.

"No." You squeeze your eyes tight, like you don't believe him.

"If it's just sex, I- then I c-can live with it but-" your breath is escaping you as you chase after it to keep it in your lungs. You're losing the race. "But please tell me you don't love him!" And you break again. You wrap your arms around yourself and dig your nails into your arms. You're hurting yourself when you should be hurting him. Tearing him up, throwing him out like the garbage he is. He can't stand the sight of it. He moves.

"I don't! I don't love him!" He rushes out as his hands snap to yours to prevent you from raking harsh lines into yourself. He finally touches you, finally, and it's like cool water on a summer's day. You fall into him, and he wraps you up.

"I can't take it if you love him!" you wail, eyes and nose and mouth all wet. "Please!" He holds you tighter, pulls you onto his lap, tucks your head under his chin, cradles you like an infant.

"I promise," he says right into your ear. He needs to make sure you hear it. "It's you. It's only you. I love you. I love you. I love you." He utters it like a prayer. Breathes it out like a confessional. Utters it only for your holy ears to hear. You cling to him like a raft in a storm. Your nails dig into his chest. Finally, he can pay for his sins. Penance through pain. He hopes you break the skin. A blood sacrifice to the goddess in his arms.

"Please don't leave me," you mumble. It's a pitiful plea. He hates himself for knocking you down so low. Why are you begging him? Don't you know it should be him instead? He holds you impossibly closer, almost afraid to crush you.

"Never. Never." You draw back suddenly, both hands holding his face. There's a firey desperation in your eyes. He feels the metal of your ring pressing into his cheekbone.

"Swear to me." Your wild eyes dart back and forth between his.

"I swear-"

"Whatever you do out there- whatever you have to do to make it through- to make it home-" your words come out rushed between panicked breaths. You grimace and shake your head, unable to finish the thought. "Whatever you do, you come home to me. Me. Your wife."

"My wife," he repeats and nods.

"Swear it!"

"I swear!" And then you kiss him. It's wet and clumsy and shaky. Your lips taste like stomach acid but he can't find it in himself to care. He'll do anything you want if only to lessen your pain.

"We made a vow, John MacTavish," you whisper, lips trembling against his. Your fingernails dig into his shaved scalp. Good. "You are mine."

"I'm yours. I'm yours." You press your forehead against his.

"Now take your wife to bed."

---

Part 4

[flowersforchoso]

Making up with bi-han

this is the sequel to breaking up with bi han, which can be found here

even after he beseeched for another chance, you remained resolute in your decision. unwavering

though the rejection bruised his ego and badly, he was not going to act crazy over it. if you were expecting him to grovel, then forget it because he won't do that

however, his hurt this time directed inwards. he feels it deeply, marinates in it. the pain is immersive. like ripping the bandages of fresh wounds and dousing it with salt.

what he feels is defeat. which manifests as a sinister detachment. the shift in his behaviour is almost imperceptible but its hyper visible, to a keen eye. he would still lash out from time to time, albeit with less vigor. he's become much more... subdued. in mannerism. almost as if the lin kuei grandmaster was replaced by a clone.

as a man who hates showing emotions, he keeps to himself, unbeknownst that it was instead, a riveting display of it

and all because of a woman's rejection no less. not just any woman, but a woman whom he loves. someone he opened his heart for, a rare occurrence.

its at this point that kuai liang intervenes because something was amiss. and since nobody knows his brother better than him, he could tell he was hurting despite trying to mask it, or failing to do so.

so he comes to you acting as a mediator of sorts. a bridge connecting distant worlds. proposing you consider his brother's affections towards you.

the encounter shocks you to say the least, and you express your disbelief in bi han having to resort to cheap tricks such as this—sending others to beg on his behalf

to which kuai liang corrects, by telling you that this was out of his own volition. his brother had nothing to do with it and this concerns you for bi han was haughty. you never could've imagined you, of all people, got to him this way.

you think it through and decide that maybe, a change was due

so you took initiative and requested to see him. with kuai liang being the messenger, that puts hermes to shame, and to bi han's consternation. he didn't ask neither did he appreciate the meddling

you arrived at madame bo's. when it was sparse and dark. beyond closed hours. you felt this was too serious and solemn of a meeting as you entered the establishment. and she, madame bo herself, playfully scolded you for being such a heartbreaker. wait. how did she know this?

you stood in a corner. then began pacing, rehearsing all the things you wanted to say to him as the restaurant emptied out

few minutes later, there was an addition. bi han appeared and you heard your heart beat loudly. a tumultuous sound capable of rupturing your eardrums

he approached you. bore the familiar scowl that etched across his features. you imagined he thought the occasion ridiculous and juvenile. a tangle reserved for the school-aged

"you wanted to see me" he grinds out causing your eyes to dart upwards to meet his. searching for... only heaven knows, as you drew in shaky breaths. the air loathing you in the moment.

then you willed yourself into speaking, allowing the hurt and pain take over by pouring your heart out; telling the ways he hurt you, and how he maintained he had done no wrong, justifying himself. invalidating your feelings

you couldn't prevent the tears from falling as you recount those memories. letting out mournful sobs when you told him you loved him then, and still do now

bi han is taken aback by all of this. seeing you crestfallen, a side he had never seen, and being the reason was gut-wrenching. which propels him to envelope you in an embrace

he then apologizes, a first for him, killing the ugly need to defend himself. there's so much he wants to say, but lacks the linguistic flexibility to convey the emotions that welled from within him, with you, in the dark about his internal struggles

when you finally steadied yourself, you sniffed, "thank you. that's all i wanted to hear"

[preciouslittle-bhaalbabe]

"Star" A cute one shot fluffy fic of Astarion and Esme being sweet together <3

Astarion finally agrees to let Esme paint his portrait. He had no idea what to expect.

Esme was mixing paints on her palette in comfortable silence while Astarion sat patiently on his bedroll. "What pose would you like me to do?" "Just do whatever you feel comfortable with!" Esme says, her attention on making sure she's got the perfect shades of yellow. "Hm, I'd be much more comfortable in the nude" Astarion teases. He was wearing some old robes they found in abandoned house in the wilds. Not very luxurious, but it would do.

"Oh, hush you. Now is hardly the time for that type of talk. Portrait painting is very serious work!" "I'm sure it is darling." He stands and wraps his arms around her, landing a small peck on the top of her head. Then, he gets a stool and sits in front of her easel, waiting for her command. "Alright now, you can talk, but try not to squirm around too much". "Can do. So um, when did you start painting?" Astarion asks. "I..Don't know exactly. It feels like I always have". She places her paintbrush in a dark navy blue shade, and starts pressing light and quick strokes onto the canvas.

