#coerced into continuing to exist

[c0mbatchameleon]

Snippet / microfic / something idk

Aka where Regulus wakes up half drunk on the floor of his brother’s apartment and forgets that the spare bedroom is no longer a spare bedroom

The moonlight has carved out a hollowness into the room when Regulus opens his eyes. There’s music playing, still, for an audience of empty cups and a few toppled chairs and the snoring bodies of his friends on the couch.

Barty is splayed out over Evan, face buried into his neck like he doesn’t need air, but rather, he lives and breathes the boy beneath him. Evan’s hand has planted roots in his skull, twisted into matted hair. Flecks of glitter sprinkle every inch of the boys, a sparkle here and there in their hair, embedded in their skin, their eyelashes and parted lips. They’re a grimy sort of angelic in their blacked-out state, sleep blanketing them in an innocence you’d never find otherwise.

It’s not the first time he’s waken here, stiff back and sour taste in his mouth. He stumbles to the kitchen sink and sticks his head in, letting the water run rivers down his face and neck as he drinks it in gulps. It’s about a full minute of that, and then running his hands over his face for good measure, before he continues his trek to the bathroom, scouring the cabinet for mouthwash and taking a swig straight from the bottle and then swishing it and spitting into the sink, hands gripping the porcelain to hold up his own weight. It’s a wonder he’s been able to stand for this long with exhaustion dragging him down like an anchor tied to his limbs.

He trails behind himself into the hall and then his usual room, hands held out in front of him in the absence of sight. It takes a minute to find the bed. Once he does, he’s unceremoniously tugging back the covers and collapsing onto the mattress, sleep already overtaking him.

He sighs, half in relief and half in pain, pulling up the covers and-

“Well this is new.”

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.”

Regulus’s skull collides with the headboard before he can form a cohesive thought.

Sleep has made a hasty retreat, driven out by adrenaline and pure fear. The man in his bed—James, to be specific—instinctively shoots a hand out, clasping onto his arm.

“Shit, are you okay?”

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” Regulus whisper-yells, propped halfway up on his arm with the other hand clutching his head.

“What am I doing in my bed?”

Regulus blinks. Fuck. He forgot this bed actually belonged to someone. Not just someone. Of course, never just someone.

“I… forgot you lived here.”

His eyes have adjusted to the darkness, now. He watches James stare at him, dumbfounded, for a few beats. And then he bursts into a fit of laughter.

Of course the fucker is laughing. It blooms on his face like Spring itself; even here, dimly lit and squinting, it’s blinding. Rays of sunlight cutting through his teeth as he gasps for breath inbetween. Flower and leaf and fruit sprouting from his throat, and Regulus is just too tipsy to avoid the vines coiling around him, his arms and legs and chest, taking root in his own throat, planting seeds in his lungs.

He’s too tired to fight the branches stretching out like hands and pulling at the corners of his own lips, coercing a smaller laugh. He doesn’t even think it’s that funny, maybe James is just delirious. Maybe he’s still a little drunk, too.

“You forgot I lived here. In my room. In my apartment.” James relays, his hysterics reigned in to a splitting grin. Blinding, blinding, still blinding. He’s on his side, head resting in his hand—the other hand is still on Regulus, a light touch burning holes through his clothes, the skin on his shoulder, the muscle and bone marrow, planting more seeds, sprouting more life. He’s staring up at Regulus with sparkling eyes. Who gave him this much joy? Who gave him the idea to direct any of it his way?

Even here, in the middle of the night, waking him up just to shed glitter on his clean sheets and yell at him for existing in his own home.

Regulus doesn’t deserve it. But he can’t find it in himself to deny it right now.

“I may have, uh, passed out in here drunk a few times when you weren’t here last year.”

“A few times?” James asked, eyebrows raised, hand still there.

“Ok. Maybe a lot. Forgot it wasn’t actually mine,” Regulus admits, trying not to shortcircuit from the contact. Trying to relocate the mask of indifference he misplaced after the 3rd or 4th shot. He can just barely feel he’s still smiling, stupidly. He can’t find the right muscles to make it go away.

The analog clock on the dresser across the room reads 3:27 AM in a blue glow. Regulus knows the sensible thing to do now is get up, but the soft arms of sleep are extending from somewhere below, furling around his body and pulling down. The mattress, James’s mattress, might be the softest thing he’s ever laid rest on and it’s enveloping him like quicksand. He lets his head drop forward like dead weight as he musters the strength to move.

“Well don’t let me stop you, then,” James says, amusement and something strangely resembling adoration painted on his face. “I can sleep on the couch, if you want.”

It’s all way too casual for the absolutely absurd offer.

Regulus stares at him in disbelief. “You’re just gonna let me kick you out of your own bed.”

James shrugs, “You look comfy.”

There’s the distant hum of a car engine passing outside, an intermittent clicking sound from the run down heater in the room. The window shade is somewhat transparent, which defeats the whole fucking purpose of the thing, much to Regulus’s annoyance—he’s awoken, against his will to many a sunrise in this room—and a nearby streetlight gently pollutes the darkness, illuminating James from behind in a halo of muted yellow light.

“That’s fucking ridiculous,” Regulus replies, still not moving. James laughs softly. A few daisies sprout in the garden growing between them. “Barty and Evan are on the couch, anyway.”

“I’ll take the floor then.”

“You’re not sleeping on the fucking floor for me.”

“Well I’m more than happy to share, then.”

“You’re not- what?” His bemusement distracts him momentarily from the growing effort of keeping his eyes open. James squeezes his shoulder lightly, the bastard, drawing a small breath from him that he hopes to god goes unheard, before finally drawing back his hand.

“I sleep on the floor or we both sleep here. Your choice.”

“And if I sleep on the floor?”

“I’ll still sleep on the floor out of spite. I don’t think you could get up if you tried, right now, anyway.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Regulus groans. He fully collapses in defeat onto the pillow as he says it, which might take some of the edge out of the remark.

“I really don’t mind the floor, love. Good for the back and all. I’ve got tons of extra pillows and blankets, anyway,” James says, gesturing to the floor next to his bed.

“Just sleep in the god damn bed,” Regulus sighs. He shuffles so he’s on his back, one arm bent over his head rather dramatically, and closes his eyes. He’s fully relented in his battle with his own exhaustion now, and it’s closing in fast.

James doesn’t move for a moment. Regulus can feel his gaze like a beam of sunlight through a magnifying glass. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to smell his own clothes begin to smoke in the wake of it. “Are you sure?” he finally asks, playful tone receding. “I just- I should warn you I’m a bit of an.. active sleeper. And I know you don’t always like people touching you-“

“It’s alright when it’s you.”

It comes out nearly a whisper now as he sinks. He’ll blame it on alcohol or delirium, tomorrow, if he’s not outright denying having said it. He doesn’t actually know why he said it out loud. Regulus usually keeps the truth to himself, as a general rule.

The last thing he hears before falling asleep is James’s small intake of breath, followed by a faint “Oh. Yeah?” and then reality rescinds entirely.

#this is my first time writing fanfiction since I was 13 #it’s also a random scene from a bigger story that’s been in my head the past couple months #but yeah #idk what I’m doing #jegulus microfic #jegulus fic #jegulus #james x regulus #regulus black #james potter #starchaser #sunseeker #unnamed physics fic #writing stuff and things

[fatehbaz]

When you tag things “#abolition”, what are you referring to? Abolishing what?

Prisons, generally. Though not just physical walls of formal prisons, but also captivity, carcerality, and carceral thinking. Including migrant detention; national border fences; indentured servitude; inability to move due to, and labor coerced through, debt; de facto imprisonment or isolation of the disabled or medically pathologized; privatization and enclosure of land; categories of “criminality"; etc.

In favor of other, better lives and futures.

Specifically, I am grateful to have learned from the work of these people:

Ruth Wilson Gilmore on “abolition geography”.

Katherine McKittrick on "imaginative geographies"; emotional engagement with place/landscape; legacy of imperialism/slavery in conceptions of physical space and in devaluation of other-than-human lifeforms; escaping enclosure; plantation “afterlives” and how plantation logics continue to thrive in contemporary structures/institutions like cities, prisons, etc.; a “range of rebellions” through collaborative acts, refusal of the dominant order, and subversion through joy and autonomy.

Macarena Gomez-Barris on landscapes as “sacrifice zones”; people condemned to live in resource extraction colonies deemed as acceptable losses; place-making and ecological consciousness; and how “the enclosure, the plantation, the ship, and the prison” are analogous spaces of captivity.

Liat Ben-Moshe on disability; informal institutionalization and incarceration of disabled people through physical limitation, social ostracization, denial of aid, and institutional disavowal; and "letting go of hegemonic knowledge of crime”.

Achille Mbembe on co-existence and care; respect for other-than-human lifeforms; "necropolitics" and bare life/death; African cosmologies; historical evolution of chattel slavery into contemporary institutions through control over food, space, and definitions of life/land; the “explicit kinship between plantation slavery, colonial predation, and contemporary resource extraction” and modern institutions.

Robin Maynard on "generative refusal"; solidarity; shared experiences among homeless, incarcerated, disabled, Indigenous, Black communities; to "build community with" those who you are told to disregard in order "to re-imagine" worlds; envisioning, imagining, and then manifesting those alternative futures which are "already" here and alive.

Leniqueca Welcome on Caribbean world-making; "the apocalyptic temporality" of environmental disasters and the colonial denial of possible "revolutionary futures"; limits of reformism; "infrastructures of liberation at the end of the world."; "abolition is a practice oriented toward the full realization of decolonization, postnationalism, decarceration, and environmental sustainability."

Stefano Harney and Fred Moten on “the undercommons”; fugitivity; dis-order in academia and institutions; and sharing of knowledge.

AM Kanngieser on "deep listening"; “refusal as pedagogy”; and “attunement and attentiveness” in the face of “incomprehensible” and immense “loss of people and ecologies to capitalist brutalities”.

Lisa Lowe on "the intimacies of four continents" and how British politicians and planters feared that official legal abolition of chattel slavery would endanger Caribbean plantation profits, so they devised ways to import South Asian and East Asian laborers.

Ariella Aisha Azoulay on “rehearsals with others’.

Phil Neel on p0lice departments purposely targeting the poor as a way to raise municipal funds; the "suburbanization of poverty" especially in the Great Lakes region; the rise of lucrative "logistics empires" (warehousing, online order delivery, tech industries) at the edges of major urban agglomerations in "progressive" cities like Seattle dependent on "archipelagos" of poverty; and the relationship between job loss, homelessness, gentrification, and these logistics cities.

Alison Mountz on migrant detention; "carceral archipelagoes"; and the “death of asylum”.

