“Cars 2 and 3 should never have been made, and certainly not before they made Incredibles 2.”
“There’s a reason why there are no Happy Meal toys of Arlo the crappy dinosaur. He was so annoying!”
“Is that where you got those disgusting crocs from? A Happy Meal?”
“Fuck. Off. And anywa-“
“Colin!”
Kate cringes; she had almost forgotten about Anthony’s presence.
Almost.
In which Kate is in hospital and Colin comes to her ‘rescue’ just when she needs it. Featuring crocs, kisses, and a discussion on the veritable merits of some of Pixar’s filmography
As always, thank you to the DARLING @jake-amy for all her encouragement and support! 💖 And massive thank you @youwerenevermine for helping me change Jonny’s hair colour ❤️
Anthony Bridgerton can't help but find himself lost in his wife's eyes (set post season two)
(Trying to get back into it with something short but (hopefully) sweet)
To say that Anthony Bridgerton is somewhat beholden to his wife’s eyes would be a shameful understating of the fact.
There are a number of words he could deploy in description of them; beautiful, enthralling, brilliant, mesmerising, depthless, heartbreaking, breathtaking, and yet still, somehow, every word feels inadequate; less than and incapable of truly conveying the full weight of emotion he feels whenever he is lucky enough to catch his wife’s gaze.
Her eyes can tell a hundred thousand different stories; loving and soothing ones, playful and teasing ones, passionate and vexing ones, desperate and heartbreaking ones, and Anthony wants to know every single one she has to tell.
the rest ✨here✨ or
He knows it is one of the greatest gifts she could ever give him, that anyone could ever give him; to know her so intimately when she has guarded herself from most others. It is a gift that he is not worthy of, he knows this, but it is one he promises to be grateful of everyday, in the hope that one day, maybe, he will be able to prove that he is.
Which is why, he is sure, it is more than understandable that he is often rendered a gawking simpering fool by them. The latest instance, for example, is one gloriously sunny afternoon in September.
It is the Tuesday after their wedding, and with their family having departed for London the day before to leave the newlyweds in peace for a few days, the afternoon finds Anthony and his bride on the lawn of Aubrey Hall; a picnic blanket beneath them and the remnants of a simple lunch spread packed away in the basket provided by Mrs Anderton. It is bright, but not uncomfortably hot; Anthony’s jacket is long forgotten and his sleeves rolled up, and the warming sun on his skin is pleasant to the point of satisfaction.
It is, however, the weight of the resting head on his chest that brings him the most contentment, his wife, his soulmate; his Kate.
Her hair is loose, a fact from which he takes an inordinate amount of joy from; unbound and wild, freely available for Anthony to run his hand through the silky tresses whenever the impulse takes him, and he longs for her to never have to tie them away. Of course, her hair had not started the day like that; Kate had fashioned a plait before they had taken a ride together, only when they had stopped to let their horses rest, Anthony could not help but undo the ribbon she had used to secure the braid.
Of course, his wife’s hair had not been the only thing he had undone, and their horses had ended up resting for longer than expected, but Anthony finds he cannot conjure the necessary guilt for the unplanned delay, or any tangles his wife’s hair may have endured, especially when their interlude had resulted in a tangle of the most pleasurable kind.
They had dallied on their way back to the house, letting the horses meander between the patches of wildflowers and all the other pretty distractions on the grounds. It continued to be a marvel, truly, to simply enjoy the ride without having to consider what awaited them at its conclusion, and it is a marvel that Anthony knows both he and Kate will never take for granted.
It is why he was so eager for them to take an extended honeymoon; insistent, in fact.
He recalls the way the sun had reflected in his wife’s eyes, already alight with a mischievousness that he has come to know will mean she is about to leave him in her horse’s dust, laughter following behind that he is hopeless to in chasing, and he can’t help but have trouble recalling what exactly it was he had been afraid of when he met her; and before that even.
He’s broken from his thoughts when he hears Kate sigh as she doses on him, stirring a little when Anthony’s hand resumes its massage of her scalp, yet her body somehow relaxes even further into him.
He wishes he could lose himself in this feeling for eternity.