"Painting and music seem to be the only things I've been able to hold onto" Esme says, her mind clearly elsewhere. She looks over and studies Astarion for a moment. Taking in each of his features. "What made you change your mind about me painting your portrait?" Esme asks, taking out another wider brush and dipping it in white paint. "I'm not sure. I know you've described to me what I look like in great detail. But I want to know what you see when you look at me." "I will show you exactly how I see you then" Esme says with a smile. Some time passes. The quiet sounds of the night, some light rain pittering on the tent roof, and the soft strokes of Esmes paintbrush fill the empty space. A small moment of peace. Esme is completely engrossed in her work, looking over at him every so often. He loves watching her when she's like this. The usual concern and worry on her face softens as she focuses. Her lips parted slightly. He wants nothing more than to get up from his stool and kiss her. But she looks so entranced by her work, it would be a shame to interrupt her. "Alright! Just a little white over in this bit and...Done! Close your eyes for a moment". Astarion does as he's told. "Are you nervous?" "A little" "It's alright, I may have taken some artistic liberties. But this is how I see you".

The shuffling sound of Esme taking the canvas off the easel makes Astarions stomach drop. "Alright, open your eyes whenever you're ready". Astarion takes a breath, and opens his eyes to see Esme holding a painting of what looks to be a being made of pure light surrounded by a night sky. When he looks closer he can see all the features she told him about. His crimson eyes, his cheekbones, his white curls and dangerous smile. But everything is bright and warm. The figure is posed as if reaching up to the heavens. Wearing soft silken robes made from stars that dance along his pearlescent skin. The expression on his face is hopeful and joyous. Small stars surround him leaving a trail. He is glowing. A light in a dark expanse. "Your name means 'Little Star' does it not?" Esme asks. "It does, Esme this is, beautiful. I thought you'd be just making a portait of me as I am, but this is something else" "This is you, this is how I see you" "What are you calling this painting then?" "Ssussun elgg oloth, light slays darkness." "You are one of a kind my dear, do you know that?" Astarion says. His voice close to breaking. He has never felt seen in this way. He was expecting just a regular painting of him sitting in this dingy tent in low light. Nothing like this. He hasn't thought much of himself besides being a monster for so long. A dark creature of the night, groveling and hiding in the shadows. This painting alone made him feel like more. Radiant, hopeful. "I'm glad you like it then!" Esme smiles. "You're a wonderful muse". "That's quite the understatement my dear. I love it. I'm going to put it outside for everyone to see once the paint dries...Thank you." Astarion stands and walks over to Esme, grabs the painting from her hands, sets it back on the easel carefully and pulls her into a tight embrace. His angel. His home. His sweet little Selûnite. His light in an ever growing darkness.

[overtaken-stream]

Begging for more king the wildfire smut like groveling and sobbing

I'm tearing my hair out bc I have no motivation to do anything besides play genshin and lvl up Wanderer (I am still in Inazuma and had only one interaction with the said man). Also don't think too much about what readers going to wear after this bath, I have no idea. AND THANKS FOR 50 FOLLOWERS GUYS!🥹🥹🥹

Yandere!King The Wildfire x Reader Pt3

! !NSFW! !

Warnings: female reader, invasion of privacy, non-con, bathroom, grief(???).

EVERYTHING IS FICTIONAL! I don't support these actions IRL!

The water felt suffocating against your skin, it felt heavy with the remnants of your old isle, the home you'd grown up in nothing but ash at this point, stuck onto your garb long forgotten on the stainless vanity.

The claustrophobic feeling continued to claw up on your sides as you scrubbed your skin under the watchful eye of your captor, the sponge dug into you, leaving scratch marks in its wake, and the rough exterior failed to bring you the feeling of cleansing you desperately needed, the raw burn marks on the skin made you even more anxious in the face of a monster, who used the same instruments to ruthlessly mutilate the innocent lives, whether or not you knew them didn't matter, their soulless eyes that begged for help still followed you, who saw them every time you close your eyes.

He was the same, whether or not he was under the same roof, the walls had his eyes, his ears, and the haunting aura, even as he sat just a couple of feet away from you, outside the bathtub, his eyes pierced your defenseless self until you could feel every shift they'd make, over your hips, hair and back they'd travel, sizing you up while your hands shook under the warm and dirty water, how could he... How could he humiliate you to such an extent?

(you wish you had a power of some kind, to deny him and get out of his iron grip, let alone the entire ship. His eyes looked down on you as he pulled your stubborn body into the bathroom, with one command.

``Wash up.``

What words could get through a man, a creature that merciless?)

You flinched at every move from him, your every scrub and burn did not relieve the shame and guilt that came from your spare time thoughts, even as you bled from the scrubbing, your people had it worse, so why, why did he drag you into it? what did he drag you into. What could you have possibly done to get the attention of this beast? You already have an answer, Nothing.

The dense atmosphere clogged your thought processes as you sat in the water that lost its heat. Looking down at your reflection, he continued to monitor you. You hated him, you hated how he started at you like a creature whose existence he couldn't comprehend, eyeing you like an animal with an unknown glint swimming in his blood-colored eyes, almost like he was trying to dissect a metaphor set in stone.

You could only bite your moist lips and leave a crescent-shaped mark on your thighs while hearing his footsteps close the distance between your frames. The bubble of simple emotions sways beneath your skin, shaking your resolve under his shadow.

Fright, alarm, loathing, it all made you quiver.

His hand, free of his leather glove, bothers with slow and sensual touches across the canvas that you are, his silhouette is visible in the discolored water, despite not coming into it himself, and that's the last sight you see before shutting your eyes.

You can't stop his arm, long and muscular from years of experience trailing over your ribs and down your belly, into the water, Despite your knees and hands trying to push against it in vain, the limb proceeds to slither without any obstacles until it meets its destination.

Your grip loses its strength, clinging onto his muscle as you drop your head, letting your hair hide you from his unwavering gaze, Your blood boils, yet you take your anger out on your bottom lip.

His thumb hovers over your nether region, pregnant pause from him falls upon you. Has he finally decided to stop his intolerable actions against you?

The thought gets relinquished as soon as he eagerly entangles his fingers with your sex, an unexpected action leaving you breathless as he digs and digs and digs.

