#Viscount Associates

[bkenber]

All-Time Favorite Trailers: 'Blow Out'

I first remember watching the trailer for Brian De Palma’s “Blow Out” years ago before a double feature at New Beverly Cinema. While I don’t remember which double feature I was seeing that evening, I do remember the trailer itself and in becoming excited about checking out this underappreciated De Palma classic. Roger Ebert gave it four out of four stars and proclaimed it to be one of those…

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#1980&039;s Movies #1981 Movies #Blow Out #Brian De Palma #Criterion Collection #Filmways Productions #George Litto #John Lithgow #John Travolta #MGM #Movie Trailers #Nancy Allen #New Beverly Cinema #Pino Donaggio #Quentin Tarantino #Vilmos Zsigmond #Viscount Associates

[shanastoryteller]

Merry bday! A continuation of Enola Holmes marrying the viscount of Basilweather would be really cool 😀

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

She wrinkles her nose when Tewksbury passes over her cup of tea with two sugars, unstirred, and she knows.

She puts down the cup too quickly, blood pounding in her ears, and Tewksbury frowns, reaching for her hand. "Enola?"

"Got to go," she says, pushing herself to standing, almost just leaves him sitting there, hand outstretched, but he's her husband and she loves him, so she darts over to smack a kiss on his lips before she's running for the door.

"Enola!" he calls out again, but now he sounds less worried and more exasperated, which is better, which is good. There's nothing for him to worry about.

She wants her mother, who's banned from London and is causing political unrest in Southern France currently, or Edith, who's doing something clever and illegal in Scotland. She'd take Victoria, but Mycroft will be there, and he's the last person she wants to see right now. Sherlock, while beloved, is useless, but his boy is a doctor.

She drops in at 221B Baker Street, picking the lock like always, and is relieved that Sherlock is still asleep and decides not to have any opinions on the various bones scattered about the kitchen table. She assumes there's a reasonable explanation for them.

"Oh, Enola!" John grins and shoves some femurs to the side to make space at the table. "Here, join me, would you like some oatmeal? Are you looking for your brother? I can wake him-"

"I'm pregnant," she blurts out, then bites her bottom lip.

John blinks once, then twice, then says with a gentleness that had made her like him in the first place - because Sherlock wanted to be gentle, but was quite bad at it, so someone had to teach him - "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Wanted seems like not the correct word, although of course it is, because she and Tewksbury had been, not trying, but not-not trying, which probably amounted to the same thing, considering how often they - well.

"I can fix it," he says, voice low and serious, "if it's something that needs to be fixed."

Enola lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "No. No, it doesn't need to be fixed."

She loves that he offered. She loves John, more her brother than Mycroft will ever be, sometimes even more her brother than Sherlock is. If nothing else, her brothers had picked their partners well. Victoria and John are a delight.

John is the functional one between them, explosions and skeletons notwithstanding. John is the one that coaxed her brother into a proper relationship and John is the one that knew they were like parents to all the Irregulars and John isn't normal but he grew up normal.

"Are you worried something's wrong?" he asks. "I can look you over."

"No," she says, although, "I mean, yes, that'd be nice because Tewksbury will go spare, but no, I'm not worried anything's wrong."

He leans back in his chair, looking her over, and after almost ten years of dealing with her and Sherlock and even occasionally Mycroft he can read them almost as well as they can read everyone else.

"It's alright to be scared," he says finally. "Lots of women are when they find out, even when it's wanted, even when the baby's healthy."

"I'm not scared," she says, but for the first time her words feel like a lie. "I shouldn't be scared. What do I have to be scared of?"

She wishes her mother was here.

Will her children miss her like this too?

Sometimes she misses her mother even when she's right in front of her, and if nothing else, she's her mother's daughter.

John gets to his feet, stand in front of her, and opens his arms. She looks away even as she steps forward, like if she doesn't look at him when she does it then it doesn't count as weakness.

His arms close around her. He smells like chai and antiseptic and it's only years of association that make the combination comforting. "I can't wait to be an uncle."

He'll be an uncle. Sherlock will be an uncle. Even Mycroft, and Victoria will be delighted to be an aunt, and to raise her children with Enola's. Of course there's her mother-in-law, and Tewksbury's uncle, who have been angling for her to have a child from the day they married.

There's Tewksbury, who loves her, who isn't going to die on her or leave her if either of them have anything to say about it, who isn't going to leave her to raise their children the way her mother raised her.

Alone.

She's been saying she wasn't going to do this alone from the beginning, but standing here in Sherlock's kitchen, with John holding her steady, she really believes it.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #enola holmes #if we get a third movie my characterization of john will be wrecked #but know in my heart he is a lovable mad scientist with poor impulse control

[sea-owl]

Idea, so an au where Penelope loses her memories while on a Lady Whistledown run and when she comes to she honestly believes that she is only Lady Whistledown. She has no memories of her life as Penelope Featherington, maybe associating that she was more of her true self as Lady Whistledown or she was happier when running her empire.

Now, a few years later, her empire is bigger than ever. Penelope, or Penny, as she has come to call herself now, can learn any secret, and if you pay enough, she'll tell you. There are some boundaries she won't cross, like if she feels if a person doesn't deserve the consequences that would happen should the secret get out, then she won't tell their secrets. She has managed to build connections not only all over England but also Scotland, Ireland, and many other countries across the continent.

Her latest assignment is actually more of a personal favor. Her dear friend Phillip has been corresponding with a young woman named Eloise Bridgerton for the last year, and he is debating to have her come visit to see if they suit for marriage.

After Penny teased him about lewd correspondences she offered to check up on this Miss Bridgerton when she traveled back to London.

"Consider it my early wedding present to you ," Penny teased. "You and the children's happiness will be all the payment I need."

Off to London she went. The Bridgertons weren't a family Penny actively searched secrets for. There wasn't a reason to. Of course, she came across stuff accidentally. Like when she learned one of the wives is an earl's illegitimate daughter, but that more came about when she was digging into the same earl's widow. Or the time she learned the Viscount's secret fear of bees. Mostly things she learned were small things like that.

Now how to approach? Well according to some of her sources the third son has just returned from traveling and is in need of a new valet. Perfect. It is not the first time she has became a servant nor the first time dressed as a man to learn the secrets she needs.

This new servant that was hired to be Colin's personal attendant though, is giving him flashbacks. He could swear that had this new servant been a woman he be a dead ringer for what Penelope would look like now. Colin also suspects his new servant also is hiding something, what he isn't quite sure.

Penny is also getting flashbacks, and she's not sure she likes them. Who is this girl that looks so much like her? And why is she getting all these memories the longer she spends time around the Bridgertons? This isn't safe. It is best to learn what she can and leave. Penny doesn't like the looks Colin Bridgerton is giving her, nor does she not like the way her heart speeds up at the sight of him.

The race is on to see who can discover who's secrets first.

#bridgerton #polin #amnesia au

[anneapocalypse]

Saemus Dumar's situation just becomes that much more tragic when you truly understand the position that Viscount Marlowe Dumar is in. Marlowe is fully aware that he is a puppet of the Chantry, and that failure to comply with their every demand and show complete and unwavering support will earn him the same end as Perrin Threnhold. Saemus, by extension, is not merely the heir to the Viscount's seat but a puppet-in-training, and Marlowe is well aware that the Chantry will hold the same stranglehold over his son that it holds over him.

From this perspective, Marlowe's angst over Saemus's friendship with the Qunari is not merely that of an overbearing father seeking to mold his son in his own image, or a cynical politician anxious to save face. Marlowe Dumar is a father terrified for his son's fate.

Dumar's reign began with an unsubtle gift from the Knight-Commander: the mangled and blood-encrusted signet ring of the previous viscount who had attempted to oust the templars from Kirkwall, with a note that said, "His fate need not be yours." Marlowe knows. He knows what the Chantry will do to his son if he expresses doubts, if he is known to be a Qunari sympathizer, never mind a potential convert. In trying to dissuade his son from associating with the Qunari, he is trying in the only way he knows to save his son's life.

And his greatest fear is exactly what happens.

As he holds the body of his dead son, Marlowe Dumar laments, "What hope for this city, when we fail our own so completely?" The failure he speaks of is not the Chantry's, but his own. When Hawke presses him for action, he dismisses the idea of standing against the Qunari, saying, "I have already failed where it mattered most." This is really the end for Viscount Dumar. I doubt he puts up much if any resistance when the Qunari storm the Keep to kill him. His reign, his line, and his life are over when the Chantry murders his son.

#marlowe dumar #saemus dumar #dragon age meta #dragon age 2 #dragon age #blunders of thedas

[eleanor-bradstreet]

The Field: Dandelions (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: G - mild suggestiveness, fluff and romance Word count: 2.7k

Part 2: Lavender Forever Masterpost

Summary: When you visit Aubrey Hall to celebrate an important day in your career, Benedict offers some new experiences.

Author's Note: The first in a four-part series based on songs about fields/nature that I associate with Benedict. This part is based on the song Dandelions by Ruth B

Today was the day. The day you were announced as Creative Director for Bridgerton House Enterprises. The day your life took a turn for the extraordinary. Even though you had known you would reach this tier and even though the man doing the announcing was one of your oldest friends, the enormity of the milestone still toyed with your nerves. The announcement was being rolled into the company’s first corporate outing at the CEO’s family home, Aubrey Hall. An embarrassingly large ancestral estate with sprawling grounds, it was a picturesque retreat for you and your colleagues to be feted while celebrating your successes and paving a roadmap for your future.

You had been there before of course, several times. It had actually been your idea to move the company outing to the spot. You found something reassuring in the calm grandeur of the place. Maybe it was the grounds themselves or maybe it was just your relationship with Anthony. Friends since uni, you had joined him and his innumerable siblings there for a few shooting weekends and holidays over the years. After chatty meals and some raucous nights that involved climbing out of windows, the latter of which you hoped his mother would never learn about, being there filled you with happy memories. 

You and the Viscount had stumbled upon one another in your first year, headed home from late night parties arm-in-arm, singing and shouting with that unfiltered, instantaneous friendship that can only be formed by two people who just met and are both obliterated with drink. After an extremely messy mashing of tongues and unsuccessful attempt to bed each other, you both woke with embarrassment, headaches and quick realizations that your personalities were not romantically compatible. You would either have ended up murdering or driving one another off cliffs with your shared obstinance, but it was exactly that challenging streak that bound you tightly as sardonic friends and academic rivals. You cheered one another through school and then cheered one another through life as he took his rightful place within his father’s company, and you carved out a career in marketing and design. When his former Creative Director had left, you were the first person he called. Even though your preexisting relationship was no secret, you had still wanted to prove yourself and learn the culture before being handed departmental reins, so for the past year you had worked in a lower level role, getting to know the team and the company’s needs until you had told Anthony you were ready to step up.

As excited as you were, several factors were amping your anxiety. The concern that you would be seen as little more than a nepotism hire. But you supposed there was nothing you could do about that. The details of the event had fallen under your purview too, and you had been juggling caterers and florists and groundskeepers until your head spun. And then there was the brother. Benedict Bridgerton. As a show of support the Bridgerton clan were in attendance at the outing too. It was their home after all. But that left you in constant danger of bumping into Benedict and experiencing the unavoidable effect he had on you.