Pedro Neves Marques on “one planet with many worlds inside it”; “parallel futures” of Indigenous, Black, disenfranchised communities/cosmologies; and how imperial/nationalist institutions try to foreclose or prevent other possible futures by purposely obscuring or destroying histories, cosmologies, etc.

Peter Redfield on the early twentieth-century French penal colony in tropical Guiana/Guyana; the prison's invocation of racist civilization/savagery mythologies; and its effects on locals.

Iain Chambers on racism of borders; obscured and/or forgotten lives of migrants; and disrupting modernity.

Paulo Tavares on colonial architecture; nationalist myth-making; and erasure of histories of Indigenous dispossession.

Elizabeth Povinelli on "geontopower"; imperial control over "life and death"; how imperial/nationalist formalization of private landownership and commodities relies on rigid definitions of dynamic ecosystems.

Kodwo Eshun on African cosmologies and futures; “the colonial present”; and imperialist/nationalist use of “preemptive” and “predictive” power to control the official storytelling/narrative of history and to destroy alternatives.

Tim Edensor on urban "ghosts" and “industrial ruins”; searching for the “gaps” and “silences” in the official narratives of nations/institutions, to pay attention to the histories, voices, lives obscured in formal accounts.

Megan Ybarra on place-making; "site fights"; solidarity and defiance of migrant detention; and geography of abolition/incarceration.

Sophie Sapp Moore on resistance, marronage, and "forms of counterplantation life"; "plantation worlds" which continue to live in contemporary industrial resource extraction and dispossession.

Deborah Cowen on “infrastructures of empire and resistance”; imperial/nationalist control of place/space; spaces of criminality and "making a life at the edge" of the law; “fugitive infrastructures”.

Elizabeth DeLoughrey on indentured labor; the role of plants, food, and botany in enslaved and fugitive communities; the nineteenth-century British Empire's labor in the South Pacific and Caribbean; the twentieth-century United States mistreatment of the South Pacific; and the role of tropical islands as "laboratories" and isolated open-air prisons for Britain and the US.

Dixa Ramirez D’Oleo on “remaining open to the gifts of the nonhuman” ecosystems; hinterlands and peripheries of empires; attentiveness to hidden landscapes/histories; defying surveillance; and building a world of mutually-flourishing companions.

Leanne Betasamosake Simpson on reciprocity; Indigenous pedagogy; abolitionism in Canada; camaraderie; solidarity; and “life-affirming” environmental relationships.

Anand Yang on "forgotten histories of Indian convicts in colonial Southeast Asia" and how the British Empire deported South Asian political prisoners to the region to simultaneously separate activists from their communities while forcing them into labor.

Sylvia Wynter on the “plot”; resisting the plantation; "plantation archipelagos"; and the “revolutionary demand for happiness”.

Pelin Tan on “exiled foods”; food sovereignty; building affirmative care networks in the face of detention, forced migration, and exile; connections between military rule, surveillance, industrial monocrop agriculture, and resource extraction; the “entanglement of solidarity” and ethics of feeding each other.

Avery Gordon on haunting; spectrality; the “death sentence” of being deemed “social waste” and being considered someone “without future”; "refusing" to participate; "escaping hell" and “living apart” by striking, squatting, resisting; cultivating "the many-headed hydra of the revolutionary Black Atlantic"; alternative, utopian, subjugated worldviews; despite attempts to destroy these futures, manifesting these better worlds, imagining them as "already here, alive, present."

Jasbir Puar on disability; debilitation; how the control of fences, borders, movement, and time management constitute conditions of de facto imprisonment; institutional control of illness/health as a weapon to "debilitate" people; how debt and chronic illness doom us to a “slow death”.

Kanwal Hameed and Katie Natanel on "liberation pedagogy"; sharing of knowledge, education, subversion of colonial legacy in universities; "anticolonial feminisms"; and “spaces of solidarity, revolt, retreat, and release”.

#abolition

[yorsgirl]

On such a full moon night

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You were an untouched canvas and he aimed to paint you in all colors of his.

Tropes: Explicit smut, angst, unhappy ending.

Warnings: Dead dove: do not read, Non con/Dub con, fem!reader, violent!sukuna, kissing, biting, choking, nipple play, fingering, rough sex, degradation, dacryphilia(arousal from tears), sadism(to enjoy the act of inflicting pain on others), mild torture, loss of virginity, blood, defloration(losing hymen through sexual intimacy), corruption kink(the idea of corrupting someone pure with one's negativities), rough sex, cervix fucking, unprotected sex.

General warnings: Aged-up characters, suicidal thoughts, Canon timeline, Sukuna in Yuji's body, Inaccurate canon lore in some parts, usage of nicknames, no mention of y/n.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: THIS IS A VERY DARK FANFICTION WITH ELEMENTS OF BORDERLINE NON-CONSENSUAL SEX AND BODY INJURY. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY SUCH TOPICS.

MDNI - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Disclaimer: Forceful or coerced intimacy is wrong. I, in no way, support sexual intercourse through any other means except conscious consent. This piece of work is only written for entertainment purpose, it has no relation with real life nor does it aim to influence someone's real life behaviors.

The first time Sukuna saw you, he knew he had to have you.

Apparently, you were that damn brat’s some middle school acquaintance or so he suppose. He didn’t bother learning your relation with his vessel, he never did. Honestly, he was the least bothered with what happened with that boy’s personal life. And you would have been just another face in the crowd but you weren’t.

He found you amusing, to say the least.

What lured him to you was the lack of cursed energy you possessed. It was intriguing; how a human could have so little amount of negativity harnessed in their being? How could anyone be so unscathed from the adversities of the world?

Sukuna was no stranger to the complexity of human emotions. He was a human. Once. Some thousand years ago. And he was relatively knowledgeable on how annoying such emotions could be.

So a maiden like yourself was rather amusing.

You were like a delicate flower to him - unharmed, untouched. So beautiful, so fragile, so vulnerable.

His red irises locked onto you, as he watched you from the eyes of his vessel. He observed you, like a hawk observed its prey.

And were you really anything more?

You were his prey.

A smirk slipped into his lips as he continued to stare at the delicacy before him.

“Just you wait for me, little prey.”

.

The wait ended sooner than he had anticipated. The higher ups had sent his vessel on a mission to eliminate one grade one cursed spirit. Calamity could only strike cause by the time the Yuji reached the spot, the cursed spirit had evolved to a special grade.

Weak and on the brink of losing consciousness, yet the cursed spirit was evoking chaos through the dark forest. Just before he could fall into a deep slumber, did the young man let the curse residing in him assume control.

It took Sukuna hardly more than a few minutes to erase the existence of that spirit from the very face of the Earth.

And then, he waited.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three minutes.

Then the realization hit him that the brat couldn’t gain control.

He grinned at the new found and perhaps, rare freedom. He was going to celebrate these moments of slip up. For he knew, the exact place he needed to be.

He was free, after all.

.

You stared up ahead, transfixed by the bright moon illuminating the dark city. The night so peaceful and pretty. Almost too quite.

You loved nights.

You loved the moon.

And on such a full moon night, you couldn’t help but feel an unease, a sense of foreboding that something terrible were to happen. Some threat lingered as the wind swept the tendrils of hair that cascaded aside your face.

As the shadows cast by the celestial body start to move across the land, you heard a thud behind your back. Like something has fallen. Or perhaps, someone.

You turned around, tufts of pink hair caught your attention first. The eerie red eyes piercing your soul, staring at you; almost too familiar yet, foreign and terrifying at once. You squint your eyes, trying to make out the figure which had turned the air so cold which caused the hairs on your neck to rise up.

“Yuji?” You called aloud but as soon the name leaves your lips, you bite back on your tongue – this wasn’t Yuji.

You heard the clicking of tongue as the familiar body steps forward, the moonlight falling on his features; dark markings covered parts of his face. A grin, almost sinister playing on his lips. His sharp canines glinting as your eyes widen in recognition.

“Su-Sukuna…” You hesitate to even utter his name, your fear palpable. Your breath hitched as his grin widened (if that was possible) and he nodded. You stepped back, your bottom hitting the railing of the terrace, as your grip on the metal tightened.

What? What is he doing here?

“You haven’t changed at all, as it seems.” His deep voice hit right at your bones, the spine chilling sensation stronger than ever.

He will kill me.

Is it how I am going to die?

You didn’t answer. What would you even speak of? Standing before you was the incarnate of devil himself. One wrong move and you would be dead. Even being silent wasn’t a preferable choice, he’d kill you if that satisfied him.

“Fear not,” He kept on stepping closer, causing you to swallow a lump. Palms sweating at the amount of dread this being had bestowed upon you, just by being here for a few seconds. His footsteps resonates through the entire space. “I am just here to take something.”

The best course of action would have been to run or just try to get as far away from him as possible.

Even though you might have not been a sorcerer, still you had known enough from your friend about the curse that resided within him. And you knew, Sukuna Ryomen was no good news.

Even if Yuji hadn’t told you about the spirit within him, you knew something was wrong from the last time you met him. Whether it was the omnious aura that radiated from your friend or the spine chilling sensation that you were being watched by some unworldly creature when with him. Simply to say, it was terrorizing.

You gulped staying rooted in the spot, frozen in fear as Sukuna inched closer to you. “I don’t have anything for you.” You tried to put on a brave facade, yet the quiver in your voice and the ragged breathing incited a snort from the monster in front.

“That’s where you go wrong, dear.” It was almost mocking on how he used the nickname. “You just have what I want, and I am going to take it.”

Your terrified expression only fuels his desire for you. Its been too long and you are just too perfect to not quench the thirst gnawing at him. The moonlight did nothing but add onto the radiance of your hypnotic features. Your neck and shoulders, illuminated by the silver light being casted from the heavenly body.

So radiant… so perfect…

It was like the Gods had just created you for him. To be undone by his hands, to quench his thirst, to dissipate his prolonged hunger.

How many centuries has it been since he had such an untouched maiden before him? Just the thought of having you beneath him, painting you in his hues that you have never known only made him shudder with excitement.

And just before the adrenaline could take action, Sukuna gripped your arm; it being tight enough to leave bruises. He pulled you close to himself, his sharp nails digging into your skin.

The piercing scream on the verge of your lips was shunned out as he leaned and pressed his lips to yours. His other hand gripping the back of your head, pushing you closer to him.

As much as you wriggled in his death grip; it was futile. Sukuna was far stronger than you could ever be. Scorned by lust and the desire to quench this insatiable hunger, his sense of rationality was thrown away. Or did he even have one to begin with?

He bit down your lower lip – drawing your blood. He licked it up, letting the metallic taste fill his mouth. You grunted and hit his chest repeatedly, as if that would stop him from fulfilling his desire.

Your screams were muffled as he continued to bestow his brutality over your mouth.

