#i recognize a potential ship

[stickybowl]

Carlos and his new radio engineer

[al-luviec]

juvie buddies

[flowerakatsuka]

i can't believe that a show who's main bread & butter is masturbation jokes really has me like

[danwhobrowses]

So finally I can talk more CR stuff after my self enforced pre-119 embargo has been lifted

and Folks, Critters, daresay I Friends: I am exhausted

But it's in a good way, mostly. But only because I have fretted myself for 2 weeks - 2 fair and acceptable weeks because people are the priority when it comes to the fires - only for the expected to be 'final showdown' to have a phase two that continues into next episode (wherein Ludinus could still appear to make things worse), meaning that I'm gonna fret myself into more exhaustion for at least another week and continue my accelerating descent into sleep-deprived madness. Other than that, I am happy with what we were given this episode.

What felt like a mountain to climb after 118 caused such deflation in the fandom has slowly turned a corner thanks to Bell's Hells', well the ones who have known each other longer than a week, will to protect one another; to save Imogen and Imogen's will to get back to her friends. Now Imogen - God Eater Imogen might we add - is free, Predathos is diminished further of power, the Hells are temporarily powered up via boons, and finally, FINALLY, we have an Option C for the god stuff: mortality, similar to how they did on Downfall. A chance for the gods to humble themselves which in a way can gauge their understanding better of what the world and its inhabitants need, to stand alongside their children as family that can be empathised with, rather than denizens living above and away that cannot be understood. Granted it won't be perfect, but no option was perfect - even the Divine Gate has proven not to be perfect - and at least this one is better than death or departure, and it will indeed be up to them to make that choice.

There is still the matter of Predathos and maybe/likely Ludinus of course, as well as trying to convince the gods of this alternative, so everything is far from over, but there is a bit more hope now and I am equally frightened and excited to see the next episode - more than I was for 118 and 119 - and its outcome.

[menspussypowersactivate]

It is midnight and I am once again having inhumane thoughts about Jack Kline before I go to bed cause I have to wake up early tommorow

[elliemarchetti]

Instinct

The follow up to Habit Rouge, or the actual Halloween party, in Eris’s POV.

I stole LoA’s name from @andrigyn's A Swing in the Dark, check it out if you haven’t already because it’s very good, just like everything she does.

Plot: Eris recognizes Nesta’s scent at the party.

Warnings: no beta, we die like heroes.

Words: 3049

Prev

The music was strangely to his taste, nothing like the electronic crap that nowadays played on the radio wherever he went. For too many years the mortals had depended on technology for everything they did, and the absence of a DJ in favour of live music only served to demonstrate they weren’t welcome at the event. Whoever the organizer was, they certainly weren’t Eris’s age, or they would’ve preferred strings and trumpets to guitars and drums, but he knew how to find satisfaction in what he was given, especially considering the chaos of bodies moving on the improvised dancefloor.

With all those werewolves around, the smell wasn't really the best, and soon the stench of sweat would overtake those of the expensive essences the witches had doused themselves with, but even then, he would bear it, if only to find someone to spend that night of revelry with. It was his last lover who invited him, a witch from New Orleans with long white hair and deep blue eyes, the same shade as the ocean on hot summer days. Appropriate, considering her specialty was water manipulation. He could see her among the patrons of the bar, together with her brother and cousin. To the casual eye, they could all have been mistaken for twins, their features so similar and exotic. The oldest of them had his muscular arm around the shoulders of a middle-aged woman, and judging by the adoring smiles he flashed her from time to time, she must’ve been his partner. In the human world, in the broad daylight he had to avoid for centuries, such an attitude would certainly have caused a stir, but here it was normal, encouraged even. After all, although the sorcerer looked twenty-five at best, he must’ve been at least four times older. Surprisingly, Eris too felt his actual age on that chilly night.

He was born in Spain during a violent period, on a year in which freedom was only a distant memory and you couldn’t trust your neighbour, the risk of being sold to the Inquisition as Jew out of mere envy so high that one barely allowed distant family members to visit. The matter shouldn’t have affected him, the Vanserras were fervent Catholics, and it hadn’t, until Eris turned thirteen. He still remembered vividly the day he found out his mother was pregnant for the seventh time. His father had organized a sumptuous banquet, and had announced the happy news with such satisfaction Eris almost feared he wanted to demonstrate to the guests how active he still was in the nuptial bed. Lucien was born the following year, and despite the mild winter, the blood of the maids who had assisted Lady Vanserra during the birth must’ve run cold. The child had auburn hair, and eyes of the same russet as his mother, but his skin was noticeably darker than that of his brothers, so much so that the whispers he was a half Moor reached Eris’s tutor, who was engaged in a lesson with the three oldest children, before they arrived to Beron’s ears.

“Are you sure?” the man asked under his breath, and although the other two students had taken advantage of the opportunity to distract themselves from their books, Eris listened attentively.

“Half Maghreb, I swear,” the woman replied, before disappearing back into the corridors of the villa. They called it the Forest House, and although there were various woods in Spain, the name was due to the quantity of fruit trees the founder of the family had planted all around the estate. Acres and acres of land that Eris knew like the back of his hand, an advantage he used to smuggle out the suspiciously silent baby.

