neverendingsourceofmystery
You wanted to see your Queen?
Celina. moonlessmondays. multishipper and a hoe for middle-aged actors and actresses.
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Romancing Mister Bridgerton Show-Themed Book Covers
#it could literally be like this#i dont understand the need to edit nicola to the point of caricature#i get coloring and stuff but the tie in book cover is KRAZY#polin#penelope x colin#penelope featherington#colin x penelope#colin morgan#romancing mr. bridgerton
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polin
» diamond of the first water
#the way they look at each other#im goin to cry#Bridgerton#penelope x colin#Colin Bridgerton#Penelope Featherington#Polin
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Love your cobert drabbles and fanfics!! Please write more!! Hope you are doing well 😘🥰😉
So I had a very, very old request for a long-lost prompt list. They requested #18 which was an angsty “All you had to do was stay.” I do not know where that request went, so I am answering this more open-ended one from 2020 instead. Thank you Anon of Bygone Times. I am doing well! And I hope you are, too.
Just felt like doing a little something! Hurt/Comfort really. Post ANE. Please forgive the clunkiness xoxox
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Angst #18 - All You Had to Do Was Stay
Her mouth felt as if it was stuffed with cotton and her tongue felt dry and thick. It was over, but the taste remained: mineraly and sharp, a bitter tang. It filled up her entire mouth and nose, the taste and smell indistinguishable from each other. She needed water.
Cora opened her eyes and immediately blinked. She worked for a moment to adjust her vision, pressing her eyelids softly and then peering into the afternoon rays of sun coming in at an odd angle to the room. Oh, her head pounded and throbbed. Water; where was the water?
She closed her eyes again and rested her head back against the thin pillow. She’d prayed it wouldn’t be like this. The first few times she’d done the treatment, as Doctor Clarkson had called it, she’d gagged, of course. But she managed the small measured portions of raw liver she’d been prescribed to eat over the course of the day. She could have the injections just as soon as they were shipped from London; this would get easier—less frequent. But after a week, and with the shipment still missing, she found she could no longer stomach it. She managed her portion at luncheon, just barely finding the strength to swallow the gelatinous mush in her mouth that had once been neat cubes upon her plate. But then the vomiting began at tea. And it didn’t stop. The smell of it, the vomit a dark red in the basin, set her mouth to watering and nose burning as a precursor to even more retching.
So Robert had taken her here the next morning—this morning—, in spite of her protesting, to the hospital.
Cora groaned. Whatever strength and newfound energy she’d enjoyed before was completely depleted now and what remained were aches and fatigue. She wouldn’t think of what it may mean—that the incessant vomiting of the last day and night had undone all of her progress—but instead tried her best to look at the bright side. The injections would be in soon, and there’d be less liver. Not no liver, she knew. But less. She could stomach less.
With this, she opened her eyes again. Late afternoon, she could tell. The hospital bed beneath her felt stiff and narrow. The quilt was rough. She attempted to ease herself up slowly, the blood in her head thumping and her stomach sore from its terrible labor.
But then the small creak of a wooden chair to her right, and the warm weight of his hand upon her blanketed shin stilled her.
“Lie back.”
“Robert,” her voice croaked softly, her protest pitiful and weak. “I’m alright.”
“You aren’t. You need rest.”
Despite her scoff, Cora did lie back. She hadn’t even the energy to roll her eyes. “I’m alright. Really.”
“So you said.” His voice was gentler in his contradiction than before, and even though her eyes were closed, Cora could feel the way he shifted in the wooden chair. She could feel the way he leaned closer to her, and she felt his hand move from her leg and to her arm. His fingers encircled it, and she felt him draw a soft line along the thin and fragile bone of the inside of her wrist. She sighed; her head hurt a little less. “We were pleased to see you’ve kept down the last portion.”
She hummed a reply. “Best not to speak too soon.”
“Doctor Clarkson says if you can keep down the next, he’ll send us home to bed.”
She swallowed down what she wanted to respond: She didn’t want another portion. The very thought of it prickled up beads of cold sweat upon her hairline. She did groan, but took in a long breath to steady herself. “I’ve been resting all day.”