He pulled you back by your hair, exposing your delicious neck to him to feast on. The man didn’t wait a second before letting his fangs dug into your flesh. You let out a screech, squirming in his hold and kicking on his legs to just get away. A loud malicious laughter filled your ears, the stinging pain of him biting down on your neck grew almost overbearing.

The corners of Sukuna’s lips curled up, the sight of your neck was a sight to behold. The blood oozing from the bruises, almost matched the color of his iries.

“Ah- such a view…” He mumbled, his conscience getting clouded from the bloodied mess he had created your neck to be.

“No, stop! Get away.”

Screams of horror and anguish escaped your lips, the pleas of help and pain falling onto deaf ears. The moisture slid down your cheeks and to your jaw as he roughly pushed you down on the concrete floor. Your head slammed down hard, blood trickling down your head to your nape. Your vision blurred as you saw your captor descend on top of your injured body.

“No,” You shouted, the attempt at shielding yourself with your hands that had him snicker at your pitiful state. In a second, both of your wrists were in his grasp, pinning them above your head. “No, stop.”

“Please, stop,” You sobbed, taking in a sharp breath

“Don’t fight it, doll,” The evident taunt in his voice wasn’t missed besides the nickname used had a shiver run down your spine. He pressed his knee over your clothed core while you frantically kicked your legs to save yourself from this torment. He leaned down near your face, relishing on the terror residing in your eyes.

He pulled your head up by your neck, his claws grazing over your delicate skin before he slammed you down again. And again and again. The concrete was drenched with your blood. And you wished the pain shooting down your body would be enough for you to lose consciousness. But this night wasn’t for your wishes.

You shook your head, tears rolling down your pretty eyes – ah, what a beautiful sight. The groans of pain accompanied by the delicious tears ignited his arousal. Your pleas and begs fell on deaf ears and you gasped when he took your earlobe between his teeth.

“It won’t hurt…” Your chest rose up and down as you gritted your teeth with disgust, tilting your jaw to the side.

“Only if you stop resisting.”

One of the corners of his lips curled up, “If you don’t…” He paused, trailing his tongue on the side of your neck. He held your throat, pressing his thumb on your wind pipe, “You won’t like what will happen.”

The conditions and choice laid before you, crystal clear. Either submit to his sadistic whims or he’ll force you into submission. One worse than another yet the outcome of both the choices would be same – loss of your dignity. Just the mere thought of the impending doom had your gut twisting with fear. Protesting against his desires did nothing but brought bruises upon you until then. The dried blood on your lips and neck served as proof. Your head was already dizzy from the previous repeated assault. You could only hope that submission would be a better approach.

Setting aside your pride, you reluctantly relaxed in his grasp.

“Good choice.”

His eyes held amusement, pulling your face up, his mouth latched on yours. Tongue invading and exploring each corner while you tried to stop the whimpers. His grip tightened on your wrists, causing you to wince in pain. Any more pressure and you were sure, your wrists would snap in two.

“Pl-please, it hurts… st-stop.”

He raised an eyebrow, squeezing your wrist tighter, “Does it now?” He soon got his answer as you winced in pain again, an audible yelp escaping your mouth.

“Say, doll,” He continued. “If I let go off you now, you wouldn’t try anything stupid, right?”

Too paralyzed by fear and the sting in your wrists held you incapable of answering. You could only nod as a response and so you did.

Sukuna frowned. He asked you a question and you dare not answer him? He reached for your jaw again, nails leaving crescent moon shapes on your skin. “Use your words, you dumb bitch.” He jerked your face, “I want to hear that sweet voice of yours.”

He inserted his forefinger and thumb on the gap of your mouth, pinching your tongue. “Or, do you want me to shut you up forever?”

You shook your head, managing to croak out, “No.”

“No what?”

“No,” You paused, looking into his eyes which held nothing but coldness. “No… I wouldn’t try anything stupid.”

He smirked as he released his grip from your wrists and jaw, “Good girl.” His nails began to grown into sharp dark claws. In a swift motion, your shirt was ripped from your body. The tattered fabric thrown away, as he glided the claw of his forefinger through your abdomen. The jitter down your spine wasn’t unnoticed but Sukuna was too mesmerized by the perfect form under him to mind it. Hooking his finger under the mid-section of your brassier, he pulled away the last clothing covering your bosom.

You flinched as the cool night air hit your bare skin, hardening your buds. You couldn’t help but close your eyes shut as the moon glinted through Sukuna’s red irises.

He had no care for your reactions, soon he took one of your breast in hand, as he pinched the bud of another eliciting a painful moan from you. He rolled and pinched them between his fingers as you gritted your teeth.

You were disgusted. Disgusted that he was tormenting you like this. Disgusted at yourself that you were helpless; you couldn’t escape him. And disgusted that you could feel the heat pooling in your core.

You gasped as you felt his tongue lick a line over your breast, he held in hand. And soon his mouth latched onto it. He sucked and licked your sensitive area. You had to bite down your bruised lips to stop the sounds yet it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough when his teeth grazed over the darkened skin of your bosom; you let out a whine. He groped your other breast as his free hand trailed down over to your core. His fingers dug inside the waistline of your skirt.

Sukuna couldn’t help but smirk as he felt the wetness on your panties. Pulling away from you, he licked his lips. “Ah- look at that, all that defiance still you’re so wet, doll.”

Your eyes opened wide, you parted your lips to retort but there wasn’t one in the first place. Silence was your only answer. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t like it one bit, there were no joy for your body to react this way. Then why?

With another move, your skirt and inner garment was shredded. A low squeal escaped your lips as your cheeks tinted red with shame. Sukuna chuckled, “Say it whore, you want it as much, right?”

“N-no, I-” You screeched, as his claws dug into your thighs. Blood leaking from the cuts as he applied more pressure.

“What was that? A no, was it?” His voice echoed in your ears, his eyes dripping with malice and even when there was a smile in his face, you knew it was far from a genuine one.

You frantically shook your head, “No, I- I am sorry.” You apologized repeatedly, breaking your words in between. “Please… I didn’t m-mean to, I am sorry.”

“Sorry won’t fix shit, doll.” Just like that, the claws on his fingers again shorten up to nails. Two fingers run over the wetness of your slit, coating them in the warmth of your arousal. Tears spring up to your eyes as he pushed both of the digits inside, earning a loud moan from you as those drops slid down yours eyes.

“Look at you crying like a pathetic whore,” He cackled as he increased the pace of his fingers, hitting on the bundle of nerves inside you. “How utterly pitiful,” He remarked, a smirk formed on his lips as he saw the tears glide down your eyes. They did nothing but urge him to go more as he crossed both the fingers in a V, stretching you more.

“Just like a dumb bitch.” He mused, “A good for nothing, fuckdoll, that’s what you’re, right?”

Your hips buckled as a knot formed in your stomach, and you could feel your release close by. You writhed under his cruel ministrations, your body reacting in ways you didn’t wish at all.

“Hold it,” He ordered as he felt your insides clamp on his fingers. You pressed your lips in a thin line, biting on them. Your nails digging on the rough concrete you laid on.

“If you want to cum, fucking beg for it like a slut.”

You hated it, hated each second of it. Still you couldn’t decipher why there was a rush of heat to your aching core when he called with such a degrading name. You wondered whether you had gone insane to find pleasure in being handled such a way.

“Go on, slut,” He cooed at you, pressing his thumb on your clitoris. “Beg for it, beg me to make you cum.”

Your throat went dry and as if on autopilot, the cursed words left your lips, “Please, let me cum, Sukuna.” Your hips jerked towards him to maximize the friction. “Please.”

Sukuna grinned. Its victory – his victory. He relished each moment of how it was him, only him who had you writhing and begging under him.

“Cum.”

Your hips buckled again as you arched your back, releasing the pent up tension on his fingers. God forbid, if you hadn’t ever thought about killing yourself before. You did then. You wished for nothing but to die. Either by his hands or you’d kill yourself on your own. The humiliation of giving into his whims elicited a painful sobs from you.

What curse befell you? What have you ever done to deserve this? Why were you being subjected to this torment? Why does this night seem to not end?

He pulled out his fingers, rubbing them together as he watched the sticky liquid glide down his palm. For a second, the malicious smile remained on his face. The next, he frowned.

No. Not enough. It wasn’t enough.

He wiped his hands on the torn fabric of what remained of your skirt. But you were too far down the road of self-depreciation to care. The only sound reverberating on your mind was your pleas as you wished for the God of death to descend and take you away with them. 

“Kill me,” The words left your lips before they could be stopped, but you didn’t care. He had you where he wanted, he got what he wanted. He wanted you to plead, you’d plead before him. “Please, kill me… please.”

He raised an eyebrow at the sudden shower of requests. “Now, why would I do that, doll?”

“Just,” You paused, your eyes held nothing but desperation. “Do it, kill me, please.” You saw how his lips twisted into a grimace, his eyes locked on yours.

 “Please, just kill me,” You begged again, shutting your eyes close as you leaned your head on the bloodied concrete. You heard ruffling and just when you thought your wish would be answered, it wasn’t.

Perhaps, you had forgotten this night wasn’t for you.

To have someone begging for death wasn’t new to him. Normally, he’d kill them after they were done serving their purpose. But it was you. And heavens, he had taken quite a liking to you. Killing you so soon, would be futile. Besides, he still wasn’t done with you.

He clamped your mouth shut with his palm as he pressed the tip of his hardened member on your entrance. The tightness he felt on his fingers, previously, gave way to the fact of your lack of experience. In simple words – your intact virginity. He expected nothing less than a maiden like you. How pitiful, your preserved innocence was to be shredded by him.

Your body tenses immediately as he drives his hips forward, the hand over your mouth tightened; muffling all the screams that were ready to escaped. Just like that, the last straw of yourself, of the girl you once were was destroyed.

Your eyes opened wide, you shook your head as your lower body burnt in searing pain. Like hot lava poured on you, you kicked your legs but it only amplified the awful stinging between your thighs.

Sukuna watched the blood drip down you, he pushed his hips forward hitting you on the deepest parts. He pulled away again before pushing back in with equal force. Each thrust deeper and painful from the other. His nails dug into your hips as he pulled you towards himself, throwing your legs over his shoulder he continued this brutal torment. Revelling on the terror stricken expression that plagued your eyes.

Warm tears slid down your cheeks to your jaw as the agony never let go.

Which pain hurt more?

The one he was inflicting on you? Or the one you inflicted on yourself when the pain started to contort in form of pleasure?

Sukuna wasn’t new to the concept of coupling. For in the Heian era, he had women spreading their legs for him at his command. He was aware of every strings he had to pull to make the session a memorable one. Though he never cared for his partners pleasures except his own, this time he thought something different. For being so wondrous and good to him, you deserved some reward.

His free hand went down as he rubbed circles over your clitoris. Thrusting hard into you, each grunt filled with unbridled pleasure as your inner muscle walls tightened around him.