“Run,” his mother had told him that night, still covered in dried sweat, holding back tears. “Leave Spain before your father comes back and never return.”

Eris had kept his promise, even when he discovered they’d both been burned alive. Helion hadn’t embraced God, and Lady Vanserra hadn’t regretted having loved him.

How a fourteen-year-old boy had managed to keep a newborn alive could only be explained through the compassion of strangers: he’d met women who had acted as wet nurses, and had been offered all sorts of lucky passages; he’d sold some expensive heirlooms for twice their value, and he’d been hired as a kennel master even though he had no previous experience, just a great love for animals.

They’d reached England, where their aunts still lived, when Lucien had already learned how to properly talk and walk. The two women, younger than their deceased sister, had silently mourned Aureliana’s terrible fate, and at the same time did everything possible to make their nephews forget the horrors they had to endure, but in 1563 the plague reached the gates of London, and with it more suffering came. In that wicked year, Lucien lost his eye, and Eris was initiated into the supernatural in a rather unceremonious way.

Everyone knew the symptoms of the plague, the disease that had wiped out nearly half of Europe's population just two hundred years earlier. High fever, headaches and severe weakness were only the first of a long list of ailments that led to almost certain death, and when aunt Drusilla began to suffer from them without apparent relief despite the compresses and treatments her family subjected her to, the only reasonable solution was quarantine. Although it didn’t happen so often, it wasn’t unusual for some members of the same household to get sick and others not, but when the terror reached its peak, and the woman stopped sleeping because of the nausea, officers dresses in long black tunics, with thick leather gloves and masks that still populated Eris’s nightmares, showed up at their door to drag her to the lazaret. Lucien had tried to oppose, to place himself between the bedchamber of the woman who acted as mother and father for him, but someone had drawn his sword, and before Eris could intervene, a long red gash had opened on his brother’s face. The deep cut ran from above his eyebrow almost to his chin, and although they managed to stop the resulting heavy bleeding, Lucien didn’t wake up for days. Seeing his little brother, the one for whom he’d risked his life so many years ago, fighting between life and death had pushed him to extremes he never thought he would reach, and in the middle of the night he’d brought a doctor of ill repute to his room, without the knowledge of his grieving aunt. The man was deathly pale, with deep dark circles surrounding his pitch-black eyes. He spoke with a heavy accent, and something in his movements seemed ancient, dating back to times when there weren’t abundant wealth and urban centres teeming with life, but remote villages and a life marked by the alternation of the seasons. He warned him that he would have to pay dearly for his brother’s recovery, and that Lucien would no longer be able to lead a normal existence.

“A solitary life, with an insatiable thirst,” he concluded, after which he laughed at his determination to stay by his side despite everything.

“You would die, and you will do it long before he goes back to being who you now call brother,” he’d warned, so Eris asked if there was no way to follow him on that path, to condemn himself too, if this would serve to help him.

“It's possible,” the doctor confirmed, “but you'll have to pay double.”

The price to reduce his existence to the shadow of what could’ve been, to be dominated by predatory instincts that scratched his chest and broke his ribs if they weren’t indulged, started with the blood of two servants. Eris had sent for them on a plausible pretext, and then watched the doctor drain them as if they were tasty glasses of fine wine, no emotion in his eyes. Soon he too learned how thrilling the taste of healthy people could be, and how bitter that of the sick and the drug addicts was.

For almost fifty years, Lucien hadn’t forgiven him for that choice. It was too much, death preferable to damnation. Eris had told him that he could choose his own path, go out into the sunlight and burn to ashes if that was what he wished for, but at least his conscience was clear and he would know he did everything possible to keep him alive. Over time, his hatred had weakened, and by the beginning of the eighteenth century the roles seemed to have reversed. The habits and customs of the 1700s definitely suited Lucien’s character more than Eris’s, and the long scar had become the protagonist of daring stories that attracted the admiration of men and the adoration of women. Fame obviously proved to be a double-edged sword, making the borders of unified Britain too small for the comely pairing, so they visited the Empire of Denmark and Norway, Sweden, and the ever-expanding Russian lands, from whose territory they witnessed the fall of the Holy Roman Empire and the coronation of Francis II as Emperor of Austria.

In Moscow, Lucien met his first love. Jesminda was a former serf, a poor woman hardened by work and the constant cold that characterized her homeland. She didn’t care that Lucien was a vampire, nor did he care about the dirty looks they were given when they walked the fancier streets, but her family soon forbade her from seeing a man she wasn’t married with, and since there was no way for Lucien to enter a church without perishing, he had to abandon her. More than Eris himself, who knew very little of love at the time, it was Vasilisa Melentyeva who consoled him. Sixth wife of Tsar Ivan the Terrible, after her husband sent her to a monastery to forget about her and have the freedom to remarry, she fled, resolute in not watching life pass before her eyes, only to end up in the hand of a Death God who first trapped her under the ice of Lake Baikal, and then, when he’d grown tired, cursed her to live the daily hours as a flaming bird, so she could act as a reminder of his immense powers for the growing supernatural population. After a quarter of a millennium, and with the impossibility of communicating when most of the people were awake, Vasilisa found it extremely difficult to adapt to the innovations that had radically changed the daily life she remembered, but in the end she succeeded, and the meeting with a heartbroken Lucien had solidified her will to live.