Your back arches off of him, trembling knees trying to find leverage as your hands once again tighten around him, though you don't open your eyes, you can almost feel the glare, an unknown emotion rolling off of him in thick waves. Your teeth aren't enough to muffle the groans and panting that escape your bloodied lips.

He rubs and rubs, fast and slow in no particular rhythm, thumb pressing against your clit, he places a pressure you were never able to on that bundle of nerves, before kneading, hard. Whimpers bounce off of the walls as your body shakes. It hates.

His fingers spread your rose apart and you've never felt more caged. More helpless and disgusted with yourself.

The tears slide down your cheeks, combining with the blood gushing out of the bitten lip and it trickles down towards the reflection of the water.

Your body contracts with the pleasure, closed eyes rolling back into your skull as your mouth hangs open, a wave of pleasure leaves you helpless, taking away the shame before it dwindles and handles the pain like a weapon, slamming into you full force as soon as his heat leaves your back, hand now out of water.

You close your knees, the tears flow like a waterfall across your face, wails that don't leave you shake your body in quiet prayer. You're scared to open your eyes. Scared to see the revolted faces of the deceased staring back at you, spewing words of shame you surely deserve.

His footsteps fade, yet his absence goes unnoticed.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

”I talked to Southgate yesterday.”

The sun is not yet up; Jamie is dutifully stretching his legs in the cold yellow of a streetlight when Roy suddenly speaks. It’s the first thing he’s said all morning, except for gruff commands of run and ten more and fucking higher, Tartt. 

“Yeah?” Switching legs to work on his other calf, Jamie tries for a casual tone, fails, and doesn’t much care. “What about?” 

Roy gives him a look: the fuck do you think? There’s no heat in it, though. Rarely is these days, and that thought is a glowing ember in Jamie’s chest, equal parts joy and amazement.  

For a moment, Roy doesn’t say anything else. Jamie completes his stretches and straightens. Waits, with heart hammering hard, hard beneath his hoodie. 

“He got in touch two years ago,” Roy finally offers, seemingly adressing the streetlight. “Before the Euros. Asked about you, what sort of player you were.” He glances at Jamie then, face carefully blank. “I told him the truth.” 

That… hurts, unexpectedly. Not because Jamie is surprised, really, or because it is unfair, because he isn’t and it’s not, but still. It stings, though not as bad as it had back then, and for different reasons. 

He wants to make a joke, say something glib to chase the taste of resigned dismay and shame away: he opens his mouth; closes it again. Looks away from Roy and is grateful that the other man seems content to leave it at that rather than going into the details of just what he’d told Southgate. Fair or not, Jamie thinks he can do without hearing it. He can imagine it well enough. 

Roy is studying him, like he’s expecting Jamie to protest or complain. It feels a little bit like a test, maybe. Jamie remains quiet. Fiddles with his sleeves for something to do with his hands as the silence grows longer and the morning colder around him.   

And perhaps it is a test after all, because after a moment Roy nods slowly before starting to talk again. “Anyway, yesterday I called him up to let him know that those things I said two years ago weren’t true anymore, and that I didn’t want any of that to be held against you now.” 

Jamie’s eyes snap to Roy’s face and he opens his mouth to speak, but Roy holds his hand up, forestalling him. “Now, I have no idea what’s going to happen so I don’t want you getting your hopes up, but I’m telling you this because if he calls I want you to be prepared, because he’ll be asking about that stupid shit you pulled, what the fuck you thought you were doing, and I need you to be on your best fucking behaviour, okay? Don’t grovel, but none of that fucking cocky bravado or defensive bullshit either. You were a prick, you understand that now, and you’ve worked fucking hard at being better. Got it?” 

Jamie nods, quickly, eagerly, because yeah, yeah, he can do that. Would probably be up for a bit of grovelling too, if it increased his chances of being called up. Fuck, he’ll say whatever he has to say, spill his whole fucking heart if need be to prove that he can be the best fucking— 

Suddenly, he frowns. Roy notices and raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“Should I… “ Jamie pauses, uncertain. “Should I tell him, you know, about me dad? I mean, if he asks why I left City to do a TV show, what do I say?” 

Roy considers that for a bit. It occurs to Jamie that Roy probably doesn’t actually know why Jamie ran out on City the way he did; Jamie certainly never told him, and he doubts Ted did either. But he can probably guess the rough shape of it anyway.

“Gareth’s a good man,” Roy offers at long last. “You want to tell him the truth, you tell him the truth, he won’t say a word. Don’t try to use it as an excuse though.” 

“I won’t,” Jamie says with a small scowl and a flash of annoyance, because when has he ever? 

Maybe Roy realizes as much, because his face softens into something almost apologetic. “I’m just saying, because I don’t want any of that old stuff getting in the way of you being called up now.“ He pauses, like he’s hesitating over whether to keep on talking or not. Settles for keep on talking, apparently, because he adds, without looking at Jamie, “You deserve it.”

Three words, and enough for the ember in his chest to roar into open flame. Jamie can feel the heat of it reach his face; gentle warmth in the February chill. “Thanks, Coach.”

--- 

The call comes two days later. Taking it has Jamie running late for training and when he finally rushes into the dressing room Roy lays into him with enough venom to make the other players carefully back away from them. Still, Jamie can’t do a thing to quell the grin on his face.

“What the fuck are you smiling at?” Roy snaps. 

“Southgate called.” He’s a little surprised to hear how dazed he sounds. Feels like he could fucking fly, but the words come out almost hushed. 

Roy immediately stills. “And?”

He should savour it, perhaps, the triumph of this moment. Take a second to marvel at the sight of Roy – Roy fucking Kent – holding his breath as he waits for an answer, but he can’t, he can’t, it’s too big, to happy, too fucking good, and he can’t hold it in. “He’s calling me up.”

[okiroash]

i already blabbered about it before but i really love your take and direction with red because your direction with him really opens up a lot of perspective into his early life pre and post mt silver and just how much he was treated as rags to glory from his surroundings and how a title that is usually revered as a goal ended up suffocating him and how much it created a dampen on his livelihood that his last act towards the ones who love him for who he is is to leave them because he truly believed that his newfound reputation is already a nuisance to his mother and how he probably ruined the only friendship he had with blue when he saw just how he was rejected and pushed aside when red triumphed over him at their champion battle. just seeing the whole world around you change as you are lifted higher and higher that people treat you as more-than god to the point where all that remains at the top is you. everyone from up is just a part of the groveling masses who look up to you, with the only people who still treat you as human getting suffocated and trampled in the bounds of your popularity by your worshippers. and it hurts seeing them that way. to the point where you think that this sort of heaping mess is not needed in their life, and that mess is only there because of you. you are the reason their lives are more difficult. it's hard to look at them in the eye when they tell you they still love you. it's hard to look at yourself and say that you still deserve to be loved.