This wasn’t right. Not at all. Finding ecstasy under this vile monster was sick. And yet you reacted on ways you didn’t want at all. You hated how your hips jerked forward on their own and how instead of screaming, those sounds were of pleasurable moans. To find pleasure in unwanted act – you must be sick. Twisted even. Insane to mark the more.

Sukuna could feel himself twitch as your walls tightened around him. He let out a snicker as his hand went up to pinch and grope your breast. The high end was near, he could feel it. Not just for him but for you too.

“What is it, whore? Want to cum again?” He urged, squeezing your breast. The contortion of your face left him over the edge as he let out a low grunt. He scoffed, “Look at you, squirming like a pathetic bitch in heat.”

He thrusted forward, increasing his pace as he hit your cervix repeatedly. You twisted your upper body, your fingers bloodied with the broken nails and pierced skin as they dug into the hard floor.

“If you want to cum, then cum.”

You didn’t even know, you were waiting for his permission but when he gave it – your body spasmed as your back arched and you felt your high washing over. You released with him buried deep inside you and soon after a few violent thrusts, he emptied himself inside you.

Your eyes widened, your mouth open wide as the gush of fluids had you nauseous. You looked up into his eyes which held satisfaction. Satisfaction of getting rid of the frustration but that overshadowed by the satisfaction of defiling you.

You were wrong. This night wasn’t for him, it was for you.

Each and everything that went down tonight was solely for you.

The look in his eyes terrified you. No, it wasn’t the look of a killer, he wouldn’t kill you; you were sure of that. But it was the very look of not killing you that terrified you. It was the realization that your life wouldn’t end by his hands that was terrifying.

Death now seemed to be a better option than anything.

You looked up at the sky, the full moon casting its silver hues on the monster above you. A sob left your lips as he pulled away from you. Your chest rumbled with despair as you were left nothing but a crying mess under that celestial body.

For you knew, it witnessed the monstrosity that went down tonight.

Till now, the moon reminded you of a silent companion for it knew all about you. It did still. But from hence now, looking at that heavenly body would do nothing but remind you of this night. Remind you of your lost purity.

Just like the tattered clothes on your body, your innocence was ripped apart. Destroyed.

You knew you’d never be able to go back to what you once were. This night will haunt you like a ghost in the dark. No amount of assurances, comforts or anything else would be enough to erase this incident. It’d be etched in your mind till the day you die and with that Sukuna’s name will be forever be imprinted in your life.

You could wash off the blood and other liquids but you could never remove his touch.

Why were you here? Why did it happen? Why did it have to be you?

If only you weren’t here. If only you’d stayed in like your parents asked. If only you didn’t love the moon…

Sukuna gazed at you with a bored expression as you drowned in the depths of despair and agony. He clicked his tongue as he wiped himself off on the remnants of your clothes before settling his clothes properly.

All of a sudden, a sting ran through his head. He smirked at that. He licked his lips as he spared you a last glance.

“Enjoy the sight, brat.”

His body relaxed for a second, the marks disappearing from his frame. Red eyes converted to brown as the extra pair of eyes turned to scars.

You, his middle school friend, were lying before him. Dried blood splayed across your body, scratches and bite marks over your chest and neck and a pool of blood under your head. The glistening sweat on his body as well as yours put the puzzle pieces in place. If that wasn’t enough, Yuji’s eyes widened with horror as all the memories from Sukuna’s mind rushed in his.

He could hear your screams and cries all at once when Sukuna left his very mark on you. It was there for a second when all the noise was ringing in his ears but the next, only the ragged breathing of the victim and the perpetrator’s alter ego was heard.

Yuji glanced down at his hands.

Why wasn't he dead yet?

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #sukuna jjk #sukuna smut #sukuna angst #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk x you

[absynthe--minded]

The thing about every modern Sherlock Holmes story is that it doesn’t understand that “disdain for the existing criminal justice system” is not only a fundamental part of the themes of the ACD stories it’s vital to making the whole concept work.

Holmes, when we first meet him, is on the bleeding edge of forensics for the 1880s, and this continues on into the ‘90s (the planted thumbprint in ‘The Norwood Builder’! the Sherlock Holmes test for hemoglobin in A Study in Scarlet! the use of pigs as substitute cadavers in ‘Black Peter’!) and beyond. He’s flippant about and disrespectful toward the police because he knows how criminology is a science and forensics matter and the cold hard facts are significantly more important than intimidating witnesses to extract coerced confessions, or deciding on a theory and bending the facts to make them fit, or relying on racist stereotypes to explain how people act and who’s most guilty (all things that really happen in the canon, btw). He’s smarter than everyone else because he’s doing things no one else understands yet, he’s made a study of crime and he understands how and why policing is a flawed institution.

This is why he’s not a cop, only occasionally allied with cops, and so often complaining or explaining that a moral injustice and a legal one are two different things. There are multiple antagonists (Sir George in ‘The Beryl Coronet’, Charles Augustus Milverton, Dr. Roylott, the parents in ‘A Case of Identity’) who he can’t catch in the jaws of the law but wishes he could, and at least one criminal he overlooks because he knows prison would only force them deeper into crime.

But. But.

In the 21st century, forensics are not only the backbone of police investigation they’re common knowledge to any average police procedural enjoyer or true crime fan. Holmes’s once-cutting-edge chemistry and geology are passé and ordinary now. If he’s going to be smart, he’s got to be looking ahead.

And what does that look like? It looks like knowing about the flaws in forensic analysis, like knowing about fingerprints maybe not being totally unique, like arguing over DNA evidence being misinterpreted and innocent people being sentenced for crimes they didn’t commit, like calling for the defunding and dissembling of police forces, like siding with the underclasses every. single. time.

Holmes shouldn’t be working with the cops, he should be trying to destroy them, and fighting to prove why they’re obsolete with science and quick thinking and research. Not doing that is spitting in the face of his roots and missing the whole point of what he’s working for.

#sherlock holmes

[biggameplayertrentaa]

Poison Ivy

Word count: 1825k Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem!reader/stripper!y/n/ Warning: smut-ish Summary: What happens when Vini convinces Jude to hit up a strip club during the international break? Author note: I haven’t written a fic in years so please forgive me lol. As I continue to write, it should get better. Also, send requests!

The mirror ball was the first thing Jude noticed upon first stepping foot into the private room. Hidden strategically at the very back of the gentle’s club, the mirror ball contradicted the room’s overall essence. Mirror balls typically indicate light-hearted fun, something the 7 by 10-foot space was not giving at all. Red LED lights decorated the perimeter of the low, popcorn ceiling denoting the ambiance of the room as mystic, seductive, and almost tantalizing. A plush velvet love seat rested along one of its plain walls, the only other piece of furniture accompanying it being a plastic folding chair placed directly below the mirrored facet-covered sphere.

Not knowing what else to do, he sat on the chair.

Palms littered with perspiration and tingling with anticipation, he glided them roughly against the fabric of his dark denim. To say he was nervous would be an understatement. He had never been to a gentlemen’s club before. The idea also never particularly intrigued him either. He just didn’t get it. Jude was young, rich, and attractive, he did not need to pay for the attention of women.

He also found the entire thing slightly creepy.

Jude thought he was above it, but Vini had insisted. The Brazilian was convinced that a little lap dance and some fat asses would be the very things that would cheer him up after being ruled out of England’s camp due to his bad shoulder.

“It will also get you away from your mother.” His teammate clowned, always finding ways to tease Jude about his living situation.

After persistent urging, Jude was finally coerced into spending his Friday night at Madrid’s most prestige strip club. Prestige is generous, thought Jude, fingers toying with the cracked material on the folding chair. Jude silently prayed that the club’s vibe was the only thing Vini embellished. He had gone on for nearly an hour about the dancer he had specifically recommended, Ivy.

“She’s beyond sexy and she doesn’t make you feel like a creep; like she’s enjoying it just as much as you are.” This was the only thing Jude could recall from Vini’s briefing. He knows he had gone into her physical appearance, but the 20-year-old midfielder allowed his mind to wander as he did so. He didn’t care, this was merely something to check off his non-existent bucket list.

A faint click of the door snatched Jude away from his thoughts. Adorn in nothing but a red-laced thong and strappy heels, Ivy stood before him. She had braids that were thrown up into a high pony that accentuated her high cheekbones and somehow drew attention to her plump, red-colored lips. Vibrant and brown, her skin looked soft and the red light danced along it beautifully. Jude had the urge to reach out and touch her. Her sudden presence had winded him.

Jude was struck by her beauty and the energy that was emanating from her. He couldn’t name this energy, but he knew she exuded a lot more than just sex.

Ivy was hypnotizing.

She was still in the doorways, eyes low and a small smile tugging at her lips as she allowed him to take her in. She shamelessly mirrored his actions.

“Hi.” Her voice was sultry, smooth.

“Hi.” It was breathless and did not flow with the same honey-like cadence of her greeting.

“You only paid for a 15-minute session.”

Her lips had formed into a slight pout, but the glint in her eye did not lose its vibrancy as she walked over to him. Her pace was slow, teasing; it was as if she was a predator and he, the prey. Jude felt small under gaze-vulnerable and exposed too despite being fully clothed- but did not divert his eyes.

He couldn’t.

He did not know if it was mesmerization, anticipation, or a mixture of both coupled with immense intrigue. When she was finally positioned in front of him, directly under the mirrorball with the red of the LEDS adding to her radiance, he decided to finally speak,

“Y-yeah,” He began to stammer.

With clenched eyes, he cleared his throat and shook his head. A poor attempt to shake the nerves. “I’m new to this.” He stated, voice now steady but lacking the bass it typically accompanied.

Jude caught a whiff of her musky vanilla-scented perfume. Ivy was so close and her radiance so sensually warm that he found himself even more nervous than he was as he was waiting for her. He was slowly beginning to understand why Vini had gone on and on about Ms.Ivy.

She was magnetic.

“So you don’t want to overwhelm yourself?” She quips, reaching out to draw a delicate line down his chest with her pointer finger. He dropped his gaze to follow the trace of her finger; the red-manicured nail contrasted beautifully against his fitted white shirt. Before Jude could think of a countering remark, she hitched a leg over his waist and straddled him.

“Well, I am honored to be the person who takes your lap-dance virginity.” Ivy punctuates her statement with a slight roll of her hips.

He feels himself stiffen.

The denim of his jeans suddenly grew restrictive and uncomfortable. Without thought, he reaches for her hip, fingers immediately kneading at the soft flesh.

“My bodyguard will come and save you when your time is up.”

And with that, Ivy throws her arms loosely over his shoulder. Leaning forward so she was able to plant her heeled feet on either side of his legs, she moved her hips in a figure-8 motion. Her lips hovered over the shell of his ear before she gave it a ghosting kiss. Jude then felt the wet, but firm tip of her tongue press delicate to his ear. He shudders, hairs on the back of his neck standing on its ends.