The first time you saw him when Anthony invited you to Aubrey Hall years ago, it felt like an engine kicked on somewhere in your chest. A new, secondary energy source powering you through life simply by knowing he existed. It drove you to spend as much time as you could in his presence, roared with electricity whenever he was near and sputtered whenever you saw him with a paramour du jour. It was problematic how often he visited you in dreams and how you would flush with heat whenever Anthony mentioned him offhand at work. Benedict was mischievous, funny, and too charming for his own good, with all of the heart and soul to make up for Anthony’s acerbicism. Over the years of your acquaintance you had become friendly if not exactly friends, but you admittedly had never known anybody like him. You knew he did something artistic for a living but not exactly what. You knew he had his own place in London but not exactly where. You knew you had caught him looking at you at recent gatherings but weren’t sure exactly why. What you did know was that your eyes were incapable of looking at anything other than him when you were in the same room, and he was only making it worse by wearing a canary yellow button down to the outing.

You had moved through the event spaces trying to avoid him, not needing anything to fluster you more. That was why you were somewhat hiding in a distant hall of the house, one of your favorites where the family displayed a portion of their considerable art collection. Pieces were always changed out and you found yourself drawn to a new one, a landscape. It was a field on a spring day, windswept with rolling hills in the distance. The lush grass was dotted with flowers - yellow, white, and blue. You felt as if you were standing inside of it, a cool breeze tickling your skin and rustling through the bordering treeline.

You were lost inside the painting when someone spoke next to you, startling you out of your reverie.

“Ah! Dreams in Kent. Like what you see?”

It was Benedict. Of course it was. Beaming at you with that grin that you thought should be criminalized, but which always made you feel better somehow. Your evasion efforts had failed and your heart was now racing somewhere in the vicinity of your throat.

“Yes,” you smiled, trying to act casual. You turned back to the painting - the only safe place to set your eyes. “It’s beautiful. Your family has quite the collection. I’m sure it took generations of curation.”

His eyes followed yours to the canvas. “Oh, we didn’t find this one. We know the artist.” 

“Lucky for you. They’re talented.”

You could hear the smile in his voice. “Mmm. And he does commissions, if you’re interested.” He shuffled to stand closer at your side, both of you keeping your eyes on the gallery wall. You tried to school your breathing, focusing on the weight of the champagne flute in your hand, something solid unlike your legs.

“About how much for something this size, do you think?” You gestured to the painting mostly to humor him and keep the conversation light. You weren’t sure you were in the market for commissioned landscapes.

“For you? No charge.” 

It took your reeling brain a moment to process what he said. Then you realized he was facing you and smiling broadly. “You didn’t paint this?” you gasped. The cheeky devil. He lowered his head and blushed. Something inside you ached. As if he weren’t beautiful enough on his own, now you were forced to witness the multiplicative beauty wrought by his talented hands. You most certainly wanted to commission a piece now. “Oh my god, I had no idea,” you marveled. “You’re a real artist.”

“Real?” As soon as his brow knotted you wanted to kick yourself.

You sputtered, hoping he wouldn’t take offense. “Oh, I just mean…I knew you were an artist but I didn’t know what kind of work you did. I was thinking more pop art or abstract…”

“Like sculptures made out of cotton balls?” His grin widened, creasing the most delightful lines around his bright eyes. 

You breathed a sigh of relief. You should have known he would be good humored. “Exactly.”

“Is that what Anthony says about me?” He arched a brow.

“No,” you said firmly, and it was the truth. “He’s obviously proud of you. He just left out the classical landscape bit.” 

The warmth that radiated out of his smile finally put you at ease. Yes, you had a crush on him but you were a grown woman. You could hold yourself together during some friendly banter. You didn’t know why Benedict alone seemed to reduce you to a babbling schoolgirl. Interactions with him felt more poignant, more significant somehow. Whenever he looked at you, even though it was hard to breathe, paradoxically you felt alive, free. You felt happy. You’d probably be in closer proximity to him once you stepped into Anthony’s C suite, so it was time to relax and get to know him better.

You turned back to the painting. “So was this plein air?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “A field on the edge of the property. It’s a quiet spot which is…hard to find with my family.” He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans then his voice dropped to a register you had never heard before. “Speaking of, you’ve been here before but you haven’t seen this spot. Do you want an extended tour? To survey for a vista you may want to commission?”

His eyes leveled on you, glinting. There went any attempt at keeping your composure. This was blatant flirtation. An invitation to…something. A private tour to a secluded spot? Your heart was doing its best to make itself heard again, thrumming to the point you worried it was visible. The evening’s scheduled events wouldn’t begin for another two hours, and you reasoned that some exercise may help settle your nerves. Was there any way you could decline this offer?

“Alright.”

True to his word, Benedict showed you features of the Bridgerton property that you had never seen before. A far flung rose garden filled with statuary, agricultural outbuildings that had fallen into picturesque stages of disrepair, and the looming stone orangery that you had always observed from a distance but never approached. Unlike the goat barns it was still in use, housing an array of palms and warm weather plants in rows across the chess-tiled floor. Even though you had known the Bridgerton family for years, the trappings of their old money lives still gave you pause sometimes. You had hobnobbed with the higher classes your entire life but your middle class roots still caused you to gawp at and ridicule certain things. You each plucked an orange and ate them as you hiked past the lake in which you had swum before, crossed a fallow field and rounded a copse of trees. 

Then you saw it. Benedict had captured the field so perfectly, you knew you had arrived before he even spoke. The idyllic fantasy his painting had conjured in your mind was now fully realized, grass tickling at your ankles and breeze brushing through the nearby treeline. Fields rolled out before you to the horizon, beyond the Bridgerton property line but unbroken by any structures or barriers. Just a sea of peaceful green dotted spectacularly with the bright yellow of countless dandelions. It almost felt as if you had stepped out of time into some pocket dimension that only Benedict knew how to access.

“It’s stunning.” You suddenly realized that he was dressed perfectly to match the surroundings, looking like an overgrown dandelion himself in his yellow shirt. It was adorable and endearing. You smiled. “Have you ever made dandelion wine?”

“What?” He chuckled. “What on earth is that?”

“Ah, of course not. Someone whose family has an orangery wouldn’t have tried such a peasant recipe.” You smirked, unable to resist the jab. The field was invoking memories from your childhood. Hazy summers at your grandparents’ cottage in Cornwall where they taught you to gather and ferment the blooms into a sweet concoction. With their ample supply, you couldn’t help but feel that the Bridgertons were missing out.

“I’m not classist toward anything that can take the edge off.” Benedict slowly moved deeper into the field, dragging his feet through the grass. 

“Why is there an edge?”

He huffed a sigh, staring out at the horizon. “The usual. Quarter life crisis. Searching for a direction. Posh boy twat who dreams of being a starving artist.”

His crooked grin didn’t mask the plaintive look in his eyes. Blessed as he was with good looks, wealth and talent, the idea that Benedict may have anything less than a perfect life had never occurred to you.

“From what I’ve seen you’ve more than accomplished the artist bit. And consider it a blessing that you don’t have to starve. It appears to me that you have everything you need.” 

“Some things perhaps, but not everything.”

His tone was so uncharacteristically serious, his gaze so weighted, you worried he had found your comment dismissive. Now you had to make him smile again. Scanning the ground you quickly found a flower that had tufted into a perfect white orb. You picked it and held it out to him. “Then wish for what you want.”

He brightened and walked back toward you with a playful air. “Do you think it will come true?”

You shrugged. “Can’t hurt to try.”

He bent and picked another tufted stem. “Only if you wish too.” 

Something lodged in your throat. The last thing you had expected on this already monumental day was to be cozying up with your friend and boss’s younger brother for whom you had carried a candle for years. The heady excitement coupled with the beautiful backdrop was making everything feel surreal. The event at the house could have been taking place in another world entirely. All of your focus was here.

Smirking at each other, you stepped close and simultaneously blew on the flower held in the other’s hand. The gauzy seeds rose and swirled around you both, heightening the strange magic of the moment. You fought not to react to his proximity and the warm gust of his breath over your hand. Closing your eyes you made your silent wish - that this flirtation would continue; that Benedict perhaps saw you as you saw him; that you could call him your own, even if just for a short while. When you reopened them he was smiling at you.

“What did you wish for?”

You backed up a step, laughing. “No, that’s not how this works. If I tell you, it definitely won’t come true.”

“How do you know?” he lilted, closing the space between you again. “What if I’m the person who can deliver what you want?”

Oh god, was your wish that obvious? Was it so easy to read how much you wanted him? You supposed it was a common occurrence for a man like him but wanted to chastise yourself nonetheless. You would have if your mind wasn’t already paralyzed by the knowing look on his face.

You somehow managed to find your voice, deflecting meagerly. “You first. What did you wish for?” “Ah, I see how it is,” he chuckled. Then everything about his demeanor grew soft and intent. His blue-grey eyes searched yours and you were transfixed by their depth, as if within them you could see forever. “I wished for something just out of reach. Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Or someone I should say.”

“Someone?” You asked, your voice tremulous. Your heart was pounding. There was no mistaking where this was going but you could scarcely believe that it was actually happening. Everything around you started to fall away, scattering like the dandelion tufts. Everything but his eyes, his lips, and the tender words that escaped them.

“I suppose my wish was to know if they thought of me too.” He peered up through his dark lashes, a calculated move that you knew was designed to devastate you.

“How funny,” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper as you swayed toward him. “I wished the same thing.”

His eyes lit up and the engine within your chest roared. “Well look at that,” he leaned in, looping an arm around your waist. “My wish came true.” 

You moved with equal enthusiasm, pressing your lips together in a moment that was soft but fervent, carrying the weight of hidden feelings and the desire to explore further. He tasted of oranges and comfort; he felt so correct. You wound your arms around each other, warmed by the sun that shone bright across the field. You had been kissed many times in your life, but nothing compared to the breathless wonder of this one. This felt like once in a lifetime. A distant corner of your mind remembered that you needed to get back to the house soon but you were finding it difficult to care. Benedict began to hum happily as he kissed you over and over, winding a hand into your hair as he playfully nipped and sucked at your lips. Pulling back, he smiled and twirled the dandelion stem between his fingers. “These things do work.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x you #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #female reader #modern au #romance #fluff #dandelions

[thedemonofcat]

The first encounter Jaskier had with a witcher outside of Geralt turned out to be quite unexpected—it was Adien. Struggling with a shortage of coins, Adien made a surprising decision to accept a contract to assassinate a Viscount named Julian. The task seemed to revolve around some intricate matter related to a secession line.

Soon enough, Adien came to a startling realization that Julian was, in fact, the birth name of Jaskier, Geralt's bard. This newfound information was acquired through Lambert, who had knowledge about the bard from his close association with Geralt. Lambert would often hear Geralt complain about this vibrant and lively bard who seemed to constantly follow him around during their winters in Kaer Morhen. It became quite evident to everyone that Geralt harbored a certain fondness, even a crush, on Jaskier.