GRAAAHHHHHHH THERE RIGHT THERE.. YOU WORDED IT EXACTLY PERFECT,,, I'm really really happy to hear that,, ;; sometimes I feel embarrassed having rambled about my interpretation of red here.. so I'm joyful to receive these kind of asks... truly the title of champion had only brought suffering.. akin to a curse, having no one to blame but himself... "rags to glory" that's exactly the way to describe it!!! back then he wasn't regarded so highly and even looked down upon.. while not great- it was more preferable to red as it didn't give such a huge gap between him and everyone compared to being seen above people, it's just as dehumanizing, you wouldn't even be able to climb down from that popularity easily.. the drastic changes from mean looks to bundles of adoration.. to think the latter would be so much scarier

ohh those words near the end of the ramblings.. gosh,, I really love thinking about post-mt silver red having trouble with self-love and guilt.... that he feels like he's not punished enough for what he did, for abandoning them (but he's going through so much already, there's no need to) the constant shame looming over- of being unable to just live a life "normally"- of simply interacting with strangers had even become too scary (which in turn, makes it hard to go to a public area), of having forgotten on how to do some things because he hasn't done it in a long time.. of frequently feeling.. lost.. (edit: felt like this was vague, I don't think red cares whether or not he can fit in, it feels guilty only for this case because it made him feel like living in mt silver was nicer because of the constant of new struggles below, he couldn't imagine telling that to them... they're happy he's here and it's quite guilty when he's not) and seeing his friends help him through it- that too made him feel like a burden, he doesn't want to trouble them more!! accepting help and relying on other people is still difficult but he's working on it :') !!! healing era... this part of red's life is a tough rocky road... but he will preserve..

[valerileygreen]

@inception30daychallenge Day 17: How did the team spend the rest of the week on the first dream level?

2 days, 11 hours, 45 minutes.

That’s how long they’ve been here, and they still had almost 5 days before waking up.

Arthur was sure he’d go insane first. He hated sitting idly at the best of times, but here, with anxiety about Cobb and Saito’s fates and crippling guilt gnawing at him and nothing to distract him, it was a particular flavour of hell.

He let out a weary sigh and tightened his grip on the rail overlooking the city. He was alone. Eames still had a duty to look after Fisher and no one was talking to Yusuf right now. Ariadne had stayed with him for a while at first, relating what happened on the third level and Limbo and just keeping each other company, but when she decided to go back to their designated warehouse to rest he didn’t follow, needing to keep on the lookout for projections. 

It was admittedly a flimsy excuse, the projections had calmed down now that Fisher was, presumably, at peace with everything, and there were remarkably few of them in the area of the city the team had claimed for themselves at a distance from where Fisher was staying. But he had already fucked up far too much for one job, he wasn’t going to take any more risks.

He tensed as he heard approaching footsteps, but then he recognised who it was.

‘Eames. Shouldn’t you be with Fisher?’

‘But babysitting is so boring, darling. I reckoned your company would be more pleasant.’ Eames answered cheekily.

‘Piss off, Eames.’ Arthur turned away from him. ‘I’m not in the mood for your games.’

‘Mm, it appears I miscalculated the pleasantness of the occasion.’

Arthur snorted. ‘Seriously Eames, why are you here? In case you haven’t noticed we’re still in the middle of a job and you left the mark alone. Do you realize how irresponsible it is?’

‘Relax, Arthur. Fisher’s fine, I may also hazard that the inception worked. But he actually did ask for some time for himself, so…’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll just go check on him tomorrow.’ 

Eames leaned on the rail beside Arthur. ‘I’m more interested in seeing how you're holding up, honestly.’

Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Ariadne doesn’t think so. And forgive me, Arthur, but looking at you,’ he gave Arthur a once-over with no trace of his usual leer. ‘I’m more inclined to believe her than you.’

Arthur scowled. ‘Ariadne can well mind her own damn business. And you as well.’ It came out less angry and more brittle than Arthur would have liked, and he looked away.

Eames gently bumped his shoulder to Arthur’s. ‘Come on, pet. Don’t be like that. You can’t blame her for being worried.’

‘I wish she didn’t. There’s no need.’

‘Debatable. And in any case it doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid. She’s a good sort. Did you know she’s already dragged Yusuf out of his shame corner? And probably lectured, psychoanalysed and then forgiven him, by the look of things. Next we know, she’s going to rope him into playing cards or chess or something equally ridiculous.’

Arthur huffed out a poor approximation of a laugh. ‘Has she, now? I bet she even told him what’s the best way to grovel and apologize to us.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s too smart for her own good. And too good for our kind of world.’

Eames chuckled. ‘She’ll rule dreamshare one day, let me tell you. She’s even better than Cobb.’ And like that the mood sank again.

‘So is that what got you all doom and gloom, now?’ Eames asked after a minute with a sigh, far more softly than before, and Arthur felt a surge of rage.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Eames! Of course it is! How can you be so unaffected?’ He snapped irritably. ‘Cobb and Saito are gone and lost in Limbo, and we’re still trapped here for days and not truly safe till we wake up and out of the plane, and we don’t know if and how they’ll be able to wake up at all, and if they don’t who knows what the hell expects all of us once we land, and it’s all my fucking fault!’ His voice kept rising and becoming more frantic as he got more and more worked up. ‘It’s my fault for being unable to do something so fucking simple as checking if he was militarized, and now all our fucking lives are hanging by thread! And for what? For nothing, no one!’

‘Enough!’ Eames grasped at his shoulder and shook it a little, the contact and firm order both so unexpected that stopped Arthur in his tracks. Then lower, gentler. ‘Enough, darling. Please. You can’t do this to yourself. You can’t take the blame for every single thing that went wrong. Not everything is neatly recorded, and even if it was, you had more than enough on your plate and no matter how hard you try you’re not a robot. Unexpected shit happens all the time. It’s not your fault.’

Eames started rubbing his thumb on the soft skin of his neck soothingly, and Arthur didn’t deserve it but he was weak, he was so fraught and exhausted that he couldn’t bring himself to shake his hand off, greedy for Eames’ warmth. ‘But it is. We wouldn’t be in this situation if we had known about the militarization.’ He said brokenly.

