Need More Of This - Blog Posts

Yes I know some people are tired of the MLM movies (most likely written by straight people) about an older man meeting a younger, confident queer guy that’s kind of openly a slut even tho it usually is in a setting where the younger guy Shouldn’t be a slut and the older man starts having Gay Thoughts for the “first” time and then they have an affair which almost always has a tragic twist to it. Yes it’s overdone and there are a million other situations you can put gay people in and it’s also okay to let them be happy

BUT I DEVOUR THESE PLOTS EVERY TIME

It is cool and fun to see a *canon* version of the yearning I read online!!! Yes PLEASE I need to see them make eye contact for too long and the repressed man’s breathing stop cold. They need to almost kiss at LEAST three times and be interrupted by circumstances beyond their control!!! It’s not about the voyeuristic nature of watching them get it on, I couldn’t care less about that. I like the wet look in their eyes when they realize how little time they have with each other and that it’s slipping through their fingers faster than they thought.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!

I’m very normal about this, your honor

This is so real, like let trans masc people have boobies, this rep is the stuff that makes me hate myself less

feelin like a kinda titty out no binder thursday kinda day

👉👈 can I get an Anthony Bridgerton falling for his childhood best-friend, who he used to climb trees with as a kid to escape the governess also the friend is of a lower class.

even his father saw the love between his son and his friend.

Yes

Falling Like the Stars

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Childhood Best Friend (Lower Class, Opera Singer)

Genre: Slow Burn, Angst, Jealousy, Friends to Lovers

Warnings: Grief, Class Differences, Jealousy, Emotional Turmoil, Sienna Being Petty

Word Count: 1,200

Edmund Had Seen It First.

From the drawing room window, he watched as Anthony—his eldest, his heir—slipped away from his governess’s watchful eye, ducking around the garden hedge before disappearing into the tall grass beyond.

Violet let out a sigh, setting down her embroidery. “I swear, that boy is impossible. He knows his lessons must be finished before—”

“Before he runs to her?” Edmund interrupted, his lips curling into something knowing, something fond.

Violet’s expression softened as she followed his gaze.

Beyond the hedges, Anthony had reached the old oak tree, and there she was—waiting for him, as always. A girl with bare feet, her simple dress catching on the wildflowers, her laughter barely reaching them through the glass.

She was not one of them.

But to Anthony, she had never been lesser.

They chased each other in dizzying circles, ducking and weaving through the dappled sunlight. At one point, Anthony caught her wrist, twirling her around with the kind of joy that was rare for a boy who already carried too much expectation on his shoulders. He wasn’t the Viscount’s son in that moment—he was just Anthony.

Violet exhaled. “He adores her.”

“He loves her.”

The words were quiet but sure.

Violet turned to her husband, brow furrowing. “You cannot mean—”

“I do.” Edmund’s gaze did not waver. “And it will break his heart.”

Violet’s breath hitched.

Because she knew the truth of it too.

And months later, when the unthinkable happened—when Edmund was the one taken from them too soon—Anthony did what they had both feared he would.

He let her go.

The Opera House Was Alive with Sound, but Anthony Heard Nothing.

The backstage corridors were crowded—actors, musicians, stagehands moving in a flurry of silk and powder, adjusting costumes, calling for props. The scent of warmed candle wax and expensive perfume clung to the air, thick and intoxicating.

Sienna held onto his arm, her fingers trailing lightly over his sleeve. “You seem nervous,” she teased, her voice low and knowing. “Did you know she was here?”

Anthony barely registered her words.

Because she was here.

She stepped into view at the far end of the corridor, illuminated by the flickering sconces lining the wall. The dress she wore was midnight blue, the kind that made her look like something out of a dream. She held herself with quiet grace, her hands clasped neatly before her.

But her eyes—

Her eyes found his, and the world tilted.

Anthony felt it in his chest, the sharp pull of something long buried but never gone. It wasn’t just recognition. It wasn’t just surprise.

It was her.

Sienna followed his gaze and exhaled softly, her amusement turning into something edged with understanding.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

Anthony’s throat tightened.

Because of course she was.

She had always been beautiful, but not in the way of the women who populated his world—bold, practiced, calculated. She was soft, quiet, effortless. The kind of beauty that settled deep, that lingered.

And he had let her go.

Sienna’s fingers pressed into his sleeve again, a silent test. She was waiting for him to say something, to look at her.

He didn’t.

And she saw it.

She let out a soft, almost amused breath and slowly uncurled her hand from his arm. “I’ll leave you to it,” she murmured, stepping back.

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

Because she was still looking at him too.

The years apart stretched between them, thick and suffocating, filled with everything they had never said.

And for the first time in his life, Anthony Bridgerton did not know what to do.