His hand slips from Kate’s head when she tilts it, his gaze meeting her sleepy one, and he curses the way his breath catches.
Is it to always be this way?
“Hmmmm.” She murmurs, but her eyes close and do not reopen, a deep inhale against his chest, her head resting a little heavier than it had been a moment ago. He is glad, for it gives him a moment to trace over those features that have been etching themselves into his soul from the moment their eyes first met at a distance; only now he is able to observe up close and without reproach. It has quickly become a favourite pastime; his eyes cataloguing the smooth skin, those high cheekbones and sharp jawline, the pouty lips and the tiny beauty marks that he has taken to counting anytime the urge to kiss them all overcomes him.
(It’s an urge he finds himself giving into more and more, especially since their wedding. But now that they are married, he reasons he does not need to restrain himself, Except, perhaps, when it comes to counting those beauty spots that should usually be hidden by clothing.)
The hand resting on his stomach moves towards his chest, the fabric caught between clenching fingers, and it is the only warning he has before he is greeted by the most devastating eyes he has ever come across.
He often feels underprepared; almost as though no matter how many times he sees those golden brown orbs, they will never not steal his breath, and now is no exception with them still dream-soaked and sleep-dazed with the light from the sun caught most beautifully.
He perhaps thinks he should be getting used to seeing her like this; face open and trusting, eyes chasing the sleepiness that clings to her mind, everything about her making his heart ache, and yet, he knows he never will.
He hopes he never will.
Those eyes meet his, and they crinkle in a smile, as though she knows every exact thought that passes through his mind.
In fact, she most likely does.
He tries to move his lips in speech, wanting to somehow explain the joy that swells in his chest at this moment, just like every other time he thinks about or sees her. But he can make no words, for they are trapped in his heart; too big yet not big enough to describe the enormity of just what this quiet moment means to him.
“I…”
She shushes him as she manoeuvres herself closer to him, a grin barely suppressed as her face hovers just above his. “I know; I feel it too.” Her voice is a whisper, so as to not disturb the late summer haze around them.
He feels his mouth curve gently as his skin warms under her love, and the last thing he sees before he’s overtaken by Kate once again as she leans down to kiss him, are her sunlit eyes shining with adoration, and he makes sure to store it away with the other tales he’s already collected.
No but in all seriousness, memes aside, much love to all my friends in the UK right now. I know shit's about to be chaotic and nationalistic and shitty, and I hope the media circus ends as quickly as possible.
#yeah lets not be barbaric here she had friends and family and is still human#tumblr be getting really gross about it
Yeah, no, fuck that. I'm glad she's dead, and my sympathy goes to the impoverished people of the UK who deserve warm homes, bountiful food, and the complete removal of the parasites that call themselves the monarchy, but who are about to go through a period of forced mourning for someone who was genuinely evil. Money is about to be funneled into a massive display of British nationalism, and it's disgusting.
Do you guys wanna see something funny? I was reading over one of my wips and came across this section:
I can’t stop laughing (I did write this waaaaaaay before season two came out but still 😂)
Tbf this is based on book canon and some of the only things I’ll be borrowing from the show are Simone and Jonny so there’s that at least lol. Anyway, this fic (tentatively titled kiss me where you bruised me, hopefully coming to you before 2023!) (i make no promises lol)
I had never actually listened to the Bridgerton Musical songs before this and now that I’ve listened to it, I honestly don’t think that you can classify these songs as Barlow and Bear’s “original works” because unlike A Very Potter Musical, where the lyrics, script, etc. were different than the Harry Potter movies and books, most, if not all of the lyrics in Barlow and Bear’s songs, are quite literally straight up verbatim stolen from the dialogue of the show.
Also, in the case of A Very Potter Musical, they got a lawsuit as well and were very careful not to do those shows for profit. Then, Team Starkid, who wrote the musical (again with lyrics and script very different than the source material) used the momentum from the lawsuit to promote their own original works which they did perform for profit
So yeah, IDK why Barlow and Bear performed the Bridgerton Musical for profit, when they knew it was IP Theft and could have done it as a free show but they got greedy lbh and then to learn that they also turned down the licensing deal that Netflix offered which could have brought the show to Broadway and made them Tony winners like ???