The latest addition to the bizarre group of redheads, and the one who broke the pattern with his brown hair, had been a sarcastic witch hunter whose soul had been trapped in a disturbing ring decorated with his own eye. The maker of said piece of jewellery had a history with the guy, he killed her sister during a previous job, but Eris pitied the finding he made at the end of the 19th century, and since he needed a specific set of skills to reconstruct a body, he, Lucien and the beautiful Vassa moved to France in hope to win over the leader of a renowned Aquitaine congregation. Grateful for what they did for him, and without any ties to his previous home, Jurian remained with them, discovering to his horror he was unable to age. Immortal and immutable were the only adjectives the magical community had managed to use to describe him, aggravating the quartet’s need to move whenever the local population became suspicious.

In 1915, at the outbreak of the First World War, two vampires, a recently reborn phoenix and a human frozen in time boarded the hold of a merchant ship and fled to America, landing in New York together with tens of thousands of Bulgarian, Greek and Romanians refugees. It was there that their paths parted, and nor for lack of love for each other, but because Eris simply wanted a retired life, far from suffering and prejudice, while Lucien and Jurian aspired to carry on Vassa’s desire to help those in need by bringing a smile and a moment of relief.

It was only much later, after the war ended and the Twenties started to roar, that Eris saw their performance for the first time. The Band of Exiles hid their peculiarities in plain sight, so Lucien, who certainly couldn’t die from a bad fall, was now an improvised acrobat, Queen Vasilisa was a bird of rare plumage and Jurian her tamer, who guided her through courses made of fire rings and mid-air pirouettes. When the spectators had finally emerged from the tent, and the two brothers had a moment to talk alone, Lucien had admitted that they didn’t earn much from the tickets, but at least they managed to lead a life worthy of being called one.

At the end of the decade, when the Great Depression hit the Unites States like a hurricane, Eris settled in Boston on a semi-permanent basis, buying for a paltry price an apartment that at the time could be considered quite luxurious. Finding clothes and sustenance was certainly not difficult for a vampire, and the long immobility to which he was forced by the scarcity of entertainment and jobs suited for his condition allowed him to claim a small number of victims, who went unnoticed thanks to his refined techniques of corpses concealment.

His favourite hunting area was undoubtedly the Public Garden, a place that exuded magic and attracted both supernatural beings and humans alike. There he’d encountered The Morrigan, who he’d helped escape her homophobic immortal family, and there he also met his first male lover, a friend of the aforementioned who was able to merge with shadows. Their relationship had been brief and passionate, but then Azriel had reunited with his friends waiting for him further south, and he’d never heard from him again. Just when he thought his life had fallen back into a monotonous routine, he saw Nesta, a witch with unearthly beauty and an icy gaze, so good at concealing her nature that he tried to seduce her like a fool in an attempt to feed on her. When she laughed in his face, he’d decided she would be his partner for life, no matter what he had to do. The courtship had been relentless, made of expensive gifts, attentions and promises, and when she’d finally been his, Eris had wondered if the Paradise he’d studied about as a child might not be on earth for those who couldn’t yearn for eternal grace. They’d spend years of pure, unconditional joy, until he talked too much, until he revealed feelings she likely wasn’t ready to face. She’d left him after a wonderful night at the theatre, leaving behind her intoxicating scent and a short note of apology. She’d told him her sister urgently needed assistance, and she would get in touch as soon as possible, but it had never happened, and Eris’s local acquaintances had reported that she’d been engaging in a vulgar affair with a werewolf almost five inches taller than him, with arms as wide as tree trunks.

During the 80’s, the neighbourhood where Eris still resided was raided by a gang of thieves. On a mild spring night, they took from him years of memories and the vast majority of the things belonging to the woman he loved, and although he managed to buy back almost everything in local pawn shops and flea markets, her perfume had disappeared from the fabrics, and with it his hope of reliving the moments spent together. Of the few missing pieces, the one he felt most sad for was the red velvet dress she’d worn on that last evening, the one that left her back bare, just a golden chain dangling down her spine. For a brief moment, Eris though he recognized the bodice among the people moving on the dance floor, but his attention was drawn by a lanky witch who nearly spilled the drinks she was holding on his jacket, and when he turned again, the vision disappeared like a cruel hallucination.

“I’m surprised to find you partying in such an unrefined place,” a familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard in over a hundred years, teased. The last time he encountered Vassa, her tone and body had been that of a child, so different from those of the woman in her sixties who had turned to ash one morning in France instead of taking on her usual bird appearance. Now, in front of him stood a decaying beauty, but the playful twinkle in her blue eyes was always the same. Her skin was no longer as white as the day he met her, but pleasantly tanned, a healthy golden colour that highlighted her refined features, and her hair were of a vibrant shade of red, no white in sight, surely thanks to box hair dye. Next to her, Jurian looked younger than he remembered him, but it must’ve been a simple reflection of the years passing for one and not the other.