Upon discovering the true identity of Julian as Jaskier, Adien made a resolute decision not to carry out the assassination but instead to safeguard the bard from any future attempts on his life. Aiden's objective became to protect Jaskier until a solution could be found to reunite him with Geralt.

Realizing the profound impact Jaskier's demise would have on Geralt's emotional well-being, Adien grew increasingly aware of the potential consequences.

The thought of enduring Lambert's incessant complaints about Geralt's winter-long lamentations was something Adien truly wished to avoid.

He simply did not want to bear the burden of having to listen to such grievances.

#the witcher netflix #joey batey #jaskier the witcher #geralt of rivia #the witcher #henry cavill #the witcher jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fic ideas #the witcher aiden #the witcher lambert

[romirola]

If you're like me, you are excitedly awaiting the arrival of the Monarchical Summit storyline! Before that storyline is officially explored in the audios, I want to offer a reminder that if the idea of the Shaw Pack and Solaire Clan enjoying a fancy gala interests you, you might enjoy my completed fic, Packed with Love, which features exactly that, along with flashback scenes, wolfpack banter, unlikely friendships, action/adventure, grocery hunts, hurt/comfort, trancey interrogations, and more! All information (including tags, word count, rating, characters, thank-you shoutouts, etc.) can be found at the AO3 link.

IN FACT, I (through Angel) even referenced Sam having the title of Duke and his being wildly embarrassed at that fact. Here's the proof, which is a passage I pulled straight from Chapter 1:

"On behalf of the RMA, thank you for your generosity," Sam acknowledged. "Obviously I can't put in anything for the raffle since it'd look fixed if I ever won.” Between my association with the RMA, and the fact that I’m William’s once-removed progeny, I’ve had to forfeit my chances.” “‘Once-removed progeny,’” Milo curiously echoed. “So if William is your clan’s king, and you’re the progeny of William's progeny, what does that make you?” “Duke?” Angel guessed. “Viscount? Earl?” “More like court jester,” Sam supplied. “William’s not one to care much about titles or bloodlines, thankfully. That kinda stuff can just get to be so silly and antiquated. But he is one to make sure that he could never be accused of nepotism or favoritism among his clan. That’s why I agreed to forgo any raffle ticketing, as did all of us who do work for the RMA during the year. Don’t get me wrong, though. If I could buy tickets, I certainly would. William let Vincent pick out the prizes this year. True to his flashy form, he really went all out." “What’s the prize?” Asher asked as he added more garlic butter to his bread. “An ultra-luxury all-expenses-paid stay at one of those big fancy spa resorts,” Babe supplied. “Everything is included for the week. Travel, lodging, gourmet food, massage services, every amenity you can possibly think of. Doesn't that sound incredible?" Babe squealed. "And the runner-up is a huge basket full of gift cards to all different businesses around Dahlia. Empowered and unempowered. You can go check out all the businesses at the raffle table.” Babe twisted their back and pointed across the room. "Max's Rustic Pizza, the Trance Bureau, Gary's Shifter Grooming Salon, that paintball place in Greenway we've always said we want to try," they listed. "The Psychokinetic Cleaning Company, the Steakhouse, and more!"

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted fanfiction #redacted shaw pack #redacted solaire clan #redacted david #redacted davey #david shaw #redacted angel #redacted asher #redacted asher o'connell #redacted babe #redacted milo #milo greer #redacted sweetheart #redacted sam #sam collins #redacted darling #redacted darlin #redacted william #william solaire #redacted vincent #vincent solaire

[vickyvicarious]

So I've been rewatching a lot of period dramas lately and this got me thinking, Arthur's clearly from the upper class, but does the book ever actually specify what his title refers to? Viscount, baron, etc...? And Lucy's a socialite and would therefore be some kind of aristocrat, but I don't think the book ever gives specifics on her family background either, but correct me if I'm wrong! And while I'm at it, would the rest of the Crew be considered middle or working class?

Hmm, so I am definitely not one who has the best grasp of all these nuances myself, so I happily welcome any others who know more and want to correct me or add in what they know! That said, here's what I think...

Arthur is repeatedly referred to as 'Lord Godalming', at least once his father dies. That means he is officially a 'peer', a member of the House of Lords. There's several different ranks within this category though, and based on title alone he could be most of them (since most were commonly called 'Lord'). I found a post talking about the peerage for the context of the Sherlock Holmes stories which I think is pretty easy to understand, especially the little table of titles/roles.

Going off that source, it says that "all children of viscounts and barons were called the Honourable;" and when Jonathan is talking to Mitchell, Sons, & Candy the guy says this: "We once carried out a small matter of renting some chambers for him when he was the Honourable Arthur Holmwood." That would suggest that Art is either a viscount or a baron. Of the two I would lean towards viscount, simply because I think he is in the upper half of the hierarchy based on the way side characters tend to react to him. I don't know if there was ever any leeway to call the eldest/only son of an earl by that title, but if so then I kinda want him to be that, purely because it is the British equivalent of a count, and that would be a really neat tie-in to the various ways Arthur is contrasted to Dracula as good/bad nobility. (I could talk more on that but it probably deserves to be a separate post.) Admittedly I don't know enough about the nuance of relationships between different classes to know how high up the ladder he can go before his association with the others here would start raising eyebrows, but I like the idea a lot.

Arthur is the only character other than Dracula to get a (non-academic) title, so I don't think any of the other characters would be part of the peerage. However, I do think Quincey is very rich and probably of somewhat equivalent status for an American. I think Lucy is probably not officially there, because otherwise I feel like either she or Mrs. Westerna would have been addressed as 'lady' at some point, if only by people meeting them for the first time or who don't know them well. However, she's definitely of a social class where he association with Arthur is very acceptable, so she had to have been well-off. I imagine her from a well-established family who might not have a title but is still certainly part of the respectable crowd. Or if she did have a rank it would be lower but not outrageously so.

I think Jack would also be pretty equivalent to Lucy, since she introduces him as "well off, and of good birth" and his close association with both Arthur and Quincey would suggest he is certainly respectable enough to hang out with them/propose to the same woman. Lucy suggesting him as a possible option for Mina to marry if it weren't for Jonathan suggests that Mina might also have a nicer family background (as does, potentially, her friendship with Lucy). But if so, then her current status as orphan who works for a living and expects to have to make ends meet with Jonathan suggests that her family must have fallen on hard times and whatever respectability there was to her name is more lingering compared to the reality of her current situation. That's my best guess, but honestly it's kinda tricky to figure out and other people who know more about the time have been confused too.

I think Jonathan is definitely of the lowest class amongst our main cast. You can see this reflected as well in how they tend to address him more casually ("Harker") while he uses some form of title when speaking to the others ("Dr. Van Helsing, Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, Mr. Morris"). He doesn't speak of his parents much, but we know he worked for Mr. Hawkins from a fairly young age, and started out as a clerk until recently, which was not a particularly well-paying job. I think he and Mina would be considered on the lower end of middle class - at least before they inherited everything Mr. Hawkins had, which it sounds like is a comfortable existence if not the extravagances that other characters would be more used to. That might bring them up closer to some of the other nontitled people, though not as high.

#dracula daily #arthur holmwood #lucy westenra #jack seward #mina murray #jonathan harker #anonymous #replies #just realized i didn't talk van helsing. i also think he's in the same general area as lucy and jack probably #but since he's dutch there may be differences there too

[candywife333]

F*** The Pyramid

PART 1

Genre : Historical

PAIRING : yandere-ish Duke Jungkook x spinster social pariah chubby y/n

Inspired loosely by the Pyramid Games (kdrama which you guys should totally check out) and a novel called ,"The Captain's Wallflower"

Warning: This fic has minimal to no proofreading and the usual blend of outlandish comedy , crude jokes with expletives, smut, and angst (because I can't do without it). This is purely fiction and not a representation of the real Jungkook's true character or that of any other member of BTS.

Currently a trilogy ( thinking of making it a series with all other characters of BTS)

Summary: Duke Jung kook remained the quintessential peer of the realm, born with a platinum spoon in his mouth from the day he arrived into the world. He grew up playing a massive role in determining the structure of the social hierarchy----who gets to be the diamond of the water, the most eligible bachelor (other than himself of course), and.....who gets to be at the bottom of the pyramid ;the very dregs of society, the spinsters and ruined women who would never have a chance at a better life.

His bevy of associates all wealthy and powerful comprised of ; Marquess Taehyung, Baron Jimin, Viscount Yoongi, Viscount Hoseok, and Duke Namjoon (close advisor of the king)--formed the Pantheon (a group of wealthy and powerful men that ruled England). He lived the ideal life, the envy of all others..... or so he had thought. Till he met, Spinster Y/N--- the illegitimate daughter of Baron Stanton. They say, if she looks like a spinster, smells like a spinster (of lavender and epsom salt) , and tastes like a spinster ( though who would ever choose to taste one?) ----then she must be one. But something about Y/N was peculiar. She definitely seemed to be a spinster in name and mannerism. But was she truly one? And what was she hiding?

Cameos: Hwasa (my queen), Chungha, and many others

Part 2

I yawned again. And again. And again. Munched on a croissant. And then proceeded to...yawn again. So boring. I would never deign to come down to London for a Season ever again. That was the only modicum of comfort I was looking forward to. Never showing up here again. The scene would never change, so what was the point? Aunt Alyssa, my mother's older sister, had insisted that I accompany Solji to her debutante season----where she would be introduced to all the other pompous, rich, uninteresting, vapid members of the ton. So she could find an uninteresting, rich husband to marry who would inevitably cheat on her with a mistress and she could pretend to be happy and have his ugly nonsensical big headed babies pushed out of her vagina and die....eventually. I know, my view of the ton and life amongst them is anything other than comforting. Yet after watching so many seasons go by, sitting on my bench (I called it my PERCH) like a cockatoo at the rotten old age of 26, my views were firmly engraved into stone. Nobody could convince me otherwise.

The entire point of the ton's existence was enforcing social hierarchy. There was no other point. True friendships are meager and rare, sanctity of marriage has no meaning ( with affairs flourishing abundantly in dark corners of Vauxhall ) , and love is nonexistent. Love, a concept I had pondered for ages as I watched naive gullible debutantes waltz around with their chosen well-to-do suitors. Suitors that proclaimed sonnets of love initially, yet inevitably lost interest in their gullible little guppy fish wives and relegated those same foolish wives to country estates never to be seen again, so they could priggishly jaunt across London with mistresses on their arms---to operas and **gasp*** decorated bedrooms. Showering attention on mistresses and maids and any other women of relatively low standing --- to suck at their grotesque, syphilitic cucumbers.

Abhorrent. Men never made sense to me, and I was convinced that love was a construct they came up with, to fool women to do their bidding. I mean, at this point, having seen what I have seen, I wonder if they even believe in the hoax called love themselves. My concern after sitting here on my perch for the last 7 seasons since I had come out, is that not once had I been asked to dance. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, I guess it made sense? Chubby , wearing spectacles, and unappealing dresses with colors and designs of years gone by, definitely would not make me the toast of the season by any chance.