‘Or if we had known about the sedative.’ Eames grumbled. 

And yeah, okay, Eames had a point, that betrayal still stung. But still, it wouldn’t have been such a problem if he had done his own goddamn job. ‘But-’

Eames interrupted him right away with a squeeze of his shoulder, his gaze so intense Arthur felt himself unravelling under it. ‘But nothing, Arthur. You fucked up, okay, that’s true. But the mess we’re in isn’t just your fault. That knowledge wouldn’t have protected us fully anyway. Maybe Saito would have still been shot, or maybe you in an attempt to protect us, and then we would have been in even more trouble. We will never know. As we don’t yet know if Cobb and Saito are actually lost forever or not. But there’s no use despairing now, so let’s try to stay optimist instead, yeah?’

‘Eames…’ Arthur choked around the lump in his throat, and his vision turned blurry.

Eames suddenly wrapped his arms tightly around him. ‘Oh, Arthur, please, stop torturing yourself for it. You did the best you could. And even if it wasn’t enough, even if Cobb and Saito won’t wake up, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Together. But Cobb already came back from Limbo once. So, and I can’t believe I’m really saying this about that bastard, have faith in him.’

It was just too much, the last shreds of his facade crumbled and Arthur buried his head in Eames’ neck and cried all his frustration and exhaustion and grief, while Eames merely held him close and whispered sweet reassurances.

When his tears subsided he didn’t move, a bit embarrassed by his outburst, but Eames didn’t comment, merely asked if he felt better.

‘Not really. But maybe-’ Arthur let out a shuddering breath and finally lifted his head to look at Eames. He was smiling, sad and impossibly fond, and Arthur’s heart squeezed. ‘Maybe you’re right. If there’s someone who can come out of Limbo it’s Cobb, so we have reason to hope. I’ll try not to worry about it so much.’

Eames’ smile brightened. ‘That’s the spirit, love. And lucky for you, I know the perfect distraction from life’s troubles. How about we go teach Ariadne and Yusuf proper poker? We’ll make him lose all the extra money he’s unduly earned as punishment.’

Arthur let Eames drag him away in companionable silence.

It didn’t last long.

‘So.’ Eames started. ‘What happened in your level? It was only a fraction of a second so I can’t be sure, but I’d bet what I saw wasn’t the ceiling of the room.’

And so Arthur told him about how he fought projections in zero gravity and improvised the kick by exploding the elevator.

Eames’ eyes widened more and more, and when the story was finished he stopped them. ‘Why are you being so bloody modest? That’s genius. Never let anyone tell you you have no imagination. You saved us, Arthur!’

‘That’s you, I believe.’ But a small smile was playing on his lips.

‘Well, sometimes I’m an idiot.’ And he kissed Arthur soundly, and Arthur couldn't help kissing back, it had been so long. 

They pulled apart at the same moment and rested their foreheads against each other. ‘Darling, what are you doing after this?’

Arthur’s heart was pounding, but he was still the pointman and ensuring everyone's safety had to be his top priority. ‘Assuming everything goes right, we’ll need to separate, just like we planned.’

‘Can’t we just leave together? Just the two of us.’ Eames pleaded.

‘No. It’s too risky,’ Arthur reasoned, sounding regretful. ‘And I’m long due for a visit home.’

‘Oh. Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. But after that we will talk, right? About… this.’ He gestured helplessly between them, and his eyes were so huge and hopeful, mirroring the same longing Arthur felt, and Arthur couldn't resist.

‘Yeah.’ Arthur promised, entwining their fingers. ‘We’ll talk later.’

It was still raining, but Arthur felt lighter, a ray of hope in the shape of Eames had finally pierced through the thick clouds in his mind. Things were still a mess and very uncertain, and there was nothing to be done now till they woke up, but no matter what the future held, he wouldn’t have to go through it alone. He smiled.

[swallowedbyfandom]

Darling sister,

Is Colin still alive? If he has survived the night may I remind you that you are much too pale for mourning colors. Also I am entirely too busy right now to attend a funeral.

If he has not survived, I am sure your mother knows a questionable doctor that can make it look like alcohol poisoning. Or I can help you hide the body? We can say he ran off to the continent out of fear for your response.

Your ally in sanity, against all things Bridgerton,

Kate

Dearest Kate,

Death would be a mercy I shall not provide my boorish husband with. Did Anthony tell you what that drunken fool did? Last night Colin drunkenly boasted to all of White's Gentlemen's club that his seed is so superior even spilling on my bosom managed to impregnate me! As if it was not enough that he has gotten me with child, again! That bastard did it without even spilling in me! How is that even possible?

The beautiful simpleton I married does not even realize that now every horrid gossip will question our new child's legitimacy. I have my staff packing for Colin. I am sending him off for an extended stay with his mother. Let me look Violet in the eyes and explain why he has been exile from our home. I would love to watch that show. He can come back home once he has groveled sufficiently.

I swear the first time some Cad makes a comment about spillage or my bosom I will burn White's club to the ground. Perhaps then Will and Alice can reestablish their club. Their clientele were much better than the entitled snobs found at Whites.

Your irate ally,

Pen

Sister,

I assure you, I warned everyone present that I would not tolerate disrespect towards you. I was very clear that I would not take kindly to any rumors or comments getting around over my brother's inappropriate statement. We also gave Colin a good ear boxing before sending him home to you.

Please do notify me if anyone makes a comment that makes you uncomfortable. There is no reason for you to sully yourself with arson, our family is rich enough that I already have someone on retainer for that. It seemed like a prudent investment when Berbrooke made himself an issue. Lady Whistledown saved me a lot of coin running him out of town when she did.

There is no need for you to physically exert yourself, sister. You should be resting. I know how difficult the early stages of pregnancy can be on you.

Fondly,

Your favorite brother

Dearest Colin,

Albion bought me the most disturbing tale about your conduct at White's last night. I did not believe it for a single second. Sadly I can see you have been exiled to your mother's house. Which must mean there was truth to his accounting of your behavior. Perhaps I set my expectations too high. I am so very disappointed right now.

Oh Colin, I thought you were done drinking to excess and using your words to bring shame to my daughter. I had believed you learned from your mistakes. Instead I hear you were careless in discussing your martial relations. I didn't think I needed to tell you this, but what happens in the bedchambers between a husband and his wife is private. It is not fodder for tales or boasts. Commenting publicly about the intimacies you share with your wife is practically an invitation to others to do the same. I hope we both agree that Penelope deserves better. I hope you understand that I expect better from the man I trusted with my daughter's future.