“I see only one Queen here,” he replied, before pulling his friends into a quick embrace. With the exception of Vasilisa, his small group wasn’t particularly fond of canonical displays of affection, but given the prolonged distance, it almost seemed obligatory to seek for physical contact, a reminder they were all real and alive.

“Where’s my favourite acrobat?” he asked, scanning the crowd behind them with a hopeful gaze.

“He must’ve lost himself in his witch’s embrace. Elain never seems to tire of the old-time poems he recites at every hour of the day, and he…” Jurian started, but his renowned vulgarity was interrupted when Vassa elbowed him in the ribs. To everyone else, his words may have seemed harsh, but Eris recognized the tenderness in his expression as the same he wore when thinking of his brother.

He was just about to ask them if they were going to stay nearby for a while, when an unmistakable scent hit his nostrils, so intense it stunned him.

Nesta was at that party, and he had every intention of finding her.

[giantkillerjack]

So incredibly pleased to see fans sexualizing not just old men but fat old men!

Something inside me just sings to know that Pat from BBC Ghosts could inspire such a large amount of lovingly crafted pornography on AO3!

As a fat fellow who hopes very much to be a fat old man myself someday, what a gift!!

(Actually, as a short fat white boi with brown hair, I bet could do a pretty easy cosplay! OMG AND MY TALL WIFE COULD BE THE CAPTAIN. OMG. DEAD MUSTACHE HUSBANDS. OMG.)

[misspickman]

cassierose for the ship ask game !!

Ship It

What made you ship it? i liked them in tt03, which you know, is truly a feat considering how terribly that comic treats both of them. but their dynamic (angry homoeroticism) managed to be compelling still

What are your favorite things about the ship? i enjoy girl antagonism from time to time. i know were all sick of the trope that teen girls all hate each others guts but considering cassie has a pretty good relationship with all the other girls on her team(s) its fun to see her just go ugh i hate this one. this one can go. theyre just fun and bitchy and i think they should hatefuck about it. but beside that theres also so much potential there ! i think you know, if anyone writing that comic actually cared about cassie or rose or about their character development, it would have been interesting to see their relationship change over time instead of getting one issue where cassie implicitly calls rose family while protecting her, and then the next one she immediately she calls her a manipulative psychopath for no good reason bc they cant figure out how to make the team interesting without having some wildly antagonistic relationship that doesnt make sense if u think about it for a few seconds. theyre never going to be besties but it would have been nice to see them go from blind hate to an uneasy truce; they dont like each other but they do, unfortunately, care about each other, and lets see where we go from that. + itd be interesting to dig into cassies hypocrisy when it comes to hating rose

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? i guess its that i would like them to grow past mindlessly despising each other ? this is not me criticizing anyone but i feel like a lot of takes on cassierose ive seen are that they should stay in the hatefucking no mushy business❌❌❌phase which is definitely fair and true to how they are in tt03. but i do have some issues with the way they were written in tt03 (particularly cassie) and would like to see their dynamic progress from that (see rant above)

[tabuhaven]

I probably would've been more down with devildice if such a good chunk of the community wasn't so damn mean toward non-shippers/cup x boss shippers

[flatstarcarcosa]

"reese wouldn't you recognize slade because of the eye thing though" maybe he popped a false eye in because he changed his hair and beard on purpose to prove a point, did you ever think about that

[dennywilsonsdrumstick]

this is so off topic from everything I’ve posted here so far but this is the beginnings of me revealing how cray cray and insane I am 😍 no but anyway I feel like we as a society didn’t appreciate chris evans as Johnny Storm enough . Likeeee he was soooo fire (hahahaaahaaa) as johnny and tbhhh his johnny had t boy swag🫤🫤like if I’m being honest. But ermmm yeah,,, this is coming from someone who used to run 2 chris evans fan accs and 1 mcu one soooo actually I’m a genius on the topic okay bye

[marionmaverick]

While it is just the nature of pc/npc romances in games, I would love to do a ship thread some day jumping off the fact that a companion or npc in love with you doesn’t actually know anything about you.

Especially the angst potential from the fact Calem would pretty much rather die than tell anyone about the weakest points of his life.

[gghostwriter]

If You Love Me Right

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 1 || Part 2 Summary: Emily asks an all important question regarding the next step of your relationship with Spencer Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.2k a/n: Back at it again with something Short n' Sweet. Unsure if this will be the last of this album inspired fics but so far the album is still on repeat. I think out of all the fluff I've written, this is the one where I could just feel how much of a green flag Spencer would be as a partner, if only he wasn't fictional. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“Have you thought about it?” Emily asked, wine glass on hand as she slid into the seat next to you.

The sun was just starting to set, covering the lush backyard in multitude of pink & orange hues. It was a Sunday and Rossi had invited the team and their extended families for an early Italian dinner feast. When Spencer inquired about your availability, it warmed your heart to hear who you are to him.