Yet, even when I had been a bit more fashionable, and when father had been alive and still holding the position of Baron--I would've expected few offers of marriage by fortune hunters merely seeking my dowry. But alas... that was not be. One girl, that debuted the same year as I did, daughter of Duke Asbury, Lady Seulgi had tripped on her feet while dancing the waltz, into the arms of Baron Jimin , bowling both of them over to the cold marble floors of the ballroom rather unceremoniously. She had bemoaned to the rest of the debuting girls (including little old me) that day, languishing on a chaise as she gesticulated nervously, " I am a miserable dancer. How will I ever survive this wretched Season"?

I had quietly tried to suppress my giggles at her ridiculous tirade. What could she even mean? She was proclaimed the diamond of the first water instantaneously after being presented at court that Season 7 years ago, earning the attentions of all the members of the Pantheon and many other wealthy peers of the realm. Her life was easy. All she had to do was do nothing. Yes, I said it. Merely, NOTHING. Her fate was decided from her birth. Not like the rest of us, who were not conventionally attractive and now.......financially destitute. She had earned the good grace of everyone from birth due to her wealth and strong connections. Even if she had farted, everyone would have applauded her flatulence.

These were the women I didn't understand. The ones who had everything, yet bemoaned their lot in life----frivolous ninnies in my opinion. All the women of the higher echelons of society remained there --marrying similarly wealthy lords and preserving their lineage and wealth. You may ask---is there no social mobility? And I would say, of course bloody not---you simpering little sot. What did this look like? A fairy tale? Cinderella? Princes of good moral standing don't exist. Rich men have options. And they always avail them. Why would a rich man marry a poor woman? Lust. That would be the only real answer.

I know I sounded jaded, and I definitely was. You can only be a trampled on flowerbed for so long, till you start festering and molding with bitterness. I do not profess to be better than anyone else. At times over the years I had wished to feel beautiful, marry a good match, and have a family. But that destiny clearly was not in store for me. The complicated reasoning being that I simply was not conventionally attractive and did not inspire lust in men, and that my father's rather paltry dowry did not inspire even mere greed in men . I am socially inept and quiet by nature. These were all valid reasons.

But, the simple reason I chose to believe---is that one man merely found no utility in me. Who you may ask? Duke Jungkook I would say, without even flinching or stuttering. Others thought "society at large" did not care for them, hence they were mowed over to the corner to become rotten spinsters and outcasts. You know who society was? Duke Jungkook and the members of his Pantheon. But he was still the mastermind. Slickly manipulative, handsome, and wealthy.

He was born sitting on a golden throne, and over the years proved that he was an intellectual. Silently accruing further wealth for his estate through trade and industry---something the Ton usually looked down upon. But since it was Duke Jungkook, it was permissible. Everything was in his case. He was the exception to every rule. If his character description stopped at this, we would have all been fine. But one thing Duke Jungkook seemed to crave is control. He was hyper competitive because he lusted after control---and it's close comrade, power. Power over even the pitiful members of society, he had no business trying to control. He played God for years, and always got away with it.

How do I know he's the one running the show you ask? Well, I had time to observe. And I would say, that is my only true talent. I notice things others don't because I am invisible. A mousy little mite relegated to my pitiful perch. And I noticed everything, from his wagers which either demoted or elevated people's social standings---to the way he manipulated people with misinformation and rumors. He decided who was popular. And he decided who wasn't. And if anyone was to blame for my social standing, I would say it was him. What he had done 7 years ago had reduced me to my position now. It wasn't even anything all that dramatic. He cut me down without even a fight.

I remember it as clear as if it were yesterday, even now.....

"I am so sorry, Lord Jungkook, I wasn't watching my step, please forgive me", I had stuttered in an overly fuchsia dress akin to a little sausage as I sweat incessantly in the stuffy ballroom. Hadn't meant to spill a chalice of lemonade on his coat.

His dark eyes gleamed with amusement and something that I identified as calculation later on in my life , as he brushed it off with a wave of his hand, "Tis' of no import, Lady Y/N. Don't worry". I nodded and curtsied towards him, "Thank you for overlooking my clumsiness, Lord Jungkook. I am sorry to disturb your evening".

I had thought he had truly forgiven me. It wouldn't ruin his reputation, our encounter. It was the mistake of a newly debuted girl, more akin to a child than a woman.

I had believed in the kindness of men and humanity till then. Till he chuckled and slyly condescended in a rather loud and cloyingly sweet tone of voice, "Of course, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. At least you are not as clumsy as your mother in concealing her relations or as clumsy as your father in the way of estate management". He sauntered away lazily as he left me to deal with the fall, whistling a merry tone juxtaposing the social demise he had just inflicted upon an innocently naive girl.

Casually cruel in the name of being honest. Everyone in the ballroom had heard, their eyes and ears peeled towards any interaction involving him as they do generally, as moths do towards a flame. Only Lord Jungkook would know my dad's poor financial status even as a Baron, or about my mother's affairs which had wrung him dry emotionally. Father had resorted to ruining our meager wealth by letting the estate go to spoil. He soon after died of heartbreak at my mother's affairs a year after this horrendous moment.

He had borrowed a massive amount of money from Duke Jungkook, money he would never be able to repay. When he died, the Baron's estate and debt was inherited by cousin, leaving me and my two older sisters with nothing. Thankfully, my sisters were already married off to decent, financially stable men---though they were mere vicars. Not men with titles, but reliable nevertheless. And I was left an orphan. Looked down upon and pitied by my beautifully polished sisters, and members of society as I was unmarried and ineligible according to my looks and lack of dowry--and Duke Jungkook's honorable estimation of my worth (or lack thereof).

Duke Jungkook had ruined my life long before dad had died, and the mere sight of him would remind me of my downfall to this day.

I hated the man to his day, teeth gritting unconsciously. If I ever came across the man in need, I wouldn't hesitate to ruin him. As he had ruined me. He had opened up to the mockery and disdain of the ton. I didn't get invitations to most balls and events by then. The only few I did get invited to were due to my Aunt Alyssa, or shall I say Viscountess Alyssa. I was unmarriageable nevertheless. And I had only stuck around to earn some money by being companion and chaperone for Solji.

The plan was to leave this horrendous place of twinkling lights and crushed dreams for a family--for a baby (a dream I had cherished in my heart of hearts for quite some time). I just wanted to be left alone now. Away from Duke Jungkook's paralyzing serpentine glances that decried me of my humanity and value, and the snickers from other wealthy men at my nunnish appearance. I would go live in a 3 bedroom cottage on the countryside, the only thing that had been entailed to my name in father's will which had not been of any value to debt collectors.

It was a beautiful cottage, tucked away near the edge of a meadow in a quaint little town called Chestershire. We had family vacations in my childhood there. It just required some repair and warm touches, to become a lovely house. I had earned money as companion to Aunt Alyssa so that I could retire there without worrying about money for at least the next 2 years. I would probably start selling garments I had knitted and sewed over the years as well, once those funds ran out.

Just thinking about the cottage and the quiet life awaiting me, filled with baby chicks and piglets and a warm hearth devoid of judging glares filled me with happiness....something I had not been acquainted with for a long time, as a soft smile brightened up my face .

Couldn't wait to leave the bloody pyramid. Every dog has its day. And mine would arrive tomorrow.

Only , if I had known that destiny always knows how to kick a girl in the arse, just when she believes the worst is over.

--------------------------------------

I arrived around the evening of the next day after a garrulous carriage ride had tossed me up like a well done egg salad 30 times. The travel was terrible and yet the journey was definitely worth it. Meadows filled with various flowers and fruits stretched up and over sprawling green hills in the weak light of the setting sun , all cresting into a peak at the top of the hill---my home, my cottage. It was just as I remembered it, a homely cottage wrapped around by rose bushes and creeping stalks of bouginvillea and tulips.

The main village center was just a 3 minute walk away, but felt much further away from everyone else, with the way it was situated upon a tiny hill surrounded by an expanse of trees giving plenty of shade to the cottage. I paid the coach man and walked up the hill, sweating and dusty from the ride. As I came up to the door, I could smell the fragrance of a hearty stew wafting out of the window.

Who was in there already?I knocked on the door and was met with a swinging door that gave view to an overgrown golden retriever jostling me to the grassy ground with enthusiastic licks. A buxom lady with sparkling green eyes, and thick brown hair in two plaits exclaimed happily, "Oh, darling Y/N, tis' been a long while since I saw you. Must've been when we were kids, still digging worms from the pond and making little houses for them".

I remembered who it was. Sunny, my old maid's daughter-- who I had played with in my childhood. I patted the dog on its head as I got up, brushing grass from my skirts, enveloping her in a rambunctious hug with a wide grin, "So good to see you sweetheart!!!! Where is your mother? Is she in good health?"

"Oh, she's fine Y/N, just back at home because of her rheumy joints. She finds it hard to keep up with maintaining the cottage, so I am doing the job as of now." I smiled warmly, my insides singing with joy at the jubilant welcome back home. I truly felt at home for once.

Chestershire still remained the quiet town I remembered it to be, idyllic and pasotral. It was a wonderful change of pace--fresh air and sprawling greenery so much the eye could not contain. She grabbed me by the shoulders and hustled me into the clean , well maintained cottage. It was a beautiful interior with leviathan bay windows and plenty of comfortable seating space. I inhaled the hearty potato stew into my mouth, discussing my plans with Sunny on how to make the cottage even more homely and regarding repairs to be done.

Apparently a tiny sum of money was provided by father's will to go for maintenance annually to the cottage. That is why the place hadn't fallen into complete disrepair. It just needed a few homely touches, some floral printed curtains and doilies and warm rugs and blankets. Along with some vases that could contain flowers which shrouded the cottage window-sills.

I had my work cut out for me for the next week. But this work was more welcome than anything else I had had to deal with uptil now.

--------------------BACK IN LONDON

Lord Jungkook was pondering something of the utmost importance at the moment as his valet stared at him, eyes agog with concern. The cravat he was to wear today to Lady Esterly's ball held much salience. It had to be something somber to indicate respect towards the end of her grieving period, yet not so outrageously dark in color that it would be utterly unfashionable. She had lost her gouty ill tempered 70 year old husband few months ago to sickness. And though she was clearly happy to lose him, it would be unbecoming to demonstrate those sentiments in public.

As Jungkook entered the ballroom , something in his subconscious pricked at him. What was this uneasy feeling? He hadn't felt this way since 7 years ago when he had found out that Lady Y/N's mother was having an affair with his father, who had been Duke of Somerset at the time.

His father had been a wealthy and powerful man who had always seemed to always adore Jungkook's mother, the Duchess Somerset. Yet, he had done the exact opposite and when she had least expected it, well into their marriage of 30 years, taken up a torrid relationship with Y/N's mother. Jungkook's mother had died of grief merely a year after his father had made his affections not so secret to society. And his father soon followed her in death due to his weak constitution, succumbing to infection in the winter. Y/N's mother had been left to grieve the passing of his father and her husband that same year. She stayed with one of Y/N's married elder sisters.