“Yes. And he has given you direction to rest as much as possible tomorrow. That is, if you’re well enough to leave.”
“Oh, Robert,” she opened her eyes. “I don’t wish to take up a bed for anyone who may really need it.”
She felt the way his fingers moved upon her wrist. “I suppose you think you don’t?”
“I don’t need it. I’ve been ill, yes, but not ill enough for constant monitoring.” She shook her head, closed her eyes, and swallowed down the dry burn of her throat. Her voice was hoarse from the vomiting. “Besides, I’d like to see you try keeping all that liver down.”
His fingers tightened. The chair creaked. And in the absence of what she thought would be a low chuckle, Cora slowly opened her eyes to find him looking down at her.
“I wish I could do this for you.”
She sighed. “Do what?” she asked, even though she knew.
“All of it.”
She knew. Her chest ached when he looked away from her, his chin trembling. Yes, she knew. For she felt the same when he was lying in this bed a few short years ago and she was the one on the creaking chair praying that somehow they could exchange places. She’d suffer it for him, she knew. And he would suffer this for her. “Oh, darling.“
“I hate seeing you so ill. Last night. I’m so terribly sorry you must endure this.”
It took more energy than she thought she had to slip her wrist from his grasp and for her fingers to find his hand instead. She squeezed, quickly and firmly, and smiled when he at last met her eye.
“No. I don’t want that. No apologies or pity. Hmm?” She smiled wider for his sake, and she tried her best to level her voice, to not sound quite so weak. “All I want is this. For you to stay beside me. Holding my hand.”
He chuckled, softly and sadly. “You’ll have some of my pity. It can’t be helped.” At this, he brought her fingers to his lips and pressed them. They felt warm against her skin. “But I will hold your hand.”
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colin with sleepy baby agatha 🫶 (im in need of some fluff excuse me)
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This is the golden age of something good, and right, and real.
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"This is a Joe Alwyn album" "This is a Matty Healy album" shut up shut up SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!! Swifties are so annoying, this is a TAYLOR SWIFT ALBUM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHY IS YOUR FIRST REACTION TO ASSIGN THINGS TO A MAN!!!!!!!!!!!! I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!!!!!
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writers whenever they’re starting a new fic: I have these ✨ vibes ✨ now I’ll have to build an entire plot and write an entire fic about those vibes
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It IS true that being on here gives you a tumblr accent. This morning my mother asked me something and i replied "i don't know i've never heard these words in that order" and she nearly choked laughing. It wasn't even that funny
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I genuinely love this candle symbolism.
For her, it’s been burning. For him, it’s finally igniting.
( And actually his candle is already low and a liiittttle bit lit, implying the love was always there, burning so low as to not be noticed, but surely burning nonetheless 🔥♥️ )
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#me at every function where there are people
Nicola Coughlan as Penelope Featherington in Bridgerton S3
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Do you believe the best foundation for love is friendship?
– It is rare, but you must follow your heart. (x)
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Such a pleasure to read your new content!!😍😍
good luck with your exams 🤞🤞 hope you one day will continue At first glance
Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thank you for your well wishes, too. I am in need of all the luck I can get from this world. This exam stuff is not fun. Anyway, re: AFG, I'm ngl, anon, I have no bleeding clue what I was supposed to do with that fic. I know and I'm sure I had a plot there somewhere but I don't remember most of it now, and what I do remember, cannot be made into much of anything. Long story short: I'm not sure how to continue. That's as honest as I could be about it. It's been so so so many years since I wrote that. I had less worries and less cares, and less, obviously, brain cells.
But thank you for reading that fic. I don't want to give false hopes, but maybe one day. Stranger things have happened. After all, I'm writing a fanfic that I've unearthed from deep in the trenches or whatever, aren't I?
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What is the primary force that guides us along our paths? Is it our minds, or our hearts?