Jude can feel his heart hammering against his chest and hopes that Ivy cannot. His head was buzzing and his thoughts were racing but it was difficult to decipher what all he was thinking about. Ivy had seemingly lowered his defenses, putting him completely at her mercy. She continues her routine, hips now moving in tune with the steady thump thump thump of the bass of the song that was playing in the background. She expertly glides up and down his body, never losing rhythm and never, ever freeing him from the shackles of her dark brown gaze.

Ivy rises from her seated position, now looming over him. She takes a step back while her hands moved to her bare tits. She presses them together, rolling them between her hands, and moans. The bottom of Jude’s lip immediately finds itself tucked between his two front teeth. His hands are limp by his side but his fingertips tingle with the urge to touch them... to touch her.

Jude is lightheaded with excitement.

When Ivy turns around, bending slightly so her bare ass was in his face, with her plump, glistening pussy completely visible, Jude considered officially making Vini his best mate. Her back is arched as she caresses her hands down her backside. Cupping her ass cheeks slightly before giving it a slight jiggle.

Jude lets out a groan that only shocks him.

Ivy repeats the action a few more times before she returns to his lap.

“Did you like that?”

She asks one of her brows slightly arched. Jude gives a slight nod, hands still at his side. Ivy reaches beside them, taking his larger hands in hers before placing them directly on her ass. His palms almost cover its surface. Ivy bites her lip at the realization and suppresses a groan of her own before saying, “Do it again if you like it. Go on, baby play with me like I’m yours.”

With a piercing gaze, Jude followed Ivy’s orders, mimicking her previous actions a couple of times before boldly slapping her ass. Her eyes darkened, the playful glint that had adorned them only seconds prior now completely dissipated.

Her arms were around his neck and her nails were scratching slightly at the hairs on the nape of it. She leaned in, her lips so dangerously close to his own that if either of them moved even a centimeter, they would collide. There was no doubt now that she could feel the beating of his heart against her own chest, but Jude didn’t care. His mind had situated itself in the deepest gutter, yielding full control to the expert seductress on his lap.

She nudges her nose with his. Jude mirrors her actions.

Ivy moves to the side, placing a kiss on his cheek and then the underside of his jaw. Lolling his head back with a slight tug of his neck, she drags her lips from his jaw down to his Adam’s apple.

It moves when she places a firm kiss on it.

She continues to kiss the length of his neck and Jude fears he may have forgotten how to breathe. His hands had not moved from the position on her ass but his attack on it had completely stopped. He was too consumed by the sorcery Ivy was currently conducting. His bulge was pressing uncomfortable against his zipper and he made a mental note to wear loose joggers the next time he came to visit Ms. Ivy.

Ivy was now on her knees in front of her. She was massaging his thighs, peppering the dent in his denim with light, teasing kisses. “I always said I would never do this, but I might have to break the rules,” Ivy mumbles primarily to herself, but Jude catches it and lets out a mental sigh at the implication that no one else had received this treatment before him.

Just as she was for him, he was her only exception.

Just as her fingers began to toy with his belt loop, Jude heard the door click open. A large man who had a striking resemblance to Terry Crews entered. His black t-shirt had the word SECURITY printed boldly in white on the center of it. “Times up, Ivy.” His voice was low and monotonous, completely unfazed by the scene he had walked into.

“Thank you, Jerry.”

Ivy was still on her knees in front of him. Though she was responding to Jerry, her eyes were laser-trained on Jude’s, and her fingers were still caught in his belt buckle. Jerry leaves without another word and when the door clicks behind him, Ivy finally rises. She places her hands firmly on his thighs and leans into him again. Jude’s eyes instinctively close at the proximity, lips slightly puckering with anticipation. He can practically feel her words as she whispers them, “I hope this wasn’t too bad for your first time.” With a final nudge of his nose with her own, she stands straight and makes her way to the door. “I’ll see you next time.” She adds right before she closes it behind her.

Yes, Jude thought, you will.

#jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagines #jude x reader #jude #black y/n #black y/n x jude #jude bellingham x black y/n #jude:)

[niconebula]

I’m currently writing a college essay on the representation of Witches (and all Magical Girls) in Madoka Magica; I don’t know if I will be able to include this within the limits of the project so I wanted to share to Tumblr instead. It does not seem to be widely understood how much yonic imagery there is in the series and how important that is to the intended message.

For starters Kyubey is a walking uterus. The name of his species is literally Incubator (an enclosed apparatus providing a controlled environment for the care and protection of premature or unusually small babies; an apparatus used to hatch eggs or grow microorganisms under controlled conditions). He creates egg-shaped Soul Gems, and deposits the Grief Seeds back into his little receptacle. Why does he have such a weird design with two sets of ears? The lower ‘ears’ with the separated ends are actually modelled off of what Fallopian Tubes look like.

(Funny diagram but. It’s true! I’ll come back to this point at the end).

So then take this scene (thank god someone reuploaded it to YouTube):

“And you think a shit-for-brains hoe is going to be making that much in ten years? That body ain’t gonna last forever, you know.” “And then you dump ‘em, and they get all whiny!”

These two men are talking about the short term relationships they have with women, using them for their bodies and treating them like shit, and then dumping them immediately after - not understanding or caring as to how this upsets them.

It consistently baffles me how many people will completely throw out feminist readings of Madoka Magica. ‘Readings’ shouldn’t even be used - this is the main text of the goddamn show! You are free to argue that it failed at its message, or that the application was problematic, but for this scene in particular to fly over your head makes me discount opinions immediately.

Anyway, where have we heard this rhetoric before? “That body ain’t gonna last forever” - a young Magical Girl is always destined to turn into the Wicked Witch. “When you dump em’, they get all whiny!” - it is a Magical Girl at the peak of her despair who turns into a Witch, and Kyubey cannot and does not care for their human emotion.

The men cycle through their ‘hoes’ like Kyubey cycles through Magical Girls to get whatever his species supposedly needs to continue the universe.

I’m going to cut a break here for TW discussions of metaphorical rape and pregnancy involving minors, but this portion of the post is important.

Kyubey completely violates the concept of informed consent when he creates his magical girls - though he always argues that he did ask, and it’s in fact their fault (as fourteen year old girls) to not ask further questions.

Taking his form as a uterus alongside the yonic imagery of the show, it is implied that Kyubey has in some way ‘raped’ the girls. This is most evident in Sayaka’s arc; her insistence that becoming a Magical Girl has made her spoiled and that Kyousuke wouldn’t want to even kiss a girl like her.

Their transformations into witches further the idea that they have been ‘spoiled’, but also symbolize their transformation into adult women. Women who are ‘too adult’, and whose bodies are no longer attractive or useful to create babies anymore.

Goddess Madoka is even depicted as pregnant in the full Magia ending.

I feel like you could reason within all this symbolism that there’s a metaphor for specifically the coerced pregnancy and mothership of women. Something often considered the ‘ideal state’ for women and as you will see many conservatives argue, the necessary thing to continue society. In their minds, the subjugation of anyone they assign as women to these roles is necessary for society as they know it to continue for the imaginary people of the future who do not even exist yet.

Kyubey refers to the Magical Girls as cattle. He is there to help incubate and hatch the witch, and then throw the magical girl to the dust afterwards as she dies no longer useful. These girls are sacrifices to a far-off future that Kyubey promises them, he tells them that if no Magical Girls existed to hatch into Witches, humanity would not last long enough to see itself to the stars.

The incubator and his design, the soul gems and grief seeds, the pregnant madoka, the discussions about men liking their eggs a particular way by their homeroom teacher, it’s all very consistent. I’m not sure if my prospective readers have ever considered this within Madoka Magica - but try seeing it from this angle.

I didn’t find a way to work this into the post, but in addition: take the ancient myth of the wandering womb. This was the belief that so called over-emotional women were suffering from a condition where their uterus was moving in ways all across their bodies. It morphed into the more modern usage of female hysteria; hysteria coming from hystera- the Greek word for uterus. Kyubey thinks of the girls as constantly overreacting and overemotional. Hysterical.

#pmmm #madoka magica #posts made without proofreading #I trust in peoples reading comprehension ability to not take this as a trans exclusionary post #and if you think I’m reading too much into it idk what to tell ya just move on

[milksnake-tea]

Imagine Yaoshi x Reader x Nanook. With how they act in lores and how there is not much canon information about the personalities + encounters or interactions yet. My brain already has so much ideas about what's gonna happen if we put them both together :)

pairing: nanook x gn!reader x yaoshi (general relationship hcs)

word count: 785

warnings: possible spoilers for hsr !! involves xianzhou stuff iykyk

a/n: it's the way that i knew this would be a request- also this got long i apologize HAHSHSHH

First off, congrats. I have no idea how you managed to coerce these two into sharing because the last thing either wanted was to share something with the other.

Compromise is absolutely fundamental in this relationship. Yaoshi and Nanook are Aeons whose ideologies are in direct conflict, and you'll have to act as their middle ground. Arguments aren't common (they both believe that they're above such petty disputes), but in the beginning of the relationship, the tension was undeniable.

Nanook firmly believes that civilization was a mistake, and neither Yaoshi nor you can change that. Yaoshi can pout and give Nanook the look all they want, but nothing is stopping Nanook from bringing planet after planet down.

Likewise, Yaoshi's gifts of immortality, along with their side effects of mara, tend to irk Nanook, only furthering their belief that destruction was the only salvation left for the universe (Yaoshi would continue to assert that the mara wasn't their fault).

But when you come into the picture, you force them to put their differences aside - because if there's one thing that the two of them can agree on, it's you. If it's for you, they're willing to push aside their ongoing war with one another. If it's you, they'll ignore the fact that they openly hated the other.

Yaoshi thought that such a cold being as Nanook wasn't deserving of a partner such as you. Nanook didn't love or embrace you like Yaoshi did, didn't cradle and pamper you like the Abundance.

As a result, Yaoshi loved to remind them of their negligence, although now, it's more of a playful jest if anything. They'd whine about how Nanook was barely home, despite Yaoshi constantly being on the run themselves, and the fact that as Aeons, they don't have a set "home".

For the most part, Nanook was unbothered by Yaoshi's remarks, with the most coming out of them being a roll of the eyes. They didn't care how their affection may have come across, the only thing mattering to them was that you were safe and happy.

The two of them used to fight over you all the time - Nanook would often snatch you right off of Yaoshi's lap, and Yaoshi would refuse to hand you over. But soon, they learned to tolerate the other's existence, and eventually that tolerance would turn into a begrudging adoration.