He had never noticed Y/N's existence till then, till he found out whose daughter she was as she had scurried around the edges of the ballroom like a nervous rodent since her debut in Society. She wasn't much of a beauty to look at with plain features, full cheeks and a plush frame that seemed more matronly and frumpy than anything else. Her only redeeming feature were her sparkling eyes and lush hair that served to hinder the expressions on her face.

Her attire had deteriorated as her father's estate fell to ruin, thanks to Jungkook availing Jimin's crafty ways of tricking money out of the hands of Y/N's gambling father who had gotten rather desperate for money. Jimin ran a gaming hell that had made many a gentleman penniless---something he took great pride in. According to Jimin, if they lost money to the gaming hell, it was a testament to their bad luck and his good luck.

Jungkook had decided to strip her of any remaining honor, not as though her mother had left his mother with any honor either-- even in her death. It would be comeuppance for what her mother had done. She would pay for her mother's sins. And so he thoroughly ruined her reputation, ensuring she would never have a good life therafter--a life lacking family and a chance at a socially and financially advantageous match.

That's when it hit Jungkook. Where was Y/N? She wasn't in her usual spot overlooking people dancing at her bench. That had been her occupation for the past 7 years, watching people have the life that she would never have--he had made it so.

Jungkook felt extremely uneasy now that he could not spot Y/N. Where the hell was she? She always came to the bigger events that Lady Alyssa and her daughter attended. He had denied her invitation to most smaller ,more intimate events with his social acumen, but not the big ones. She had to see what she was missing out on---life. That had been his revenge plan.

But now she was nowhere to be found. He blindly searched for her, till he came across Lady Alyssa and inquired in a drawling tone , schooling his features into a calm that he didn't mirror the panic he was actually feeling, "Hello, Lady Alyssa. Fine evening it is today, is it not"? Lady Alyssa graciously smiled at him, "Yes, of course it is Lord Jungkook. How are you faring today? Oh, this is my daughter Solji in case you have not met her". Solji gracefully curtsied in her periwinkle floaty dress that showed off her waifish frame in the best light.

He continued in an unaffected tone, "And where is your companion, Lady Solji? Y/N is it"? Solji nodded as she replied, "She has decided to retire to the countryside for a while. Her father left her a countryside residence and so she has chosen to depart early before the season ends so that she can celebrate Christmas over there". Lady Alyssa sighed, stating in a resigned tone, "Anyhow she has no prospects of marriage with how she looks and conducts herself, better she is away from polluting the rest of the ton with her incessant cynicism and gloom".

Jungkook nodded at these statements seeming calm as a cucumber on the outide, whereas he was internally rattled at the happenings imparted to him. She had left? After so many years, she had decided to just leave? Evidently she had gotten tired of not being enough for London. But how could she leave without telling him?Without even an announcement of her departure?

A little voice in Jungkook's head gave him the blatant answer--not like she had any friends to inform of her departure. And not like he was her husband/brother/legal guardian, who she would have to inform of her comings and goings. After his blasting statement 7 years ago, the few friends she did have, left her --frightened of being associated with her ill repute by merely even conversing with her, or being seen in her presence.

She was a free bird, and Jungkook was hating the fact.

She had left him to play his own game. The pyramid only remained so, when there were people at the bottom. Sure, there were others he could and had manipulated to stay at the bottom, but he wanted her to remain there. Not for her to exit the game altogether.

Y/N was not allowed to be happy or have a Christmas, after what his mother had been through---he would definitely ensure this.

#bts x plus size y/n #jungkook x y/n #historical romance #eventual smut #angst #comedy #duke jungkook #jungkook x chubby reader #body negativity #body shaming #plus size y/n #y/n x bts #chubby y/n x bts #jungkook x plus size y/n #bts x y/n

[racefortheironthrone]

In A Guildsman Goes Forth to War, what can you tell us about fae society? I'm assuming they're monarchies, feudal or absolute? Do they bear any resemblance to Celtic society? Do they practice slavery? What of their gender dynamics? Etc

Great question!

So there's a lot that I'm not going to share with you, because the fae/Fair Folk/etc. are supposed to be a mysterious people who live in their own realm that connects to the human world via thin places in the forests and underhill and deep in the mountains or underground rivers, and humanity doesn't particularly understand them very well despite centuries of intermarriage, as the fae are both very cryptic and contradictory in the information they've shared with their Gentry kin.

Government

As far as humans have been able to glean, the Fae do organize themselves into Courts that seem close enough to European feudal systems that the leading families of Europe can do business with them when it comes to dynastic marriage alliances and diplomatic relations.

That being said, status and power in Faerie society don't seem to be based in land as they are among humans. (In the interests of full disclosure, I'm borrowing some ideas here from the Feywild in D&D.) As far as people have been able to glean from correspondence and diplomatic and cultural interactions, titles are based on elements of nature (the Duke of Hoarfrost, the Viscount of Watermeadows) or from emotions (the Lady of Wistful Rememberance, the Prince of Sorrow), or from ideas and beliefs (the Duchess of the Dark Side of the Moon claims to have once been a handmaiden to the goddess Selene).

Quite a few scholars of geography and history from the leading universities have theories and taxonomies about how Faerie society is organized, but they're all second-hand and can offer only partial explanations and there's absolutely no consensus about what's going on. It does not help that the rare diplomatic missions or marriage parties that go to Faerie from the human world rather than in the other direction tend to report memory issues, such that much of what is recorded owes more to dream logic than accurate observation. Needless to say, this has been a rich vein of material for poets, playwrights, and painters only, and intensely frustrating for academics and statesmen.

Culture

Faerie culture is highly localized in accordance with regional folklore and mythology, although scholars disagree whether human folklore is a record of pre-historical encounters with Faerie, or whether the Fae pattern themselves after the human cultures they interact with.

So for example, the Fae of Éire, Alba, Anglia, and northern Gallia seem to correspond to Gaelic and Brythonic literature, Arthuriana, and the Matters of Britain and France. In the Sacrum Imperium and the Danelaw, however, the dominant Fae cultures are distinctively Germanic and Scandinavian - whether that's the Rheintöchter of the Rhineland and Palatinate, or the dvergr who predominate in Bavaria and the Hapsburg lands or the trollkind and various álfar in the land of the Northmen. In much of southern Europe around the Mediterranean, one is much more likely to encounter Faerie peoples recognizable to students of Greek and Roman mythology: many Gentry from the Lega or the western half of the Rhōmaîoi-Rashidun Federation claim descent from oreads, naiads, nereids, satyrs and other bloodlines.

Human scholars are particularly confused by the fact that all of these different peoples all call one another "cousin," no matter whether they belong to the more humanoid elfkind or the distinctly non-human trollfolk or even the potentially fictional or extinct dragons.

Class and Slavery

As already suggested, Faerie society seems to have some sort of a hierarchy, but it does not seem to be one based in the inheritance of land passed down from generation to generation. Rather, as far as humans can tell, status seems to be associated with proximity to or control of or possession of or identification with magical power from various sources.

What does seem to be the case is that those with more power can command those with less, and Faerie embassies ubiquitously feature both vips with titles and what appear to their servants, but there is no consistency on which kinds of fae serve and which rule. Human visitors and diplomats are very unsure whether this consistutes a caste system or clientilism, because the Fae themselves speak in rather vague terms about "obligations" and "debts" and "true names."

Gender

Again, humans have a rather hard time understanding Faerie gender norms - and are rather unsure whether various Fae kinds have genders and how many they have. What is known is that, among what passes for royalty and nobility in Faerieland, there is a tendency for the female to be announced first - correspondence often arrives in the form of "Queen Titania and King Oberon" or "The Baroness and Baron"- which suggests a slight tendency to the matriarchal, but that is mere supposition. Human cultural conservatives both within and without the Church do grumble about the "immodest" and "amazonian" habits of Faerie women when they comport themselves in their visits to human society or in their Gentry marriages, but they make sure to do so under their breath.

#a guildman goes forth to war #renaissance fantasy #fantasy genre #world building #faerie #fae #fair folk

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

The Rake (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Prompt: “I was holding your hand to convey sincerity and you said something I don’t have an immediate answer to, so I’m going to kiss your hand instead.”

AN: I had a series of hand kissing prompts and I wrote this a while ago for Anthony because I wasn’t really happy with how the show handled the Rake plot line. I’ve got a few more drafted that I might post later, one for Benedict Bridgerton, one for Eddie Munson etc. Let me know what you think.

WC: 1k 

Reader: Presents as a woman, no pronouns or Y/N used

Masterlist

When your family butler Thompson announced the entrance of Lord Anthony Bridgerton for the second time in fifteen minutes, you stood up from the chaise to receive him. However his face was not clear with his usual civility as it had been when he first arrived - before he was taken into your father’s office for a private conversation. 

As if he communicated telepathically, Thomspon closed the door behind Lord Bridgerton once you had curtseyed and he had bowed. He was your chaperone. So this was a private affair, but not a proposal. Of course it wouldn’t have been the latter. You and the Viscount hadn’t even courted. 

Reading this from your thoughts, the Viscount cleared his throat before speaking, “Your father forbids me from courting you, or indeed marrying you.”

Your gaze dropped to the carpet for a split second before you regained your composure, “Did he make known his reasons?”

“He fears that my reputation will taint yours and your family’s.”

You nodded, attempting to collect your thoughts whilst you stalled: “While I do not care to have my father speak on behalf of my future, I will admit that I am unnerved by what the ton has to say about you. However, I wish to hear from you first what you have to say about these rumours of your disreputable behaviour prior to this season.”

It was clear this made Lord Bridgerton uncomfortable: his feet shifted in their new leather boots, his brown eyes found themselves losing their usual ego, and his shoulders struggled to stay rigid. 

When he gathered his nerve back together, he spoke: “The rumours are not entirely unfounded. In fact, until recently, I did not consider the fallout of my actions on myself, my family, and the women I… associated with. That being said, I am firm in my belief that I will carry out my duties as Viscount without returning to my old ways.”

Carefully you arranged your skits as you lowered yourself back to the chaise. You then patted the space beside you.

“Sit with me.”

Your gentle request was taken upon, with Lord Bridgerton perching beside you and just a few inches of space separating your legs. As you continued to speak, he listened closely, like nothing else mattered.

“You must understand that in entering courtship, I consider what future we would have together. How could I be happy, knowing that my husband openly seeks pleasure from other women and that the ton looks on me with pity for being trapped in a marriage like that?”

As Lord Bridgerton processed this, his eyes cast down for a moment, you filled the lack of response with more of your thoughts, for he had not once made you feel like you should hide them:

“Now you have said so yourself, you seek an amicable marriage fit for your future as Viscount, not one of love. I accept that as a statement. But I do not know if I can accept that you have changed so completely and so quickly.” 

“I would not do to you what you have said, if you were my wife.”

“By comparison, you would become as celibate as a priest. Would you be happy with that?”

“I do not seek happiness, only to carry out my duties for my family. You would be my family too, and if that is what you wished, I would follow your example.”

“And once your duties are complete, when my childbrearing hips have been put to use, what then?”