“Are you sure you want me there, Spence?” your voice coming out soft and muffled as you burrowed yourself further into the warmth of his slender neck. His invitation was a big step in further solidifying the relationship and having been in questionable situation-ships, you had to be sure where you stood.

He pulled back, doe eyes inquisitively staring into yours. His gaze had this way of making you feel known and at home. It was as if his soul has recognized yours from eons ago and needed no further introduction.

“Of course,” his calloused fingers softly pushing stray locks behind your ears. “You’re my person now and it feels right to have you there with me.”

Emily cleared her throat binging you back to the present. “Well?”

“Thought about what?”

She nodded her head in Spencer’s direction. “Having genius babies with our boy genius?”

You softly smiled, watching your boyfriend of one year perform magic tricks for Henry and Michael. It wasn’t like it never crossed your mind. If you were being honest, by the sixth date and the first time he stayed over for the night, the idea of growing old and starting a family with Spencer by your side had started to solidify. 

“Maybe,” you drawled out. A half truth that the seasoned profiler caught on right away.

“And has this—” she lifted her hands to form quotation marks in the air. “‘maybe’ been discussed with the potential baby daddy?” 

You brought the wine glass up to your lips, the outer corner of your lips tugging upwards your face as you took a sip. Dating a man of Spencer’s caliber had given you the comfort and stability to discuss any little insecurity, adoration, and realization without the unease of thinking he’d judge you for it. Gone were those nights of second guessing and reading too much in between the lines and in its place were honest discussions between two consenting adults. 

It was a real breath of fresh air.

“Do you think we should have a baby?” you casually asked, laying on his lap as he was propped up against the headboard with a book on hand. “I mean, not this second but—yeah, do you?”

There was a rustle of pages before a soft thud. “Sweetheart, don’t take this the wrong way but are you by any chance ovulating?”

“Uh—maybe?”

He smiled, looking down at your slowly reddening cheeks. I—uh, have actually been keeping track—” he bit his lip before rushing out to explain himself. “—not to use the information for nefarious reasons but my brain just started to notice the patterns and it feels like an invasion of your privacy and—are you angry?”

“Oh Spence, no. Not at all,” your hand twining with his to stop its nervous movements. “It might be weird but I know you meant well. Now, will you tell me some facts about why you thought I was ovulating?”

“Well, studies had shown that women feel more flirty, sociable, and more physically attractive right before and during ovulation. Some studies also support the idea of increased libido which makes sense since that is the peak window for propagation of the human species.”

You giggled, always welcoming his rambles even if it had to do with your own reproductive system. “Right, but you know what else got me thinking about it?”

A slight scrunch in between his eyebrows appeared as his mind no doubt rewound the day for any trigger. His eyes brightening when it clicked. “Was it the picture of me holding Henry and Michael?”

“Definitely,” you breathed out, starting to feel warm just thinking about how secure his hold was to the newborn babies and that smile on his face that reached his molten hazel eyes and radiated from his whole face.

He pressed feather-like kisses all over cheeks and forehead. “There’s actually also a study on why that affected you so much. It all comes down to women seeing their partners acting as providers—” he cut himself off to land a kiss on your lips. “—I’m not saying no—I’d actually really like that but maybe we can revisit the idea again in two weeks? I want to make sure this is something you really want and not something your biology has dictated on you.”

“Okay, that sounds fair. I love you, Spence.”

“I love you too.”

Spencer’s laughter floating through the air brought you out of your reverie. A slight shiver passed through you—either from the wind or the imagery of him carrying Michael and holding hands with Henry on the other as they slowly made their way back to their mother.

You turned to face Emily, no doubt that the blush on your cheeks giving you away. “Maybe.”

“Huh,” she tilted her head slightly to the left—a subtle tick you’ve grown to read into.

“What?”

Shaking her head, she leaned in to clink her glass with yours and a teasing smile forming on her face. “Nothing. Well—you’re welcome, by the way. And as a thank you, what do you think about naming the maybe baby after me?” 

You laughed. The trio had taken full credit for bringing the couple together—something that they had always brought up like it was their greatest contribution to earth.

A layer of warmth was added to your shoulders and a faint scent of books and wood wafted to your nose. Tilting your head backwards, it was Spencer sans his black coat that was now adorning your body. His garment effectively marking you as an extension of him, as if the necklace around your neck with his initials 'SR' wasn't enough already. A priceless jewelry that had a partner with your own initials that found its home around his neck. “Hi love.”

“Hi sweetheart,” leaning down to give your lips a kiss. “You looked cold.” 

You were both wrapped up in your own little bubble to notice Emily’s eyebrows arching towards her hairline. “It won’t be long now, I guess. So how many?” 

“One would be cute—” your eyes never lingering on his face as if you were tracing the all his angles and memorizing all the stubbles that had started to grow on his jaw line. 

Spencer without further explanation continued on. “—two would be better.” 

“You know, you both have to stop finishing each other’s sentences, it’s getting creepy,” Emily quipped.