Love,

Mama Portia

Colin,

Who is Portia's favorite son now? Thank you for blundering in such a spectacular manner. How does defeat taste? Is it as overly salted as you claimed my last cheese spread was?

Ha ha,

Albion

(Note slipped under Colin's door)

Col,

Ben saids Pen sent you here on a time out for your "fool antics". I love you Col but don't get too comfortable. If your presence here means she won't come for tea and tutoring then you will have to move in with Ben. I won't let you ruin this for me! You will not come between us.

Love,

Hyacinth Bridgerton

Apprentice

[d-structive]

tumblr.com/jesuscup/760950392021549056 64.media.tumblr.com/c775bc345c5cd1c97853c0ab03a3087e/275672ffb1599b44-a8/s1280x1920/d89da7fde183799b5028186104a43af73695d3dc.pnj This POST reminds me of the time my friend wanted to go play Bingo, and a few of us went, and my brother & his friend came along.. and I don't know if you know this but the BINGO parlor does not go nice & slow for you, the grannies there are dabbing like 7 sheets on screens, they are the Bingo professionals. We are given around 3 seconds to dab all our sheet(s), but we could barely keep up with one or three. At one point we asked one of the ladies, hey how come you guys keep winning so much, and she told us I play 6-7 sheets, so I have more chances to win. We were like what?! How is that possible? Computer, but we tried & failed with & another lady suggested dabbing bc it's faster, "OK that's it! No more Mr. Nice guy, gloves off. We got this!" We maxed out at 3 sheets, but there was trouble brewing ahead.. bc I kept interrupting to ask my friends, what was the last # they called, which is probably how my friend got messed up, whoops! Well anyways at one point my friend thought she got BINGO & she stood up & yelled: C16 BINGO!!! Call it pride, but we just wanted to beat them, all those senior citizens - just once, is that asking too much?! ..let's just say she never lived it down, LOL, up until 10 years after the fact, & we parted as friends, my brother would randomly say those words to her whenever we'd run into each other. She hasn't forgotten. We also never went back, we couldn't even keep a straight face everytime they called anything with 16 or C we cracked up.. You know it's too bad it wasn't C3, would have tied into this topic on another level.. oh well c'est la vie mon ami. My point? We in our pride, will wrongly aim for things that will only bring about our shame. Count on it, pride goes before the fall, or as GOD puts it: Do not be fooled, GOD is not mocked. Psalm 37:12-13 puts it a little more starkly, GOD will laugh at you on the day of your grave need. You don't want that, you can't grovel for mercy in the grave. There is a point of no return, just ask Pharaoh or the many people who have become embittered by the things they can't achieve in life. #jaded Should have just kept the top line: I don't carry because I'm evil. [BINGO Amigo] Ask JESUS in today, HE is knocking at your broken heart & dreams, to answer the cry of your eternal soul. HE died to save you from the due penalty of your sins & cleanse you to be truly good even in the absence of any physical benefit to your person.

I don't understand if you are either calling me old, sad, evil, or if Jesus really wants to play Bingo, but never had the chance to do so. Moral of the story: Never trust those who play Bingo.

[anders-hawke]

hey I'm the previous anon!

I kinda logged off for a while but seeing your answer made me want to ask so really, I'd love to hear about it from a screenwriter pov.

hope you don't mind all these questions!

as per the hot takes of this season, how do you feel about them? so fa the ones I've seen are:

pen not deserving forgiveness and being the villain of the show

the queen and the ton being too easy on pen

colin needing to grovel more

eloise having to be kinder to cressida and have her become besties with penelope by saving cressida together

eloise and cressida having to be endgame and eloise being the queer bridgerton instead of francesca

benedict having to be w a man or w a crossdressing sophie because he's bi

and, what do you think of the choices made by the team this season?

what do you think of franchaela? was it a fun twist or should they have avoided giving francesca the gay storyline?

what about benedict? his gay storyline this season and why just this season?

why do you think the mondrich are so important? could it be (like some people speculate) because lord kent is gonna be hyacinths gareth?

how you feel about the very modern twist on makeup and style this season?

what do you think of penelope continuing as lw and using her name and potentially putting herself in danger?

I've tried to ask as much as possible but if there's anything else you want to elaborate on feel free!

I don’t mind the stack of questions at all! It’s very exciting to dissect it all and answer them. Honestly, I have a whole document dedicated to unpacking and debunking lots of the hot takes I’ve seen because it’s so annoying to see people type with their brains off. Like, no shame if you don’t think while watching stuff—lord knows I watch something for the first time without much in the way of higher thought happening. But I also recognize that and take the time to organize my thoughts before I speak on anything. (Although that might just be a bit of a coping mechanism I developed because of my anxiety disorder that serves a good purpose generally.) This post will also be spoilery because I reference events from the books a lot.

Pen doesn’t deserve forgiveness/Pen’s the real villain of the show/QC & the ton were too easy on her.

There is no “actual” villain of the show. It’s fucking Bridgerton, like, be honest! That claim just makes me laugh because it’s like... You can’t fool me. I know a lot of people who say that are just indulging their internalized fatphobia. And in the instances when they’re not, it’s still plain old misogyny. On the topic of forgiveness, I personally did not read what happened as anybody forgiving Pen for what she wrote in Whistledown. I think, just like when Colin said he would never court Pen, though he had a change of heart, he never did forgive her.

The people that matter to Pen—the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons, her family—accept what she did and understand that Pen recognizes that she was wrong, would do things differently if she could, and not only resolves to do better but already in season three has demonstrated that effort to do better numerous times. Pen never asked for forgiveness, she requested clemency from the queen.

She gave her speech in front of the ton because hiding that she’s Whistledown implied that some of her best qualities—her cleverness, her passion for writing, her humor—were things to be ashamed of. But they’re not and in embracing her full potential, Pen defied the misogynistic idea pervasive in the ton—which her mother repeats throughout the show but especially in season three—that all women are meant for is bearing children. No, women don’t just have to be mothers and gossips, they’re full human beings.

Pen continuing the column is a good outcome for the ton because they eat her writing up. I remember how, at the beginning of episode six, everyone’s upset that she hasn’t published! They love her writing so damn much. And as Genevieve explains to Alice in “How Bright the Moon,” they all “feed off the nouveau.” They love having new information to gossip about, and what is better than the reveal of who Lady Whistledown is? They probably talked about that reveal all the way through Pen’s maternity leave (or as they called it: confinement) until she published her next issue of Whistledown as Penelope Bridgerton.