“Y/N, I would never forsake you for the brief pleasures in a whore’s arms. It would be you and you alone I seek. We would be a pair unmatched by anyone. Our lives have changed for the better from the moment we met; it would multiply infinitely when we exchanged wedding vows.” So encapsulated in his speech was I, that I did not notice when he had sandwiched my hand between his. “I would be yours and yours alone, your faithful husband, your partner, your slave.”

You wanted to believe him; you truly did. Every inch of you screamed at your mind to just fall for his pretty words. Even if he did not love you, your dances and conversations amidst promenades were the most entertaining things that had happened this entire season. He would be more than a welcomed partner in the future. You would be taken care of, be given your own duties and Dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton to guide you as Viscountess. 

But what was the point, if you were to become a walking embarrassment to the point where you could not show your face without hearing the whispers of Whistledown’s followers wafting over your home life? What kind of wife, host, mother would you be?

“I’m sorry, Lord Bridgerton, I wish to but I still do not know if I believe you.”

His chest slowly shrinking with a sigh, Anthony raised your hand to his lips and kissed the bridge of your knuckles. His touch lingered and his breath tickled over your skin, warmed in his gentle grip. This gesture was not intended to ruin you for other men should silent Thompson at the door spill the beans. It felt like sealing a promise in those earnest brown eyes that made you weak at the knees just looking at you - so thank goodness you were both sitting. 

“I understand,” Anthony lowered your hands to where your knees touched, “So please let me try to prove how serious I am to you,” He said quietly. 

“What about my father?”

“He may change his mind, he may not. It is yours I care about.”

You didn’t know for how long he would try, when you did not have his luxury of more than a few seasons to spend waiting for this change in you and him, before you would have to settle for one proposal or another. But Anthony’s sincerity was all you needed to decide on your course of action. 

You kissed his hand as he had yours. “Then try. Please.”

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton imagine #My writing #r: female #wc: >1k

[vigilskeep]

do you think cassandra some time post dai ever tries to explain what she heard from varric and says “so it turns out the guy who blew up the kirkwall chantry was close personal associates with the champion of kirkwall, the guard-captain of kirkwall, the guy who later tried to annex kirkwall, and renowned author varric tethras (now viscount of kirkwall). and all this means there was actually no conspiracy at all”

[thebabblingbrookenook]

The Viscount Who Loved Me Too Much - Part 3

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x Hyacinth Bridgerton , Anthony Bridgerton x Violet Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader

Summary: Modern AU - A continuation of The Viscount Who Loved Me Too Much Part 1 and Part 2 . This chapter changes from Reader’s POV to Anthony’s in an effort to give us a little more insight into what’s going on with our Viscount. While Anthony grapples with the depths of his feelings for his Reader, Violet calls on Anthony for a favor. His sister needs his help.

Warnings: Not really anything to warn you about. If you are afraid of emotional growth and cheeky banter, then look away lol

Word Count: 5.1K

Author’s Note: @colettebronte is a beta - reading hero! Shout out to my Discord friends for helping me with fun ideas for this installment. I do plan to continue this story for as long as it makes sense to do so. Bear with me!

_________________________________________

Six weeks, four days, and some odd hours…

Apparently that was the length of time in which it took Anthony Bridgerton to fall in love. He knew when she awkwardly approached him in the bar that night and stumbled her way through an attempt at flirting that she was going to be important in his life. What he didn’t realize was that she would be the one to remind him of all the things that made life worth living.

She was a survivor. She fought relentlessly for her life - kicking, screaming, and clawing her way to the happiness she deserved. She was a marvel, and he constantly stood in awe of her. She made him want more than to merely exist. She made him aware of every ounce of joy he had been missing over the past year, but she also felt like his promise for a redemption of the time lost.

As he sat smiling at the ridiculous photo she just sent him of herself, he caught himself saying it aloud. It came as naturally as hushing Benedict’s sarcastic teasing, or sighing at his mother’s affectionate meddling. It was as if the words belonged on his lips. Light and free, with a huff of laughter he declared, “God, I love her.”

It was probably still a bit too soon for him to shout it from the rooftops for all to hear, but he knew it was true. He loved her, and eventually he would gain the courage to tell her so. Until then, he would revel in every second she allowed him to spend in her presence, every day adding new truths to his list of reasons to love her. 

He was about to respond to her cheeky midday text when his phone started buzzing, flashing a picture of his mother across the screen.

“Hello mother,” he answered.

“Oh, hello darling!” she beamed. “I wasn’t expecting you to answer. I’m not bothering you, am I?”

“Not yet,” he teased. “But it’s only a matter of time.”

“You wound me, son. I don’t know where I went wrong in raising you.”

A warmth that he associated with childhood started to bloom in his chest. Violet Bridgerton had a million admirable qualities, but chief among them was her playful sense of humor. “My apologies, Lady Bridgerton. How can I possibly make amends?”

“Oh, good! I’m glad you asked.” she said without missing a beat. “Are you busy today? I wasn’t sure if you were working from home or the office.”

“Bex informed me this morning that my afternoon meeting was canceled, so I took the rest of the day. I have plans later this evening with…” he paused, unsure if he was ready to share her with anyone else just yet. “... with a friend. Other than that, I’m at your disposal. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, everything is fine. I was just wondering if you could collect Hyacinth for me. The school called. It seems she isn’t feeling well and needs to be sent home. I would go, but I’m on my way to a bridal boutique with Daphne at the moment. Genevieve Delacroix is having a trunk show and your sister has her heart set on one of her dresses. Simon, the dearheart, set up an appointment with the designer as a surprise.”

Anthony shook his head at his friends' over-the-top gesture. Leave it to Simon to find new ways to spoil Daphne beyond belief. It was hard for Anthony to see Daphne as a woman who was ready for marriage, and not as a tiny, bossy little girl that followed her brothers everywhere they went. But if it had to be someone, he was glad it was Simon that his baby sister deemed worthy enough to trust with her heart. 

“Of course I will. She must really be sick to call home. That kid would sooner die than admit defeat.” Worry started to take root in his chest. He knew it was perfectly normal for kids to get sick from time to time, but Hyacinth was such a steady, constant little thing. She never wavered from her determined strength. At least not where the prying eye could see.

“Thank you, Anthony.” Violet sighed with appreciation. “Give her a kiss for me and tell her I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“I don’t know about all that, but I’ll certainly let her know she crossed your mind.”

Violet huffed her reply. “What have I done to deserve such an obstinate child?”

Anthony found himself laughing again. It felt good. “God clearly thought you needed a challenge since the rest of your brood would prove to be so easy. I’m honored to be the one assigned the task of keeping you sharp. I think I’ve done a great job so far.”

“You’ve done a great job of making me old, that’s what you’ve done. When do you think you might retire?” she asked lovingly.

“As soon as you stop meddling and insisting that you know what’s best for me.”

“So, never.” she quipped.

“Have fun with Daph today, and try not to worry about Hyacinth. I’ll take care of it.” he promised, directing the conversation to a close.

“I know,” she replied, her voice steeped in motherly love. “You always do. Thank you, dear. I love you.”

“You too,” he returned, discomfort settling in his shoulders. He still had a hard time hearing those words when they were meant for him. He didn’t deserve them. Too much had happened. He failed too many people to be awarded that privilege. Especially his mother…

“Oh, and Anthony… One more thing before you go,” her voice took on the chastising quality that only a mother could master. “When are you going to introduce me to the lovely young woman you’ve been so clearly infatuated with for the last few weeks?”

“How did you...” he questioned with shock.

“Oh, come now Anthony. A mother always knows.” He could hear the victorious smile in her voice. “Plus, you’ve been walking around all sneaky and secretive like a fourteen year old boy. It was either a woman, or I’m about to get a call from your old headmaster claiming that he caught you bringing farm animals into the school again.”

He desperately wanted to change the subject. “Priorities, mother. Hyacinth needs me. We can talk about this later.”

“I agree. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll be at the office to meet with the barristers regarding the foundation. You can take me to lunch.” That was that. She hung up the phone before he had the chance to protest. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Hyacinth Bridgerton sat in uncharacteristic silence while she waited with the school nurse for what she had hoped would be a quick rescue. What was taking her mother so long to get here? Didn’t she know that being the baby of the family granted Hyacinth the right to be the center of her mother’s universe? What could she possibly be doing right now that would keep her from rushing to her aid?

“Hyacinth,” the nurse prodded. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather lie down? You look a bit too pale for my liking.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. 

She wasn’t fine at all. She was in the worst pain she had ever felt in her life. All she wanted was to go home and crawl up for a good cry. She wouldn’t break down here. Not with someone watching. She would hold it all together until she was in private. She was a Bridgerton - weakness didn’t run in their blood. She had seen Anthony do it a hundred times. He was a master at taming his own emotions until the time was right. If he could do it, so could she. 

Although, she doubted her brother ever had to deal with anything equal to likes of this. It was excruciating and horrifying. There was a good chance she was dying. She didn’t know how much longer she had left. Hopefully her mother made it in time.

A knock wrapped on the door and the secretary popped her head inside with a smile. “Miss Bridgerton, your father is here to take you home.”

Hyacinth’s lungs forgot how to breathe. Father… this was obviously a mistake. Maybe they meant to collect the young girl in the corner with her face hunched over a bucket. “I think you may have the wrong student. My mother is coming for me.”

“No,” the annoyingly chipper woman replied. “He asked for you by name. Grab your things and follow me. I’ll walk you out to him.”

They walked in silence through the corridor. Hyacinth only remained upright through sheer force of will. She was already preparing her “I told you so” speech when realization hit. And with that realization came dread. There was currently only one person that someone would mistake as her father…

Her nightmare was confirmed when they rounded the corner to find Anthony anxiously awaiting her arrival. He rose to his feet the second he saw her approaching, worry widening his soulful eyes. It was strange to see him here. Actually, it was strange to see him at all. She tried not to hold his absence against him. This had been one of the hardest years for their family. Especially for Anthony. And she understood her brother. She knew why he distanced himself. She knew he needed the space to rebuild in solitude. But she missed him, and she couldn’t help feeling a little like he’d abandoned her. 

“Hyacinth,” he fretted, scanning her over from head to toe. “Are you okay? Do you want me to take you to the doctor?”

“No!” she panicked. “No doctors. Just take me home please.”

“Of course,” he said softly before taking her backpack from her shoulder and slinging it over his own. It was a small but sweet gesture that left her eyes misty. He was somehow both the last and exact person she wanted here with her right now.

She was relieved to see that he had opted to drive himself instead of taking his driver. She didn’t need anymore witnesses to her impending meltdown. 

Hyacinth could feel him eyeing her cautiously from the driver’s seat as they made their way through traffic. “You’re staring, Anthony.”

“I’m just worried. You never get sick. Your face is as white as a sheet and you look like you’re about to puke all over my car.”

“Well knock it off,” she scowled. “I’m fine.”

He scoffed, irritating her even more. “You’ve always been a horrible liar Hyacinth. You’re allowed to not feel well. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s none of your business Anthony. Just take me home so you can get back to whatever it is you were doing before I inconvenienced you.” She regretted her words the moment she saw the hurst flash across his face.