You both laughed, turning to face her, and although your gazes were no longer meeting, the gentle caress of his thumb on the back of your hand was enough to communicate everything and anything in between.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[bi-shop]

it's always the nice ones huh

we still don't know enough about ragatha to know if her being the mom friend Completely Defeats Her Entire Character Arc (CONSTANCE BLACKWOOD) though i won't be surprised if it does - considering there are several hints throughout the pilot and gooseworx's confirmation of her being selfless to a fault . guys i love pomni x ragatha , i've already drawn art of them - but pomni is not the only one fighting demons here

(some examples being : apologizing To pomni because she had a 'terrible first day' even though SHE'S IN PAIN ?? , fake-laughing at kaufmo's jokes , and . the entire pilot is her already being the group meditator and it's clearly not doing her any favors . she's Not doing okay guys)

and it !! grinds my gears !! because it all boils down because she is The Nice Character . it always happens to nice characters - they'll get thrusted into a parental role since everyone thinks their niceness is what they all have , or they're seen as boring because they're not causing conflict everywhere they go .

i would be lying if ragatha doesn't radiate mom vibes , but it just ?? feels like a shortcut . sure , you took the quickest , bite-sized way , but you missed the beautiful river on the other road

sorry for the big ramble this is actually my third time having to deal with this kind of thing in fandoms SHFHSF it genuinely appalls me how everyone is interpreting her optimism as her 'figuring out how to stay sane in this place' even though it's literally the Opposite ????

i can't get too possessive over ragatha yet since we only know her for 6 minutes and it's best to wait for a full season which promises to go deep into every character . but goodness ....... the way the fandom is treating her so far .....

[cyranonic]

I feel like one of the exchanges in S2 that fucks me up the most is this one between Louis and Madeleine that is so pivotal and yet happens basically in the background. It just says so much about who Louis is at this point in his life and why his relationship with Armand is so essentially tragic for them both.

For Armand, the ship has already sailed on betraying Louis and Claudia. He is seconds away from letting the coven ritually murder them and so NATURALLY that is the moment when Madeleine finally confirms the thing that he could never be certain of, the love that he wanted and yet could not quite trust was real. We see that in his face; the misery of that realization.

For Louis, it just devastates me to think about how much of his life has been about hiding his true self, afraid to reveal his softer feelings. In the first episode of the show, he tells Daniel that before Lestat he had never allowed himself to emotionally connect to another man. A big part of this is probably the homophobia of the time period when he was raised. Lestat seems to recognize this when he turns Louis, offering him the chance to be true to himself.

But even after Lestat, we see that Louis still struggles with this. He can allow himself to feel connected to Claudia because she is his child and then his sister. In his mortal life, Louis took on the role of provider for his family, allowing himself to show affection to his mother and sister through his role as a caretaker. Even with Paul, he is both brother and father, caring for him due to his mental illness. Becoming a vampire separated him from familial love, leading him to beg Lestat to turn Claudia so that he can yet again have that love that he connects to being a caretaker.

With Armand, Louis expresses sexual interest, but never emotional closeness. Their dynamic falls into the pattern of dominant and submissive, but without the openly expressed care and security needed to make that relationship work. Just as with Lestat, Louis has a pattern of withholding affection as a form of self-protection. He doesn't want to be vulnerable. He can laugh and joke about the sexual appeal of his partner, but is immediately uncomfortable when Madeleine brings up his deeper feelings.

I think a part of this is derived not just from Louis' queerness and his response to a homophobic society, but also his blackness. In New Orleans, he is constantly emasculated and infantilized by white men. Being called "boy" or being praised for "doing a good job" is a tactic that white supremacists use to remind Louis that he is vulnerable. And after that, combined with the trauma he experienced during his relationship with Lestat, Louis is sick of being vulnerable. So even when he is falling in love, even when his partner is a POC, Louis can't share those feelings. Louis' final words, "he knows," indicate that his withholding isn't malicious or manipulative. It's a hopeful rather than true statement. Louis wants Armand to know, but he shies away from actually having the conversation.

Anyways it's such a gut-punch moment to me that foreshadows how Louis and Armand's relationship had some potential for genuine love within it, but it was also pretty doomed from the start.

[bosbas]

Chapter 4: uh oh, I'm fallin' in love

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 2.3k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, anthony being a big softie, mostly fluff, i still ship y/n and daphne tbh

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

June 16, 1812 - “How’s Mr Norwood?” you asked Daphne, sitting on the couch next to her in the Bridgertons’ tea room, her legs on your lap as the rain steadily poured outside.

Your best friend and her hopefully-husband-to-be had been looking particularly cozy as of late, and you knew that you had played no small part in making that happen. Unfortunately, Daphne’s happiness was often overshadowed by the small pang of guilt you felt every time you had a particularly lovely afternoon with her oldest brother.

“Oh, he’s lovely. I do think he’ll propose in the next few weeks,” she said excitedly, her legs dancing excitedly on your lap.

You squealed in response, absolutely elated at the prospect of seeing your best friend in a wedding gown before the end of the season. It’s practically all she’d dreamed about, and you couldn’t believe the time was so close.

“Where will you live? After you marry, I mean,” you asked, twirling a lock of your hair around your index finger. “If I have to travel to another country to see you, I’ll riot.”