In this relationship, Yaoshi is inertly more affectionate (and possessive) than Nanook is. Nanook isn't... They're not exactly in tune with desires of any kind, much less the kind that comes with a romantic relationship. Yaoshi, on the other hand, is an empathetic soul who loves and sympathizes with creatures from all walks of life.

Yaoshi coddles you, and makes sure that not only are you loved, but that you feel loved. They are gentle and tender with you, often playing with your hands or hair, and pressing kisses wherever they can. They sing you praises to their Disciples and the Denizens, who adore you just as much as their Aeon.

On the other hand, Nanook's "love", if you could even call it that, comes in the form of protection. The Antimatter Legion, when they're not wreaking havoc upon other planets, become your personal bodyguards. Yaoshi in particular takes advantage of this, often using the Legion to fend off any Xianzhou ships looking to hunt them down.

But this isn't to say that Nanook doesn't have their moments. When they manage to pry you away from Yaoshi's arms, Nanook likes to hold you as they go about their business. You'd be laying in their arms, pressed against their chest as you watch the destruction of a planet as you would a movie. Rarely are any words said in these moments, but they are just as intimate as Yaoshi's affections.

The universe knows you as the Mediator, the tamer of the two most hated Aeons in the universe. Being the significant other of not one, but two Aeons certainly comes with its benefits - and that being that practically nothing can touch you. There are some who feel pity for you, others who envy you.

But there are also those such as the Aeon Xipe who are grateful for your existence, for you are responsible for keeping Yaoshi and Nanook in check. In Xipe's eyes, if such opposing Aeons as Yaoshi and Nanook can work in tandem, then there is hope for a unified universe.

All in all, this relationship can only work if each member puts forth the effort to make it work. It's rocky in the beginning, even more so than others, and requires so much more patience. But if you can manage to pull through, the rewards are sweeter than any fruit.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr yaoshi #hsr nanook #nanook #yaoshi #nanook x reader #yaoshi x reader #hsr yaoshi x reader #hsr nanook x reader #aeon yaoshi #aeon nanook #x reader #y/n #reader insert #reader #headcanons #archives 🏵️

[pinkandpurple360]

Character study: Creepzo and Stolas (part one)

>Both began an unhealthy fixation on one of our beloved clown boys after seeing them perform at the circus. Later, even though it was years in the past, they haven’t forgotten them and continue to sexualise them in their fantasies. Through force they try to forge a real partnership, (performing or as sex buddies) one that exists entirely on false pretences and or guilt from one of the clown boys. They’re both trying to be the surrogate Fizz and the surrogate Blitzø for the other clown.

> “love” at first sight is infatuation and/or lust, not love

>Developed a completely delusional romantic image of their mind with one of the clown boys. An image which ignored their clearly communicated lack of reciprocation, and interpreted it as them being too dishonest, or arrogant, or cruel and cold, interpreted as themselves being the victim in the situation and being lead on.

Unintentionally, the above image is the funniest joke in this show just look how much blitzø doesn’t fit in this scene at all

>Both use force when they don’t get what they want or see one of the clown boys as making a slight against them, and they both genuinely scare the people they claim to love without caring.

>They are both melodramatic and dishonest about how weak and fragile they actually are, relying entirely on pity to get attention

More in part 2

You could argue that stolas is changing but honestly, admitting you have a problem is the first step, not the last. Going by Seeing Stars and Western Energy Stolas is still under this delusion and continues to objectify , sexualise blitzø and coerce him to drop whatever he is doing and be his hero.

#helluva boss critical #stolas critical #creepzo

[hiiragi7]

On Final Fusion: Violence or Health?

The ways in which we as a community of multiples talk about final fusion comes from a place of deep community trauma and attempts to navigate how we make sense of ourselves and how it relates to and conflicts with pathological views of our minds and ideas of how we should "recover" (with recovery, as an idea, differing not only between medical and multiple/plural communities but also within multiple/plural communities themselves).

Many multiples seek out final fusion and/or experience final fusion very positively, while others have heavily negative experiences and/or views regarding final fusion and may even be against final fusion as a concept entirely. Disagreements occur as to whether final fusion is a violent attack on multiples' right to exist as themselves or whether final fusion is valid as a recovery method. I wish to explore final fusion from a couple different angles, from a violent "cure" to a good recovery method.

In approaching final fusion as violence, it makes sense to take into context final fusion first as a medical tool, and one which has been used to coerce or force multiples into presenting as though they are a singular personality; with a medical system which functions as a weapon of ableism (among many other -isms), the approach to anything which is pathologized is often an attempt to erase it entirely as "cure". Although modern psychological takes on multiplicity rejects any comparison to the supernatural, the clinical approach has been and in many ways continues to be similar to an attempt at exorcism, with multiplicity approached as a haunting of an individual which holds this individual back from living a fulfilling life.

It is no surprise to me that the approach which the multiple community has taken in response to this medical violence mirrors that of other disability advocacy movements and language in response to medical violence; using language such as "smashed together", "murder", and even comparisons to conversion therapy to describe final fusions and the medical abuse which has accompanied it for many.

As well, many clinical approaches to multiplicity are incredibly dehumanizing and anti-multiple, and may be used as methods to coerce multiples into final fusion. In addition to final fusion itself, it is not a surprise to me that certain other clinical language or methods related to multiplicity have similarly developed a poor community reputation.

Functional multiplicity has also been heavily downplayed as a valid recovery method and relatively underresearched in comparison to final fusion, and in response, many multiples have opted to push final fusion down in order to lift up functional multiplicity, spreading ideas that final fusion does not work and does not/cannot exist.

On the final fusion as health side, there are many multiples which have found a final fusion approach extremely helpful, and who even reached final fusion outside of the guidance of a therapist. There are many multiples who actively seek out final fusion as a goal, and many who have decided to go through with final fusion on their own terms, or who ended up at a state of final fusion naturally without intentionally taking action to do so. There are plenty of multiples who report being much happier as fully fused.

Final fusion is very clearly not only a possibility but even a positive natural course for many multiples to take, and indeed can be described as health in this context. As such, while final fusion exists as a violent medical tool, its existence and function is not limited only to this. Final fusion exists as genuine healing outside of curative violence. Those multiples which positively experience and/or seek out final fusion will inevitably be pushed out of the conversation when final fusion is treated as though it is an inherent violence or even a myth.

How can our community acknowledge the medical violence attached to final fusion, validate survivors of that abuse, and at the same time not foster negativity about final fusion as recovery and the positive experiences of those who seek final fusion within our spaces? Personally, I believe an overlooked approach lies in bodily autonomy, and I feel that our community should work to distinguish final fusion as recovery from coerced or forced final fusions.

With this shift, we focus not on whether final fusion is "good" or "bad" or whether final fusion is "better" or "worse" than functional multiplicity, but rather on a multiple's right to define their own recovery and choose what treatments they do and do not want, as well as an emphasis on consent and autonomy regardless of whether or not one recovery method is considered "better" than the other.

I also believe it would be useful to open a conversation about the amount of power and control medical professionals have over their patients, and to connect these conversations up to broader disability movements and criticisms of the medical system.

Abuse disguised as care has no place in a professional mental health care setting. This is of course a far broader issue than final fusion or multiplicity, but applying a multiple perspective to it is a conversation I would love to see more of within the community. At the same time, given the way these conversations have been happening when they do happen, I also find it incredibly important to emphasize that the issue is that of bodily autonomy and ableism, not of final fusion itself.

I would love to hear others' thoughts and perhaps suggestions for how to approach these conversations, and perhaps even ways to distinguish between fusion as recovery and fusion as violence within the community.

#syscourse

[virgobingo]

while jjk and naruto both place importance on the youth/"next generation" there is a difference in approach. i think contrasting gojo and kakashi is the best way to explain this, considering they both are, essentially, mouthpieces for their authors as educators.

but first let's dismantle the myth of neutrality in teaching. neutrality often helps the individuals that are in power, because it has a tendency to prop up the values held by the institution in place. it encourages inaction against them, even when they're a violent oppressor. what's more, neutrality suggests that no better option exists.

if you're familiar with naruto, you might remember kakashi not only disuading sasuke from seeking revenge, but also suggesting sasuke serve the very same system that coerced itachi (thirteen-years-old at the time) to slaughter the uchiha at the behest of the state because there was "no other option."

⬆️ notably, this is an idea that is only challenged by "villains" in the manga; "villains" overtaken by their emotions that are consequently seen as irrational for seeking retribution. and just like kishimoto, kakashi faithfully upholds this idea throughout the manga. "moving on" and stopping the cycle of hatred is, at the end, left entirely up to the victims. konoha comes first, then family, then friends, and so on. in other words, in the world of naruto, there is a hierarchy of importance centered around keeping the status quo/carrying on the will of fire (what is already in place). and sasuke is made to conform to it in kishimoto's conclusion of the series, confirming kakashi's beliefs.

*the next generation are seen as a way to preserve old traditions. the "individual" should fade. victims should forgive.

gojo, in contrast, seeks to dismantle the very system that props him up, that has grown corrupt through the years.

and so he takes a radical approach to education by working against the established norms in their world. he uses his influence as the head of one of the big three sorcerer families to shield those who are most vulnerable— megumi, yuta, itadori, maki, etc.

he also encourages them to grow into a mindset that motivates them to stand up against the very forces that push them down. paraphrasing gojo's words, his role as a teacher is similar to a gardener's. his duty is to tend to his students, to help them bloom into who they're meant to be and help them move forward with courage. to be able to work towards a future that sees beyond the use of a conservative institution that continues to fail so many of them. to define what it means to be a jujutsu sorcerer outside of it.

*the next generation are seen as an opportunity to step towards progress, to step away from old traditions that prevent the "individual" from being seen.

#gojo satoru #would this classify as anti-kakashi? #anti konoha #at least lol #jujutsu kaisen #naruto

[ssouhekii]

ʲᵉˡˡʸᶠⁱˢʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵇˡᵃᶜᵏ ᶜᵃᵗ - ☆ .° • . °

☆ ˢⁱᵍᵐᵃ & ᶜʰⁱˡᵈ!ᵒʳᵃᶜˡᵉ!ʸ/ⁿ - * ☆ . °

wc - 4.4k ☆

Sigma didn't go into this month's Decay meeting expecting for them to induct a new member. He really didn't expect this member to be a little kid. He really, really didn't expect this little kid to be staying with him.

warnings: implied/referenced child neglect & experimentation, nothing too serious though, yet, kind of uneventful because it's the first of a series, nobody will tell poor sigma y/n's name and there's lots of awkward pauses

a/n - I haven't written in a very long time, so sorry if it's a bit dry. i promise the next chapter will have more interesting interactions and dialogue. I only wanted the conversations to be stiff for this chapter so that you can feel the tension between sigma and the reader. also, i know the word oracle is used incorrectly. more on that later

The Decay of Angels sat around a white plastic table in white plastic chairs. Behind each of them lay a beige wall, and under their feet a tan carpet.