“I’ve never thought you were an inconvenience Hyacinth. Not even once. Now will you please tell me what’s wrong? I can stop at the store before we get to the house and pick up some medicine if you need.”

“My stomach hurts, okay. Now can we please drop this?” she wasn’t above begging him. 

“Alright, well I’ll just pop into Waitrose and grab you some ginger ale,” he offered.

He was only trying to take care of her, but she was irrationally angry at him. She just wanted him to stop talking and drive her home so she could die in peace.

“It’s not that kind of stomach ache, Ant. I don’t need ginger ale.”

“Okay, then maybe I ca-” she cut him off before he could provide another option.

“Ughhh! If I tell you what’s wrong will you shut up?” When he nodded his concession she took a deep breath and went on. “I got my period today in front of my entire gym glass. Marcy Fisher told everyone I was a freak and to stay away from me if they didn’t want it to happen to them too.”

From the look on his face, Hyacinth was sure that she’d thoroughly traumatized her eldest brother. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat before he responded. “But… you’re only twelve. You’re still… so small. Are you certain?”

She rolled her eyes at his very male reaction. “I’m pretty freaking sure, Anthony. I’m not a baby anymore. According to Eloise, this means I’m a woman now.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Please don’t say that. I’m not ready.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you better buckle up brother, because this is happening. It hurts, it’s disgusting, I’m mortified, and I really don’t want to talk about this anymore. Especially not with you.” 

“Do you want me to ring mum?” he asked desperately. 

“No!” she screeched. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone else. Swear it, Anthony!”

“Alright, alright! I swear it. Relax.” He had to restrain from wincing at the glare she shot him.

“Good,” she sighed. Some of the tension visibly left her body with the knowledge of their pact. “The last thing I need is Gregory finding out. I’d never hear the end of it.”

Anthony drove on in silence. He knew this was a big day for his littlest sister, and he was trying his best to not react poorly. He was not the right person to be handling this. Almost anyone else would be more well suited. He had to assume that his mother wouldn’t have sent him if she knew what was really going on with her daughter. This was the kind of thing he would normally call Benedict for help with. He always seemed to know what to do where their sisters were concerned. He had a much more delicate touch than Anthony. But he couldn’t call Benedict. He couldn’t call anyone. Hyacinth had forbidden it, and he didn’t want to face the tiny girl’s wrath if he ignored her wishes. 

His plan was to just keep his head down long enough to get her home and then wait for his mother to arrive so he could slip out undetected. Yes, that was the plan. Sit down, shut up, avoid disappointing her. That is until he heard the muffled sniffles coming from the other side of the car.

He could never stand to see Hyacinth cry. It never failed to render him useless. All he wanted was to comfort her, but he didn’t always know how. It was a lot easier when she was four and just crawled into his lap for a hug. It was easy to chase away what scared her when he could just pick her up and remove her from the danger all together. But now… what did he do now?

“Hyacinth…” he treaded carefully.

Thankfully, she let him in without a fight. “How am I supposed to face them all tomorrow, Anthony? Marcy Fisher said…”

Anger boiled behind his eyes when he identified the source of his sister’s tears. “Marcy Fisher is a snot-nosed spoiled brat with a father that can’t find a job with a salary large enough to support his coke habit and a mum who is so vapid that she has to pay people to be her friend. Marcy Fisher can piss off. You’ll face those kids the same way you do every day - as a Bridgerton.”

Her responding laughter was contagious until it turned into painful sobs without warning. Alarm bells sounded in his head as he began backpedaling. “Shit, what have I said?! I’m sorry Hy, please don’t cry. You don’t even have to go to school tomorrow if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head, gathering herself. “It’s not you. Well, it is, but not in a bad way. I just forgot how much you get me sometimes. Sorry, I’m really tired and probably sound like a blubbering idiot. How embarrassing.”

“Just hang in there,” he assured her. “We’re almost home.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Anthony was sure Hyacinth was ready to be rid of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave her. Once they reached the house she had immediately gone for a shower and insisted that she didn’t need anything else from him. She claimed everything else could wait until their mother got home, but he didn’t think it was right that she should have to wait for what she needs just because he might be a little uncomfortable. 

There were a lot of things over the years that he fucked up when it came to Hyacinth. She needed a father but she got him instead - a disappointment since she took her first breath. There was probably loads yet that he would surely get wrong, but this he could do. 

Or so he thought…

He stood frozen with indecision in the middle of the feminine care aisle of their local pharmacy. There were so many options to choose from. How was he supposed to know which ones to pick?!

An understanding laugh pulled him from the ledge of his looming panic. “You’ve got the terrified look of a first time dad. Need some help?”

Anthony met the eyes of the kind stranger with gratitude. The man looked to be well into his fifties and reminded him unsettlingly of his father. “Please… I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Everyone’s gotta start somewhere,” the man said, clapping him on the shoulder. “How old is your daughter?”

“She’s twelve,” he sighed. “She’s only twelve. That seems too early, doesn’t it?”

“One of my girls was ten,” the man confided. “You were lucky. You got a couple extra years of normalcy. It will be like riding lightning from here on out.”

Anthony watched in amazement as the man picked up items from the shelf and set them into the basket in his trembling hand. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiled. “If I were you, I’d toss in some ibuprofen and some sweets. And anything else that might make her feel loved.”

He could do that. He loved buying Hyacinth things that made her smile. She always rewarded him with hugs. “Thank you again. I would have been standing here all day if you hadn’t come along.”

The man instilled one last piece of wisdom before taking his leave. “Just remember, you’re never doing as bad as you think. And hold on tight for as long as she’ll let you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When Hyacinth came out of the shower, bundled in the coziest sweats she could find, Anthony was gone. She was equally disappointed and relieved. Being with her brother always made her feel special. He looked at her like she was his most treasured possession. Like a tiny, delicate gemstone that he wanted to protect at all costs. But he also hovered and fussed. And his keen observation skills made it way harder to get away with cheeky activities. Sometimes the authority that he carried made it hard for her to just relax. There was always that lingering fear of seeing disenchantment dull his warm eyes. 

It was hard for Hyacinth to be around him when he was sad. She could feel the effort it took him to present himself as having it all together. He might be able to fool other people, but not her. Everyone else believed that mask because that’s what they wanted to see, but the truth was in his eyes. He was tired. Life hadn’t been pulling its punches lately, and her invincible big brother was dancing with defeat. It made her angry. She knew that wasn’t fair - he wasn’t perfect. The pedestal she placed him on was always unsustainable, she knew that. She just wasn’t ready for how it would feel to see him as a normal person and not the hero the little girl in her remembered so clearly.

She had noticed a change in him lately though. He smiled a little easier, his body looked stronger - he wasn’t as fragile. She didn’t know what happened to make him feel more like himself again, but whatever it was, she was grateful.

She had just climbed under the comforting fabric of her plush blanket when she heard the knocking on her bedroom door. Anthony poked his head in before she could answer.

“Hyacinth, are you in here?” his eyes searched the room before finally landing on the Hyacinth shaped lump under the covers.

“You came back,” she stated, happiness tugging the corners of her mouth toward the sky.

“I know you wanted to be alone, but I’ve brought you some things.” He took a tentative step into the room.

Heat rushed to the tops of Hyacinth’s cheeks. “You went shopping for me?”

“I wasn’t sure what all you would need, so I just bought one of everything.” He handed her the large paper bag he clutched nervously. “There are also some sweets in there. I got those little Battenbergs you like. And those disgusting Monster Munch crisps you fancy so much.”

Her eyes lit up. “Roast Beef flavored?!”

His face grimaced as he shook off his distaste. “Yes, but I beg you to wait to eat those until after I’ve left. I don’t know how you stomach the smell.”

She stuck her tongue out at him before continuing to dig through the bag. “Good God, Anthony! How much did you buy? I’m only one person.”

Her throat tightened with the effort to hold in a fresh wave of tears. She had just managed to stop crying and refused to start up again. A few salty droplets slipped past her defenses as she cataloged the contents of her care package. He had put so much thought into it. The image of him scowling at shelves of feminine hygiene products made her laugh. He really had thought of everything - snacks, medicine, a heating pad. There was even an adorable stuffed bumble bee. 

She felt the bed dip slightly when he sat down next to her. His anxious expression caught her attention before he spoke. “Hyacinth…” he paused, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over something concealed in his palm. “I know I haven’t been very present lately, and I’m sorry. It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with my own shortcomings.”

He extended his hand to her, revealing the antique gold pocket watch their father had given him. “Father’s watch?” she asked, confusion coloring her features.

“Open it,” he encouraged.

Gently, she clicked the delicate latch to display the same intricate clock face she’d seen a thousand times before. Tucked safely within the opposite side was a worn photo. A young Anthony holding…

“That’s us,” he confirmed. “The day you were born. You were so small… and loud.”

“Ha. Ha.” she deadpanned. “Why do you keep it here?”

As if the answer was obvious, he simply stated, “So that I’ll always have it with me.” Sensing she needed more, he went on, “My whole life changed that day. I was nineteen - young, dumb, and aimless. But then there you were, and suddenly I had a purpose. So I keep it with me as a reminder for when I get a little lost.”

His knuckle brushed against her cheek, wiping away a runaway tear. “You are not an inconvenience. You never have been. And I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel that way. I’ll do better, I promise.”

There was no stopping the free-falling emotions that cascaded down her face. She was moving towards him before she had a chance to think better of it. Climbing into his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. He didn’t speak. He held her close, stroking her hair in reassurance, giving her space to feel.

When she calmed down, she pulled away, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her oversized hoodie. Anthony stood, smoothing out his now ruffled clothing. “I’ll leave you alone now,” he said with a smile.

The moment he turned to leave Hyacinth realized that’s not what she wanted at all. “Or… you could stay. Do you want to binge watch Love Island with me?!”

“Love Island?!” He was appalled. “Hyacinth, that is absolute trash TV. Utter brain rot.”

“Exactly,” she beamed. “That’s the appeal. Come on, Anthony. You can hate- watch it and complain the whole time. You know how much you love criticizing stupid people.”

Hyacinth lifted her blanket, inviting him to crawl in next to her. She laughed at his exasperated huff before he gave in and kicked off his shoes.

“Fine,” he conceded.

“Awesome,” she grinned victoriously. It was unnerving how much she looked like their mother when she looked at him like that. “Can we UberEats some McDonalds, too?!”

She had him right where she wanted him and she knew it. “Might as well,” he said, handing her his phone. “Garbage food to go with our garbage show.”

Even though he would rather pluck his eyes out than watch this show, he was content to just be here. Happy even. It was a moment worth remembering. Taking the phone she was handing back to him, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side. “Come here. I think we need an updated picture, don’t you?”

“Let me see,” she demanded. “If I look awful you have to delete it.”

“Whatever you say, your highness,” he chuckled softly.

“Aww! I love it,” she approved, sending the photo to herself. “You’re smiling.”

Anthony stared down at the photo contemplatively. She was right, it turned out nicely. He already knew the exact spot he wanted to place it on his desk.

The time on his phone caught his attention. It was already two o’clock and he was supposed to pick his girl up for dinner at half past six. He had been looking forward to seeing her all day but he didn’t want to cut his time with Hyacinth short.