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she was 17 bullying the entirety of london society
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Sailing Close to the Wind|| One: Chasing Rainbows and Spinning Dreams
*takes a deep breath* *opens laptop* *blows ever so softly*
*coughs*
Hello everyone, I bet you didn't think I would ever come back to write more Downton stuff. Maybe an update from me isn't in your 2024 bingo card. Not gonna lie, I'm just as surprised as you are. I've been gone for far longer than I ever was here, but I guess, prodigal children always find their way home.
YES. This is an update. I know.
In light of the new movie announcement, I made a trip down memory lane, and was inspired by one of my old fics. Not that my writing from five years ago was ever inspiring, really. Anyway, it was supposed to be a one shot, and so I felt like I was in under no obligation to add more, but add more, I shall do.
*steadfastly ignores the 300 other cobert fanfics I am supposed to update*
To my surprise as well as yours, this one had an interesting and very polite demand for more, and honestly, if I wasn't so neck deep in law school, I would have given this a go earlier. Of course, I chose the most inopportune time -- when I'm in over my head, drowning, in bar review and prep -- to finish this piece. But whatever. It was therapeutic. I do suggest you read the prologue first, again -- here or here-- because I doubt any of you still remember this. This one's a long one that I just had to get out of my system, because studying about my country's system is the equivalent of pouring bleach all over my brain.
I would like to say as early as now however, that as I have already mentioned earlier, I am in the middle of bar prep, so the updates are probably going to be few and far in between, if at all, towards the middle of this year. Not that it's anything new where I'm concerned. But I shall endeavor to finish before the end of year or the end of the world, at least, whichever comes first.
.::.
One
Chasing rainbows and Spinning Dreams
"Can it possibly beThe future for me is you…Wait until I can tell you all my schemesChasing rainbows spinning dreamsTell me please your name”
- Tell me your name, Jose Mari Chan
The silence in the room was so loud that one could hear a pin drop – as the old adage went, anyway, – and for one brief second, Cora found herself questioning if her boss was all right in the head. Maybe she had lost her mind after all the stress and was now clinically insane.
That, after all, was the only logical explanation to her even remotely suggesting this.
Cora looked away from her boss, wondering what she should do or say next, when her gaze met the eyes of the man on the other side of the room. Robert, that’s what Rosamund said, but Cora already knew that. There was nary a soul in this entire company who didn’t. He rarely made any appearance, but he’s never missed one company party and his name was always on everybody’s lips.
Cora could still – though she would never say it out loud or admit it – remember the first time she had seen the esteemed Mr. Robert Crawley. It had been during her first company Christmas party. She was new, a new hire fresh from her internship, and she’d been so young and so infatuated by the piercing blue eyes that barely looked her way even once in the party. He’d been caught up, talking to the big wigs, to his sister, and their other colleagues and didn’t have time for the little Miss Americana that was Cora. Not that Cora had minded very much, she was content with sipping her wine and admiring Mr. Crawley from afar.
He was handsome and his laugh was loud and boisterous, although hardly offensive. He spoke to Mr. Carson and his wife, Mrs. Elsie Hughes-Carson, who both worked with them at the company, like they were old friends – with respect and authority, but with clear affection. Cora could have only hoped, at that time, to be treated the same.
Now, here she was, sitting in the office of her boss, having been just told that she should marry the CEO of the company she’s working for so she can stay in London. She felt like she needed more ruminating about the “brilliant idea” of the boss in question, but she figured there wasn’t really even enough time to ruminate that. It was insane. That, in her mind, should count as a red flag right? That her boss was insane?
“Well?” Rosamund started to speak, though she looked just a little bit nervous, or anxious, or maybe it was self-realization – Cora could only hope for the last. “It’s such an unmusical way of putting things, brother.” She cleared her throat and nodded anyway. Clearly, any hopes of sanity were dashed at this point. “I was suggesting a convenient marriage with a deadline…if you’re amenable, of course.”
More here or here.
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Season 3 is for the overthinkers. The ones who always had the crush but were never the crushes. The ones who only see flaws when they look in the mirror. The ones who throw themselves into books because those worlds treat them better than life ever has. The ones who are just so goddamn tired.
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