Daphne paused, unsure. “We haven’t particularly discussed it. I think his family has a home a few hours away, but surely his older brother will inherit that…”

You sat up straight, realizing this was a sensitive subject. “That’s quite alright, I’m sure your dowry will be more than enough for a simple estate somewhere nearby,” you reassured, patting her legs comfortingly.

If they were truly in love, it wouldn’t matter how small or large their home was. But Daphne only hummed in response, looking out distractedly at the raindrops hitting the window.

Deciding not to press your best friend and potentially cause her more distress, you changed the subject.

Playing with the hem of Daphne’s dress, you said nonchalantly, “I suppose I’ll end things with Anthony right before Phillip proposes. There’s no real point in continuing the façade if Phillip has to ask Anthony for your hand anyway, so it’s not like we can keep going longer than that.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes at you, smiling slightly. “Really? I thought you two were having a lovely time during your courtship.”

You paused, your hand going still for a moment. “Well, of course. We get along quite well. But it’s not real, Daphne. I don’t really have feelings for him and he doesn’t really have any intention of marrying me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” you laughed at the absurdity of your best friend’s suggestion, sounding a bit panicked. “I couldn’t truly be interested in him!”

Just then, you heard the front door open and heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

Recognizing her brother’s footfalls, Daphne called out, “Anthony, I didn’t know you’d gone out riding. It’s absolutely pouring outside!”

“I can’t believe it actually rained,” he groaned, his voice carrying across the hall. “I thought Colin just said that to be a nuisance.”

He peeked his head into the tea room, looking completely disheveled from what you could only assume was a hectic horse ride. His hair was soaking and stuck to his forehead, his sleeves were dripping water onto the carpet, and he was shivering slightly from the cold. And yet, you thought to yourself, he still looked more handsome than any other man in the ton.

“Y/N!” he yelped as his eyes fell on you, sitting comfortably on his couch as Daphne had her legs propped on your lap. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I’m sorry, I would’ve looked more… presentable. Or at least dry.”

It was the oddest thing, he suddenly seemed impossibly shy. You only laughed and shook your head, waving off his apology.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you smiled, recalling how reckless young Anthony was when it came to riding.

Anthony crinkled his nose, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s different now, though,” he insisted, still sounding out of sorts. “I can head upstairs quickly to make myself presentable and greet you properly.”

“No, that’s quite alright,” you insisted, finding Anthony entirely too endearing at the moment. “I should probably head home anyway; I’ve been here the better part of the afternoon.”

“Let me walk you home at least,” pleaded the positively soaking man at the entrance of the room. “Or even just call a carriage.”

Your home was only a few minutes’ walk away, and you were usually happy to do it on your own. However, looking out the window you realized it probably wasn’t the best idea to head home in this weather.

“Very well then,” you conceded, finding it impossible to say no to Anthony.

“Alright, give me five minutes, then. Just let me change out of these clothes and I’ll be back,” he yelled over his shoulder, already out the door and rushing upstairs.

“So it's all just pretend, then?” asked Daphne smugly once Anthony was gone.

“Oh, shush,” you grumbled, shoving her legs off you.

But Daphne only laughed gleefully, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

---

June 19, 1812 - Anthony had gone into town on a fine Friday afternoon in search of a new pair of hunting boots when he spotted you some distance away. You were accompanied by your lady’s maid, and you seemed to be leaving the modiste.

Apart from noticing how stunning you looked, even in a simple day dress, Anthony realized a few things.

First, you were far enough away from him and positioned in such a manner that there was no chance that you would see him. He could easily just go on with his day, quickly find the pair of hunting boots he came for, and make his way home.

However, the second thing he took note of is that a gentleman such as himself would always go out of his way to greet the lady he was courting. Perhaps it was time to shift away from the tiring rake act he so often put on and act like a Bridgerton.

And finally, he noted that, in reality, he could come back for a pair of hunting boots at any time. However, he couldn’t unexpectedly run into you every day.

So, with all this in mind, Anthony determinedly shouted your name. When you didn’t hear him and kept walking, he yelled your lady’s maid’s name, who turned around to look at who had called for her. Spotting Anthony through the crowd of summer shoppers, your lady’s maid tugged at your sleeve, turning you around so you could see him.

“Oh, Anthony, what a surprise!” you called, unable to help the bright smile that lit up your face.

How gentlemanly, you thought, for Anthony to go out of his way to say hello. Perhaps he had left behind his rakish ways.

“It’s rather hot today, isn’t it?” said Anthony as he reached you, leaning down to kiss your hand in greeting. “What do you say about going across the street and enjoying some tea?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. Greeting you unexpectedly and asking to spend time together? This was quite unusual indeed.

“Is there something you wanted to talk about?” you said, somewhat nervously. Had Daphne somehow let her plan slip? “We were due to see each other this evening at the Featherington ball."

Anthony laughed, enjoying your confusion. It felt quite good to be a gentleman, he thought. “Not at all, I just thought I’d take advantage of the fact that I saw you. I’m not particularly keen on depriving myself of the company of a wonderful lady such as yourself.”

You felt your face growing hot, completely floored by how lovely Anthony was being. It was like his usual charm turned up by a factor of ten.