Some people just hate to see a woman succeeding. “I don’t care that your spouse worships the ground you walk upon and that the job you love is very lucrative, that should’ve happened to me instead,” sorta attitude is what I’m getting from Pen’s haters, lol. Anyways, all that to get to the screenwriting part of this: Pen becomes Whistledown as an outlet for her frustrations with society. All of her mistakes are reflections of the terrible treatment she gets because she doesn’t fit the ton’s ideal. As Colin said, it makes sense that Whistledown would reflect, at times, the cruelty around Pen.

It’s part of the mirror motif of the season because Pen as a character is a mirror for society. She reflects people’s best and worst qualities. She wants to be more than a wife and mother like Eloise, she shares Colin’s loyalty and kindness (someone has to specifically do her dirty for her to not be kind to them), and she is also deeply critical of herself like her mother, sisters, mamas, and debutantes. She also amplifies all those qualities; for example, when she writes about Colin adopting his rake persona, she’s taking the cruelty of him declaring that he’d never court Pen and turning it back on him but with a megaphone.

I mean, I completely understand why (and I can’t remember where exactly I learned this but I think it was in a live interview she gave during season three promo but I could be wrong) Shonda Rhimes wanted to adapt the Bridgerton books because of Penelope. Obviously she saw something in the other aspects of the series, but Whistledown/Pen is a captivating way of conveying information and examining the ton. Putting Colin and Pen’s season before Benedict and Sophie’s (and, of course, all the other siblings) allows the writers to even more thoroughly use Whistledown to examine and criticize the ton, which will go hand in hand with Benedict marrying Sophie in spite of her being a bastard.

Colin needed to grovel more.

I completely understand where this idea comes from but at the same time... Please give it some actual thought if you believe this. 😭 Not knocking Kate and Anthony, as an oldest sibling I have no choice but to stan them, but it is greatly to Colin’s credit that he approaches Pen the the very first episode of the season with an apology. Anthony isn’t able to do that until the last episode of season two because he’s spent every day since Edmund died repressing his feelings in order to effectively carry out his duties as viscount.

Colin never had any of that sort of pressure and because he’s also significantly younger than both Anthony and Benedict, he’s one of what I call the “sibling-kids.” They’re Ant and Ben’s siblings, yes, but in many ways they are also Anthony and Benedict’s children. It’s kind of like a teen parent relationship with C through H. Anthony, Benedict, and Violet are very much the parents: Anthony nurtures their minds, Benedict nurtures their souls, and Violet nurtures their hearts. Anthony preaches logic (advising Colin to straight up tell Pen he loves her, going on a second honeymoon with Kate since the estate is in good hands and love is important), Benedict preaches freedom (encouraging El’s rebellious pursuits and trying Colin’s drug tea), and Violet preaches wisdom (advising her children to follow their hearts).

Kind of a tangent but as a screenwriter I greatly appreciate the careful construction of the interplaying relationships in this show. With all that, Colin has the benefit of having three advisors in his life and is able to be a very sensitive person, so he doesn’t completely freak out and not know how to approach the situation. Therefore, he doesn’t go overboard with the groveling, which would end up making it Pen’s responsibility to lift him up and set him straight. Instead, he calmly approaches Pen and offers a very thought out apology. The onus is entirely on him and earning Pen’s forgiveness requires no emotional labor on her part. (And this is forgiveness because Colin doesn’t stand by what he said, whereas Pen does, she simply regrets the way she said things.)

It’s such a beautiful scene when he apologizes, partly because it shows the true nature of their relationship: when Colin’s hero complex, his rake persona, Pen’s wallflower persona, and her Whistledown persona are set aside, they are complete equals. They are their truest selves around each other with no need for duplicity or grandstanding. Colin doesn’t need to grovel before Pen for her forgiveness because he takes a mature route where he says his piece and gives her the space to accept his apology or reject it. He truly listens to Pen when she speaks and, as proof of his regret and dedication to their friendship, he offers to help her catch a husband—something she obviously seeks to do but which he didn’t previously know about her.

Honestly, if Colin had just done a bunch of groveling, it would’ve been boring because it means we wouldn’t have the Colin who took Pen’s silence to mean that even the person who was most interested in his travels no longer found them—and therefore him—interesting or worthy of her time. Because he came to that conclusion, he changed everything about himself in the hopes that both Pen and the ton would like the new him better and would take him seriously. The ton certainly does but Pen, who matters more than anybody else, doesn’t.

Colin has always been the type of person who thinks before he acts. The times when he doesn’t are in opposition and that’s on purpose. When Marina seduces him into proposing and agreeing to run off to Gretna Green, she’s manipulating him by using his hero complex to override his thoughtful nature. But we see Colin in his natural state with Pen a lot in season two, especially “The Choice” when they have their conversations about purpose.

Colin and Penelope have also known each other since they were kids, which is why they’re able to be their truest selves around each other. It’s why Colin picks up on Pen’s melancholy and probes her on it, and it’s why Pen immediately understands that Colin isn’t simply growing up when he returns in season three but is putting on a persona. They bypass needing Colin to grovel over his comment in season two because they don’t need grand gestures between them to convey that they’re being earnest.

Eloise should’ve been kinder to Cressida and should’ve worked with Pen to get Cressida a better ending.

If Eloise actually developed the maturity to recognize that Cressida simply wanted to escape her unhappy and tragically doomed life and went about achieving that with unsavory efforts, El wouldn’t have much of a character arc left for her season. As for Pen, she doesn’t owe Cressida shit after all that bullying, and she still didn’t decide to be vengeful. She didn’t disparage Cressida in her column, despite very clearly wanting to. Cressida not getting an HEA serves the same purpose as the Mondriches having to sell their club: only Bridgertons get happy endings. We see this concept even more in Queen Charlotte where there are no Bridgertons and none of the main characters’ situations are happy endings. We know how Charlotte and George’s story turns out, Lady Danbury and Lord Ledger cannot be together, and Violet’s home life is a far cry from the abundance of love she nurtures amongst her children.

Creloise should be endgame and Eloise should be the queer Bridgerton instead of Francesca.