Fyodor had perhaps chosen the blandest room to ever exist for this meeting, and the worst part was he couldn't even complain.

Sigma had spent their last meeting at Nikolai's elegant Oakwood dining table, stepping over streamers and stray cards scattered everywhere. Each member had taken a seat in a wildly abstract chair, ranging from Fyodor in a bean-bag on wheels to Nikolai, in his dramatic red velvet throne at the center of the table. Sigma had taken his place at a plastic folding chair that he was sure had been taken from a wrestling gig.

So, he had felt a sick sort of relief walking into the most unsettlingly mild room known to man. He listened to a hung-over Fukuchi drone on about that month's objectives, their current business affairs, financing updates, and upcoming social events. Each member of the Decay stood and gave a rushed report of their activity for the previous month, Sigma noting his Casino's gains, Nikolai his undercover diplomatic efforts, and Fukuchi his outlook on the political environment. Bram had nothing to share, and closed his eyes once again in his coffin as Fyodor stood from his chair. He gave a calm glance around the room and closed his eyes, beginning his proposal.

"As you all know, news of a certain ability user affecting affairs with underground organizations have been circulating as of late."

Sigma cast a worried glance to Nikolai, who seemed invested in his dear friend's speech.

Sigma cast a worried glance to Nikolai, who seemed invested in his dear friend's speech.

"It has come to my attention that this ability user is completely unaffiliated with any organization, and is quite out of control. Thus, we must take control of them before another group has a chance to do so."

The casino's manager set his elbow on the table and looked at his fingernails. They were glazed white and slightly pointed.

Sigma hadn't quite expected Fyodor to initiate inducting another member to the Decay. He had a habit of coercing Fukuchi to let talented people slip out of their hands and into the palms of the Rats. Despite the losses, Sigma could never help but be relieved at the Decay's stable member count. Four was enough for him.

Fyodor continued.

"While we already have this ability user in our grasp, it may be difficult to keep them in our hand, so to speak. It is confirmed that the subject has difficulty controlling their ability. However, that should not be a problem for Fukuchi and I to address."

Fyodor opened his eyes slowly and flicked his lashes while glancing to his side, making eye contact with Fukuchi before looking away.

"The difficulty in inducting this.. person into the Decay lies in controlling their temperament."

Sigma's calmness and relief shook itself off immediately. For Fyodor to express trouble with controlling someone meant they were stubborn as a stone, or even a genius on the same level as him.

"A discussion between Fukuchi and I has taken place, and we believe the best course of action should be for a member of the Decay to welcome them into their home. This would be convenient for surveillance, as the subject cannot be left alone for long. It would also benefit training."

The casino manager became even more nervous. It was precisely with his luck they'd announce it was him who had to take in a new member with behavioral issues.

"The subject may also not live alone as they are not... of age to do so. The ability user in question, a child of six years, cannot be trusted to manage their own household properly."

A lump formed in his throat. Deep down, there was a part of him that almost begged to recieve this child. That begged for that almost ill-concieved notion of a family. He pushed that notion down in favor of disdain, and to any unassuming citizen he would almost look sick at the thought of taking in a kid with behavioral issues.

Fyodor continued.

"It is known that some members-" Nikolai came to mind, and Sigma noticed Bram glance to the clown too. "-cannot sustain an environment suitable for a child either."

Sigma was nearly sure this would be him.

"Given Fukuchi's alcoholism, Bram's lack of... appendages, and Nikolai's.. preferred environment, that leaves two options out of the Decay," Fyodor and everyone else eyed Sigma, and he felt like this attack was premeditated. "However, given my circumstances involving myself and those currently living with me, I cannot guarantee the safety of a young child in my household."

"So, you'd want me to take the child in?"

Fukuchi rose from his chair and stood beside Fyodor.

"If you'd be willing to take on this job, it'd benefit the organization greatly. We're willing to use the Decay's funds to pay for any living costs for the subject, including recreation. You are not obligated, but the subject's safety is of utmost importance towards our future plans."

Sigma was pretty sure that "recreation" just meant toys.

"Paying for living costs is no problem. With all due respect, the casino allocates for about three-fifths of the Decay's income, while also sustaining itself. However," Sigma paused, searching for his words. "However, I am in no way prepared to handle a child. I have no prior experience."

"Well, Sig, you can learn! You got a hold of the casino in no time!" Nikolai had broken his silence, no longer entranced with Fyodor's little speech. His encouraging words only set Sigma off.

"Yes, Nikolai, the casino is a whole other issue! I cannot be expected to manage an entire business while watching over a superpowered child with supposed behaviour issues! While I am fine covering financial management for the Decay Of Angels, I was never in any way propositioned to join for babysitting. I do want to stay professional here, but you can't just spring a job like this on me!"

Sigma finished his little rant. The entire table remained still, exactly the same as they had been before. Sigma wasn't even sure when said child would arrive, but he was sure he required some sort of notice before they even mentioned it to him.

He should have known Fyodor would see through him.

"No, Sigma, you were never "propositioned for babysitting" or anything of the like. However, we may very well compensate you-" Nikolai cut in. "Yeah, yeah! We'll raise your paycheck and find more people to cover the casino! We've already got ya covered, Sig!!"

"Thank you, Nikolai," Fukuchi grumbled, clearly holding back a sigh. "We will indeed compensate you and cover both your costs and time lost. As for experience, none is needed."

"Fukuchi, I can't be expected to raise a child with no guidance or skills pertaining to.. to children."

Fyodor made eye contact with Sigma, chilling him to the bone. The rat's sickening smile curled upwards.

"You haven't got to raise any child, Sigma. Just make sure the subject is alive long enough to complete training. Once that is finished, they will sustain themself."

It wasn't until later, much later, that Sigma had realized why the idea of training a living weapon for the Decay made him so, so ill.

"So you expect me to, what, keep a six year old under lock and key?"

"Sure, as long as that works for you."

Sigma, much more unnerved but slightly less opposed to the idea, decided he'd need to shoot more questions. One, in particular, ached in his mind.

"Why is this child so important? What plan is so dire to you that it involves keeping a specific ability user so close?"

Fukuchi leaned forward, and Nikolai whipped his head towards him. "Again, this ability looks to be a danger if not controlled, and an even bigger danger if controlled by a group other than us. As for our plans with her in the future, those remain private."

"Well, what's this dangerous ability, then, and why am I subject to deal with it?"

"As said, you are the only one with a household safe enough to keep a child alive and healthy. As for the ability.." Fyodor narrowed his eyes as Fukuchi finished talking, taking this as his turn to convince Sigma.

"The subject's ability is called, quite simply, Oracles. It can be supposed that she is able to see any place and hear any word without actually being in the area. However, this ability may only view what is going on at the exact moment. In addition, it has been confirmed that the subject cannot control nor will a vision at any given moment, making them completely unprompted."

Sigma cut in as soon as Fyodor paused.

"So how is that dangerous?"

"You know very well how, Sigma."

He had only asked the question to stall a little further. This conversation, the way these people spoke about this child, made him sick. He didn't want to answer their question.

Nikolai tapped his feet, while Fukuchi and Fyodor eyed him cautiously. Bram was asleep. Quietly, Sigma uttered the only question he could think of.

"What will happen to her if I refuse?"

Fyodor's smile faded slightly, but there was no malice in his eyes. Fukuchi's gaze narrowed and Nikolai frowned.

"Sig, don't do that. We kinda need you to do this!"

"It's alright, Nikolai," Fyodor hummed. "I can keep the ability user myself. Though, Ivan hasn't reacted well to their arrival, I'm sure he can adjust. He may not trust their ability now, but he'll warm up as they.." Fyodor was tuned out as Sigma recalled what he knew about Ivan. The tall, unsettling man whom Fyodor had done brain surgery on, making him into some sort of passive servant. Sigma almost shuddered. The thin man had been almost violently obsessed with Fyodor, though not in the way Nikolai was. In fact, Ivan had outright threatened Nikolai more than once for even grazing against his beloved master.

Sigma was sure he understood now why Fyodor hadn't wanted to keep a child near someone like that.

Damn Sigma for being so mild.

He decided to use his last resort before declining the offer. The child would simply have to deal with Ivan's distrust.

"Would it be alright if I could... meet this girl first before allowing her into my home?"

Though Sigma had completely cut in, the room remained unresponsive for a passing moment before Nikolai jumped up onto Sigma and let out some sort of high-pitched squeal. "AHH! I KNEW you'd give her a chance! Thanks for doing us such a favor! I'll go grab her right now!!"

Nikolai disappeared before he could even hear Sigma mutter something about not having said yes.

☆ . ° • . ☆ * .°

The strange tall man with a white braid and striped pants unlocked the door to the room and strutted in, humming a tune. He, not even looking at you, grabbed your wrist tightly and began to drag you somewhere yet again. You'd been in that little beige room for almost twenty minutes now, but it'd felt like you had barely sat down.

"Time to go, kiddo!" He chirped as he almost lifted you out of your metal folding chair with a single tug to your wrist. You had tried not to budge, but the man proved to have incredible strength. So, you walked out with him, struggling against his grasp even though it was futile. In fact, he ignored your muttering and wriggling, continuing to almost skip down the hall.

At last you two arrived at a door, and the strange man squatted down to meet your eyes. You thought he was unsuccessful, as the card covering his own left eye prevented him from looking into both of yours at once. He compensated for this by quickly darting his right eye back and forth.

"You're gonna go meet the man who's gonna take care of you, okay? Yeah? Make sure to be re-e-eal nice, alright? Let's put on a big smile, okay?!"

You continued to stare blankly ahead as the excitable man pushed open the doors and again dragged you into the room. There were more tall men, and your blank stare dropped into a scowl.

While being pulled forwards, you stopped struggling in favor of analyzing the odd characters before you.

Your eyes were first drawn to the pale, grey-haired man, asleep to your far right in a large wooden box. It was lined with some sort of soft-looking red texture, which you were sure you could've fallen asleep in too. However, what caught your attention the most was the man's striking lack of appendages and a sword where his stomach should be. You were sure it must've hurt a lot, and were glad he was getting rest.

You still scowled as you looked to the left of the sleeping man, you spotted two other figures you'd seen before. The grey-haired man in the red coat and the eery black-haired man. The grey-haired man annoyed you. When he had first caught you, scampering around in a forest near the abandoned cottage you had made into your home, he had picked you up and slung you over his shoulder like a sort of package. You had been incredibly frustrated and screamed until your voice gave out, pounding your fists against his back. He hadn't ever responded, and only spoke in short commands like "Stop" and "quiet." Worst of all, his breath smelled sour and dry, like those fermented drinks that the adults always had on rough nights.