Texting her the picture of him and his sister, he asked:

Anthony: Would you be opposed to pushing dinner back until 8:00? I’m on big brother duty.

She sent him back a gif of a cartoon cat with heart eyes.

Trouble: That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. We can reschedule for tomorrow if you want to spend the evening with your family. I don’t mind.

Anthony: I mind. I mind a lot. I want to see you. I’ve been thinking about it since I woke up this morning.

Trouble: Forget dinner, come straight to my place. I’ll feed you.

Anthony: What’s on the menu?

Trouble: Me.

He didn’t realize he had laughed out loud until Hyacinth asked, “What’s her name?”

“Who,” he played dumb, praying she hadn’t caught a glimpse at those texts.

Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “The girl that’s got you smiling like that. Duh.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no girl,” he sidestepped. “And I’m not smiling.”

“You’re so smiling. Have you told her yet?” she prodded.

“Told her what?” He realized his mistake a moment too late.

“HA! So there is a girl! I knew it.” She poked him playfully.

“God, you’re nosy. Maybe even worse than Eloise.”

“That is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me Anthony. But flattery doesn’t distract me for long. Soooo….?” she waited with unyielding patience for him to answer.

“Sooo?” he mimicked.

“Did you tell her yet?” She was relentless.

“Tell her?” Really though, what was she on about?

“That you love her…” 

His breath caught in his throat. “I… what? No…”

“But you do,” it wasn’t a question this time.

“Hyacinth…” he warned.

“Okay, okay. Will you at least tell me her name?” 

He took a minute to consider it. Was he ready? The bubble they existed in was fun and safe. Pressure free. The moment he let someone else in, it would raise the stakes. But isn’t that what he wanted - something real? She deserved that. 

“I’ll tell you, but this information is just for you. Understood?” She hooked her little finger around his in a silent promise. “Her name is Y/N.”

“Y/N…” she repeated. “She sounds beautiful.”

Anthony watched his sister with fascination as her eyes came alive with the romantic imagination that only existed inside the mind of a twelve year old girl.

Maybe one day he would remember how to see the world that way again too.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, Anthony found himself fully immersed in the exploitative debauchery that was Love Island. Hyacinth had fallen asleep about thirty minutes into the first episode, now drooling safely on his chest, and left him to navigate the shallow dramas of the contestants’ lives. He’d never admit it out loud, but he could understand why someone might find their antics entertaining. It was so far removed from reality it was nearly impossible to look away.

He was about to make his predictions for this episode when there was a knock on the door.

“Hyacinth?” Violet called, opening the door. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Sshhh,” Anthony whispered. “She’s asleep.”

“Darling,” she greeted him warmly. “You’re still here. I thought you’d be gone by now. I thought you had plans, I didn’t mean to keep you from them.”

He waved off her concern. “It’s okay, I rescheduled. Besides, I think I’m right where I belong.”

“How is she,” Violet asked, feeling Hyacinth’s forehead with the back of her hand.

“I’ll let her tell you about it when she wakes up. She’s had a long day, but I think she’s hanging in there.” He smiled down at his snoring sister.

“I can see that,” his mother remarked as she observed the discarded candy wrappers littered across the bed. Her face transformed when she took in the sight of her children cuddled together so sweetly. “She misses you, you know?”

“I know,” he hung his head, averting his mother’s eyes. “I should have come sooner.”

Gentle fingers pushed his hair away from his face. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah. I guess…” It still felt like too little, too late. He had a lot to make up for, but this was a good place to start.

A stream of expletives sounded over the tv speakers when two of the contestants realized a betrayal. Violet turned her attention to the screen. “For God’s sake, Anthony! What on Earth are you watching? I hope you didn’t let your sister watch this rubbish. Those women are hardly wearing any clothes!”

“Really,” he smirked. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He got the exact reaction he was aiming for. 

“Hush,” she reprimanded before turning off the tv and leaving the room.

The room was silent now, the only sound was Hyacinth's steady breathing. He felt himself relax into the soft pillowy mattress. His lids began to droop, his mind slowed to a blissful hum.

He had been out in the cold for so long. It was good to be home…

_____________________________________

Tags: @faye-tale @eleanor-bradstreet @musicismyoxygen84 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @heeyyyou @queenofmean14 @angels17324 @bridgertontess​

#Anthony Bridgerton fanfiction #Anthony Bridgerton #Anthony Bridgerton x Hyacinth Bridgerton #Anthony Bridgerton x Violet Bridgerton #Anthony Bridgerton x Reader #Modern AU Anthony Bridgerton #Bridgerton fanfiction #Anthony Bridgerton and Hyacinth Bridgerton #Anthony Bridgerton and Violet Bridgerton #Anthony Bridgerton and Reader #Bridgerton Family

[theicarusconstellation]

I love your Regulus so muchhh!!! Tell me more 🥹

thank you thank you THANK YOU he is my most precious my most beloved my most beautiful boy i would protect him with my life <333

all my reguli are cellist prodigies. they've played since they could move their hands, and they've done recitals forever. into the dark regulus probably has the most experience since he's done many recitals a year since he was a little tiny nugget, but gun in my lips regulus is close behind. the only reason giml regulus isn't first is because he's a viscount, so his parents freaked at the thought of him associating with the "commoners" during recitals lmao. he did his lessons in private.

and though i burn, how could i fall? regulus is the only one who doesn't play, and that's only because he's multiple millenia older than the cello itself lmao. he plays a kickass lyre though, and his countertenor could heal the terminally ill.

#astraeus' asks #astraeus rambles about regulus #regulus <3

[thesovietonion77]

Little info dump abt my favorite friends with benefits, Viscount Perdere and Prince Sanguine(both from TGO)

Transcript(kinda)

How to tell which AI is in control with Perdere or Sanguine

Perdere

V(ere)(hornball)

Speaks loudly and flamboyantly, with exaggerated movements. Pupils are small, red and blue diamonds. They turn purple when he hyperfixates or becomes angry. He holds himself high, his ego is as thick as his hips lol. He hangs around Sanguine during meetings and congregations, flirts heavily only with the ppl(men) he finds attractive.

Dolo(timid one)

Shy, speaks softly and acts meekly. Usually holds his hat over his face. Eyes are normally shaped, red and blue. Tries to keep himself from attracting attention as much as possible. Hides near Solaris, gets all \\o_o\\ when he acknowledges his existence. Slinks away whenever he and Vere switch and bm's being "reciprocative"

HM(Harvestmoon)(smart one)

Left brained kinda guy, usually has his sleeves rolled down(i mean you can tell by their voices he sounds like moon) His pupils are pentagrams, and he often uses long, poetic sentences. He has more control over their tail, and he can use it to hold multiple things at a time, and even can write with it. He likes pink(ew), and he takes pride in being Prince Sanguine.

BM(Bloodmoon)(emotional one)

Rolls up his sleeves like an idiot. Swirly eyes like f(l)eetway. Uses slurs to get the attention of most of the ppl he associates with, speaks in normal sentences, if not a liiittllee victorian(thanks to their father) red enthusiast. Thinks Perdere is a little annoying, but lets him hit occasionally

#posts by the soviet onion #aaaaaaaa #ulmr #the sun and moon show #tsams #tsams au #sams #sams bloodtwins #sams bloodmoon #sams ruin #the grand occult

[thedemonofcat]

First time trying to come up with an idea in the Omegaverse.

Jaskier is considered rare among Omega for several reasons, which sets him apart from the norm. Firstly, he is a male Omega, a rarity in itself, as male Omegas are not very common. Due to their scarcity, male Omegas have often been treated as precious gems, valued for their uniqueness. Jaskier's gender alone makes him stand out among his peers.

Moreover, Jaskier possesses qualities that deviate from the stereotypical traits associated with Omega individuals. He is known for being headstrong and exceptionally talkative, which contrasts with the expected demeanor of a docile and reserved Omega

Interestingly, all the qualities that make Jaskier different from other Omegas are the very reasons why Geralt is deeply enamored with him. As an alpha, Geralt is often seen as the epitome of Alpha characteristics, except for the fact that he is a Witcher. The Witcher mutations have bestowed upon Geralt the genetic traits of an alpha, making him a unique blend of both human and monster.

Despite their individual oddities, Geralt and Jaskier have formed a remarkable bond as mates

One day, Jaskier woke up feeling unwell, experiencing bouts of morning sickness. Concerned for his mate's well-being, Geralt decided to take Jaskier to see Yennefer. Little did they know, Yennefer had a surprising revelation waiting for them—by some miraculous twist of fate, Jaskier was pregnant.

Given that witchers were believed to be sterile, Geralt never anticipated the possibility of Jaskier becoming pregnant. Nevertheless, Jaskier was content with the idea, considering his life as a traveling bard made it challenging to raise a child. However, Yennefer believed that destiny had played a hand in this situation, decreeing that Geralt and Jaskier should embrace their roles as parents.

Geralt and Jaskier experienced a mixture of nerves and excitement at the prospect of becoming parents. However, their joy was short-lived as they soon discovered the alarming truth—numerous individuals were relentlessly pursuing their unborn baby

In this unprecedented occurrence of a witcher baby, the belief spread that the child would possess unparalleled power, surpassing any known beings. A group with nefarious intentions devised a plan to kidnap Jaskier, intending to hold him captive until the baby was born and subsequently raise the child as their new leader. They were even prepared to eliminate Jaskier if he refused to comply with their demands after the baby's birth.

Before assuming the name Jaskier, he was known as Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. Jaskier had fled his home to escape the clutches of his controlling parents, who, despite hearing about Jaskier's pregnancy, adamantly refused to recognize Geralt as his mate. Jaskier's parents harbored intentions of arranging a marriage between him and a wealthy Alpha Lord, solely for the sake of social status and riches.

Moreover, the kingdom of Nilfgaard, in their ongoing efforts to coerce Ciri, Geralt's child surprise , into their grasp, recognized Jaskier as a potential bargaining chip. Consequently, their interest in capturing Jaskier intensified, surpassing their previous pursuits.

Now on the run, desperate to ensure the safety of their unborn child, Geralt is willing to go to any lengths to protect his beloved Jaskier. Together, they make their way towards Kaer Morhen, seeking refuge and the support of the other witchers.

However, the magical nature of the baby begins to pose problems. Jaskier's pregnancy progresses at an astonishing rate, with his belly growing larger by the day, making their arduous journey even more challenging. Walking becomes a struggle with Jaskier's prominent pregnant belly, and the fact that he is a male omega further complicates their ability to hide and remain inconspicuous.

To add to their concerns, it is discovered that the baby carries witcher mutations in its genes. As Jaskier's health deteriorates, Geralt's fears intensify, dreading the possibility that Jaskier may not survive the process of giving birth to a witcher child

#the witcher netflix #joey batey #jaskier the witcher #geralt of rivia #the witcher #henry cavill #the witcher jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fic ideas #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #freya allan #gerskier #yennefer of vengerberg #anya cholatra #anya chalotra #the witcher season 3 #omegaverse #Omega Jaskier #Alpha Geralt