Looking over at your lady’s maid, you raised your eyebrows to ask if it was alright with her if your plans were derailed.

“Nowhere else to be,” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Perfect, then, let’s go,” you smiled at Anthony.

Hooking your hand into the crook of his arm, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your stomach. Bit by bit, you were realizing you were in far over your head. So far you couldn’t even see the ground anymore. Anthony was turning out to be completely unexpected.

And though you were practically giddy every time you saw him now, you were also fighting to bury the uncomfortable thought that you might have made a grave mistake trying to mastermind your courtship with him.

---

June 23, 1812 - “Well, I suppose I should get going,” Anthony said to Colin, getting up from his chair as he looked at his watch. “Y/N will surely be expecting me, seeing as how we went to a ball yesterday evening.”

Upon hearing Colin snickering in response, the eldest Bridgerton shot his younger brother an annoyed look.

“Do you think this is funny? Wait a few years and you’ll be doing this, too,” Anthony scoffed.

“It’s not that,” said Colin, still chuckling to himself. “It’s just that she’s been here since this morning. I ran into her and Daphne a few hours ago.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” asked Anthony in disbelief.

Colin shrugged. “I thought you’d surely seen her. You’re the one courting her, after all.”

“Why didn’t she ask for me?” grumbled Anthony, mostly to himself. “Well, even more reason to go see her now. Goodbye, Colin. I would say it was a pleasure speaking with you but based on the last two minutes I don’t particularly think it was.”

In response, Colin half-heartedly crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at his brother. “Say hello to your wife for me,” he teased, knowing Anthony’s aversion to marriage.

But his jab was only met with a slammed door. Anthony was too focused on finding you.

How on earth had he not noticed your presence in his home the whole day? To be fair, before you started courting, you spent copious amounts of time at the Bridgerton residence, with or without Daphne, and he wasn’t always aware until after the fact.

You had practically already been a part of the family, but it felt different now. He felt panicked that he hadn’t already greeted you, and he was worried you would hold it against him.

Rushing down the stairs, he ran into Daphne, who was shuffling through a stack of letters in the foyer.

“Who are you expecting correspondence from? A suitor?” he questioned suspiciously.

“She’s in the sitting room,” answered Daphne curtly.

Without a second thought, Anthony dashed across the hall, bursting into the sitting room.

There, he found you and Hyacinth sitting next to each other on the pianoforte bench. Your hands were on hers as you guided her nine-year-old fingers over the keys to form a melody. Startled, you dropped Hyacinth’s hands and turned to look over at the doorway.

“Is something the matter, dear?” asked Violet calmly from the other side of the room, quite used to the antics of her eight children.

“No, no- not at all,” gulped Anthony, not expecting to have seen you with his youngest sister. “I just heard Y/N had stopped by, is all.”

“That’s kind of you,” you said, smiling softly at the man you were courting. “Hyacinth seems to be a natural at the pianoforte.”

“Better than Gregory anyway,” said Hyacinth haughtily, eliciting a hearty laugh from you.

“Well, run along, then, Hyacinth,” urged Anthony. “I believe I should like to speak with Y/N.”

Hyacinth groaned, “She’s not yours Anthony. I believe I should like to stay," she said petulantly. "I was having such a lovely time with Y/N before you interrupted.”

She hugged you tight, lest Anthony tried to make her leave by force. Laughing, you hugged her back, patting her head soothingly.

“No one’s making you leave, Hyacinth,” you shot Anthony a playful glare. “I apologize for not finding you earlier, Gregory has just learned how to play chess and wanted to play a match. And then Hyacinth came in and thought it quite unfair that I had spent such a long time with Gregory and not her. And then, well, you know how they are…” you explained, your voice full of fondness for the youngest Bridgertons.

“Oh, do I,” said Anthony, walking over to ruffle Hyacinth’s hair affectionately. “Who won the chess match?”

Resigning himself to the fact that his little sister wouldn’t leave, Anthony made himself comfortable on the couch closest to you. And though he was hoping to spend some time alone– well, chaperoned– with you, he couldn’t deny that his heart was doing all sorts of gymnastics in his chest at the thought of the care you had for his siblings.

“We each won one and the third was a stalemate,” you responded, winking at Anthony and running your fingers through Hyacinth’s hair. “He’s quite good.”

“I want to learn how to play chess,” whined Hyacinth, detesting the fact that you and Gregory shared something she couldn’t join in on.

“I can teach you next time I stop by,” you promised, smiling fondly at her. “It’s quite a fun game, once you understand the rules.”

And at that very moment, Anthony knew he loved you. It had happened slowly, and then quite suddenly he was extremely aware of it. Much like you had made your way into the Bridgertons’ lives, you had made your way into his heart.

He knew he would be a fool not to see it. All he ever wanted was to take care of his family, and seeing you feel the same way was doing all sorts of things to his heart that he found impossible to ignore. You cared so deeply about his family, and it was difficult not to imagine the pair of you having a child of your own.

Anthony had decided. This was the first and last courtship he would ever have. He was falling faster than he could imagine, and he didn't particularly want to do anything to stop it. 

—

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