All this nonsense about “the queer Bridgerton” is annoying at this point and I’m so glad that I haven’t had to see it personally surrounding season three. Now, aside from Phillip already being in the show, Creloise was never going to be endgame because neither of them are mature enough for that. Eloise is too focused on how different she feels from everyone else and trying to reconcile that with the idea of everyone having interiority and not being automatically lesser for wanting to get married and have kids. Cressida is too focused on finding a solid marriage and then escaping society for good. Eloise may not like society, but she loves her family and could never leave them behind. However, I do very much read their friendship as queer and think it was probably on purpose that it read that way to us. It’s just that it could never work out in this universe. (There’s always Creloise fics on AO3, it’s fine.)

Frannie’s story is perfect for a sapphic romance, which I’ll talk more about later, and Benedict is obviously also queer, which I will also talk about later. Additionally, from season one, both Benedict and Eloise have been thought of as queer, so I honestly have no idea where people are getting this idea of El being the only queer Bridgerton from. As if we don’t have multiple!

Benedict needs to end up with a man/Sophie should cross dress.

Every person I see saying that Ben needed to end up with a man gets blocked. I don’t need that in my life, especially not when Benedict is representation for me. I don’t think Sophie needs to cross dress in season four because the show has already dedicated a lot of time to Benedict going to little parties and experimenting. Benedict meets Sophie as the Lady in Silver at the masquerade ball at the beginning of An Offer from a Gentleman, yes, but he meets Sophie the maid while he’s leaving a house party. I imagine that he’ll start off the season having a pretty grand time hooking up with people, embracing his sexuality, and then he’ll be hit with the Bridgerton lovesick-itis where he won’t be able to stop thinking about his Lady in Silver. Sophie doesn’t need to dress up as a man to incorporate Benedict’s queerness into the season; he’s queer regardless, and there are much more tasteful—and likely—ways we’ll see that in the show.

Is Franchaela a good change?

I’m so excited for Franchaela I don’t even know how to express it. Like, yes, Polin is my favorite ship and they’ll never be topped for me, but Franchaela is a very close second. I was on board with the gender swap from the get-go because after the first two seasons and Queen Charlotte, it was clear to me that the people making these shows know what they’re doing and aren’t in danger of fucking up the stories they’re telling (despite what some may think). But it was reading When He Was Wicked that I really got excited for Frannie’s season. It’s the perfect book to genderswap because Michael and Francesca spend most of the book dealing with their grief for John and their guilt for falling in love with each other; they perceive that as a slight against John. Using all that guilt in the book and adding in all the emotions that come with discovering that you’re queer—for Francesca, because I assume that Michaela already knows and embraces that about herself. In the book, Michael accepts his feelings for Frannie a lot earlier than she accepts her feelings for him, and I think that translates well into a sapphic version of the story—then Michaela has to deal with Frannie not accepting her queer feelings for her. It’s delicious and we’re not even there yet!

I will say, though, that I understand the worry some people have that the writers may be mishandling Fran and John’s relationship by having Fran immediately have feelings for Michaela and seemingly display some doubts when she kisses John at their wedding. Personally, I think it’s too early to go around decrying the way Fran, Michaela, and John’s story is going. I don’t think Fran and John’s dynamic will be ruined, I think it’s simply a matter of taste when it comes to the book. Francesca and Michael are at the park together in London when Frannie very suddenly starts to view Michael in a sexual light and she gets very flustered, which is obviously brought to the show. But I felt that it was very random and not constructed very well; there was no reason given as to why specifically at this point in their lives, at this moment, Francesca started to view Michael differently. I’ll be happy with how it turns out in the show as long as Francesca isn’t secretly pining for Michaela. I think it’s for the best if she’s immediately attracted to Michaela, so then it doesn’t feel sudden later, but that she doesn’t actually fall in love with Michaela until after John dies and we get to their season.

What is the point of the Mondriches?

I talked earlier about how the Mondriches serve as contrasts to the Bridgertons, where the leads get HEAs but no one else does. In season one, while Daphne and Simon have their issues within their relationship, they ultimately solve their issues without completely compromising their morals. Meanwhile, Will has to completely compromise his morals in order to provide for his family. In season two, Kate and Anthony are struggling to meet their expectations for themselves, just as Will is struggling with expectations vs reality for his club’s success. Where Kate and Anthony are able to step back, accept that they were going about everything wrong, and have their HEA together, it’s only through Colin’s kindness that the club is successful. Although, in both cases, those outcomes are dependent on spokespeople using their influence to rectify the situation: the queen for Kate and Anthony, and Colin for Will and Alice. In season three, while Colin and Penelope don’t have to give up their literary pursuits to have success as the parents of a titled son, Will and Alice have to give up the club.

How do you feel about the very modern twist on makeup and style this season?

I don’t mind it at all. Some of the costumes are irksome (mostly when it comes to minor characters) but for the most part I liked them or at least understood their purpose. I mean, Cressida and her mother’s looks were insane but it fits the fact that they’re trying really hard. I heard somewhere that it’s not so much trying to find the perfect look for Bridgerton but that each season purposefully has a different look that fits with the story being told through the lead romance. So for season three, they take a page out of Portia’s lookbook and the ton goes a little OTT—even Charlotte goes for it (I don’t think she should have but my opinion doesn’t much matter lol).

What do you think of Penelope continuing as LW and using her name, potentially putting herself in danger?

I went into the season expecting Pen to continue writing the column and that’s the outcome I wanted. In Romancing Mister Bridgerton, she simply retires it, but I think it means way too much in the show and also has too many uses as a screenwriter for her to stop writing it. But it’s important that she starts writing it using her real name instead of the moniker. She’s claiming her writings and not hiding from herself anymore. In terms of danger, I think people are very much going overboard. Firstly, nobody is in danger of being beheaded, because in Queen Charlotte, Charlotte melodramatically wishes that she could still behead people because a servant had her woken up in the middle of the night. Secondly, the worst punishment would be imprisonment, but this is Bridgerton, and the queen’s rivalry with Whistledown is a fun game of wits, not a game of “how fast can Charlotte unearth this treasonous snake?”

As for everyone else, they don’t have enough power to actually threaten Pen. She hasn’t written about anyone in a way that would make them want to put her in physical danger, just efforts to stain her reputation, which is why she offers Colin an annulment. What Pen doesn’t know—and what we do know, alongside Lady Danbury—is that the queen wasn’t just in a good mood when she went to the Butterfly Ball, she went with a plan. She wanted to display her power in front of everyone to keep the ton in line but also preserve her rivalry with Pen so that she has something to occupy her time with.

It’s Bridgerton. The romantic leads aren’t actually at risk of death.

I hope I answered all of your questions satisfactorily! I had so much fun dissecting everything!!!