You disliked the black-haired man too, but for different reasons. Where his grey friend paid almost no attention to you at all, you could always feel the dark man's eyes on you. He spoke in a saccharine tone and called you things like mishka and little one. His gaze almost felt full of contempt, and he kept physical distance from you like you were some sort of beast.

Looking around, you didn't see the black-haired man's other friend, the one with the bandages around his head. You were glad, because you didn't like him. He had said if you spied on his master he'd throw you out, and then spied on you himself the whole night.

Finally, right in front of you, was a man with choppy hair in half-purple and half-white. The inside of his coat sparkled like the sky when it was dark, which caught your attention. Being speedily pulled towards him by the man with the striped pants, you noticed the half-and-half's gaze on you.

You weren't surprised at his stare, as that tended to be a common reaction to your appearance. You weren't sure why. Maybe it was because your hair hung in your face like vines on the fence of an overgrown house, abandoned for years with no care. Maybe it was because your nearly-empty eyes had deep bags under them from all the times you'd lost sleep after seeing a vision. Maybe it was because you had only ever wore a musty hospital gown, if only for lack of better clothing options. Or maybe, maybe it was just because everyone thought your visions were the most important thing about you, and that you were some mystical oracle that knew their fate.

You gazed up at Mister-two-tone, not noticing his friend mouth "introduce yourself" to him before he knelt down and looked into your eyes, and glanced to the floor briefly before slowly offering his hand to you.

"My name is Mister Sigma. What's your name..?"

His voice was deep and serious, but gentle. You looked at this strange Mister Sigma's hand. You weren't sure what he wanted you to do with it, so you ignored it and kept staring into his eyes. Silence overwhelmed the room. Over a minute passed without your response, and Mister Sigma retracted his hand while you continued to stare him down.

It wasn't that you were shy, or that you'd forgotten your own name, or even that you didn't ever have one. You had been little y/n in your town until the people in white coats took you away and started calling you Subject Oh Thirty Eight, or Zero Three Eight, or even just Thirty-Eight. Then, the sterile white building had been flooded and you had run into a nearby forest, and suddenly you hadn't got any name at all. Or maybe you had, but it didn't really matter that much.

You were drawn out of your thoughts by that Mister Sigma interjecting again.

"So, I uh.. What's your favorite animal, kiddo?"

You had often enjoyed the company of feral cats in your town, and had seen some strange, fat striped-tail ones in the woods you occupied. However, you didn't understand why he would need to know, so you kept silent.

After about fifteen seconds of still staring into his eyes (you counted yourself), you were brought back into focus by his voice breaking the room's silence a third time.

"Is it true that you can see anything, anywhere?"

Oh, you knew the answer to this! Everyone who met you had asked. You noticed the eery black-haired man behind Mister Sigma narrow his eyes at you.

"I can't see the visions you want at will. I'm sorry."

Your voice was scratchy, both from the screaming you'd done the day earlier when the grey-haired man caught you and the fact that you barely talked anyways. This response, however, was easy to say after dozens of live practice sessions.

The two-toned Mister Sigma's eyes softened and he glanced to the side with an almost nervous look before looking back at you and smiling.

"That's alright, I don't need anything. I just wanted to know."

You continued to stare at him as he stood up and motioned his colleagues to come near. Card-face dropped your arm and sped over to the two-toned man along with everyone else, and they huddled around you in a whisper.

You stood silently and continued to stare.

☆ . ° • . ☆ * .°

It was at that moment Sigma swore he wouldn't get attached.

Hearing the first words from a glassy-eyed child be "I'm sorry" formed a new feeling of contempt for the world around him. He almost felt angry, hearing someone so young apologize for being unable to be of use.

Damn Fyodor for picking a child he saw so much of himself in.

Though the little child had seemed a little cold and almost feral, they seemed considerably easier to handle than what Sigma had expected. He'd almost expected a younger Nikolai. However, he wasn't relieved to find that their preferred form of conversation was a cold glare.

"So, Sig? Whaddya think, whaddya think? Don't keep us waiting any longer!!"

Sigma felt his colleagues' eyes on him. He glanced at his feet, then at the child (who made eye contact with him through their messy, overgrown locks. Sigma almost shivered.) then finally moved his eyes across his coworkers.

"I will take in the child," Fyodor and Fukuchi smiled while Nikolai nearly burst into joyful laughter. "Provided that the Decay covers all costs, time lost on the casino, and training efforts. This is my only offer."

"Ah, Sig, we knew you'd take her! Great, great!!" Nikolai sprang onto Sigma and hugged him, while Fyodor clapped politely. Fukuchi gave an almost half-hearted bow, clearly tired from this indecision.

"Thank you for doing this, Sigma. Route me your receipts every month and you'll be compensated. I'll have any documents needed for a front mailed to you soon."

Fukuchi took his leave soon after. Bram was carried out with him. Sigma pushed Nikolai off of him and looked to Fyodor.

"I'm glad I could convince you. Good evening, Sigma." Fyodor also left quickly, clearly wanting out before Sigma changed his mind.

Sigma turned to Nikolai, who had made his way to the little child and was shaking their hand furiously. They squirmed and grumbled.

"Bye bye, kiddo!! Have fun with Sig, okay? I'll drop by soon!"

He leaped up and trotted to Sigma, grasping his hands and staring into his face almost excitedly.

"Hey, Sig, good luck!! Congrats on your first kid!" Nikolai skipped out like some sort of madman, leaving Sigma and the child alone, watching each other.

He couldn't believe what he'd just agreed to.

☆ . ° • . ☆ * .°

As the strange white-haired man finally left, you were left alone in front of the table with Mister Sigma. He turned and stared at you. You kept watching him as you had. The way his hair moved was interesting to you. Every time he turned his head, it made a swishing motion. It was like some sort of fish you'd seen in the aquarium a long, long time ago. You couldn't remember its name.

"Well, it's getting late. I guess we'd, uh, better get going, yeah?" He asked, seeming slightly unsure of himself. He stepped towards you, and you instinctively stepped back.

He held out a hand to you slowly. You weren't quite sure what to make of it. Did he want you to take it? You weren't sure whether he knew that he could just take your hand himself, but you didn't tell him that. You'd had enough manhandling for two days.

He retracted his hand and let out a slight huff, glancing toward you before turning away towards the door.

"Come on, let's go home."

Mister Sigma walked towards the door, and you passively followed behind him. Leading you down the hallway, the only sound he made was the soft clack, clack, clack of his shoes on the floor. The two of you twisted and turned down the halls past several bland brown doors before exiting the building through a set of large glass sliders.

The twilight glistened, though not as beautifully as the inner liming of his coat that swayed along with his hair as he walked. The man pulled out a ring decorated by a large plastic button and a few metal keys. He clicked the button and one of the cars in the lot lit up and let out a quick honk. He turned to his car, a small white Toyota with sleek lights on the front and the back. Its interior consisted of grey leather seats, and a pair of red plush dice hanging from the mirror.

You followed him to the left side of the car, and he opened the front door before looking at you in confusion.

"You can sit on the other side, unless you'd like to sit in the back. This is the driver's seat, though, and I have to sit here."

He spoke cautiously for some reason, stepping over each word as if simply telling you to go sit on the other side was a mortal offense. It wasn't that important to you, but you did appreciate the explanation. You hadn't been told why you had to do something in a very long time, so it was a breath of fresh air.

You paced to the other side of the car, and mimicking how he did it, took the door handle in one hand and pulled it. The door barely budged, and you pulled again. On your third try, you set both palms on the handle and heaved it open.

You stepped into the car proudly, and sat down.

"Could you close the door, please?" Mister Sigma interjected, interrupting your sense of accomplishment. You pulled the door shut with both hands and glared at him. His eyebrows raised slightly, and he squinted a little at you.

"Are you okay?"

"Mhm."

Your mild frustration was dissolving quickly, and you relaxed your gaze. He looked down beside you and raised his pointer finger.

"Could you, uh, buckle your seatbelt?"

You weren't quite sure what that meant. You'd seen cars before, but any memory of being in one was hazy. Lightly tilting your head, you opened your mouth a bit.

"Do you need help?"

You shifted in your seat and nodded. He slowly reached over, watching you all the while, and dragged a large grey belt out of the seat and reached over you, placing it into a button on your other side. It made a little click, and he retracted his hands.

"Now we're ready to go."

Mister Sigma set his keys down beside him and started the car. It made a hum as he pulled out of the parking spot. You watched him closely, paying special attention to how his hair moved as he looked around. You could only see the white side right now, but it didn't matter that much to you.

You continued to watch him, his reactions, his movements as he drove. Whenever another car got in front of him, he seemed to purse his lips. Whenever the big light on the road turned red before he passed it, he'd let out a little sigh before relaxing his grip on the wheel. Whenever he stopped, he nervously glanced to the side. As soon as he met your eyes, he turned away, his hair swishing after him.

About halfway through your little drive and almost a dozen awkward glances, he parted his lips while looking forward towards the road.

"Why are you watching me so closely? Do you need something?"

You continued to watch him.

"No."

"Alright.. if you do, please let me know."

"I don't need anything, thank you."

He kept driving and looking ahead. You kept watching him, and at the next stop he turned to you and met your eyes in an uneasy gaze.

"I'm sorry, it's just... it's a little unsettling to have you watching my every move and I..." he trailed off.

"I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"It's alright, you're not in trouble, it's just that.. I'm just a little confused about why you're watching me so much. We've passed plenty of interesting things on the road, but you haven't taken your eyes off me since we started driving." He looked intently at you.

"Your hair."

"What about my hair? Is it the color?" He seemed to grow a little more nervous.

"It moves. It goes swish, swish when you move."

"Yes, I suppose it does..."

"Are there many people with long hair where you're from?" He seemed to pause at the end, searching for what to call you. The space in his words was filled with another long glance. The car continued moving.

"There aren't many people at all."

"Oh, I see."

The long drive continued in silence.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x you #bsd sigma #sigma bungou stray dogs #sigma x reader #sigma x you #sigma x y/n #strictly platonic but you get the idea #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #nikolai gogol #bsd nikolai #bsd fanfic #x y/n #my writing ☆

[atlabeth]

(not so) simple p1 - anthony bridgerton

pt2 pt3 pt4

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn't.

a/n: she's finally here!! the long ass anthony fic that i've been talking about for like three months lmao. as much as i wanted to release this all as one fic it became way too long and oh my god i just wanted to post something for it after writing for months. but here u go the first part of a few i hope you enjoy

wc: 10k

warning(s): reader is a little insensitive, mentions of issues getting pregnant, unwanted advances/gross men, historical inaccuracies

“No.”

“Darling—”

“No!” you protested once more, turning away from the mirror to face her. “Mother, you cannot be serious—”

“My dear, can you at least try to see things my way?” Your mother took a step back from you to admire the fit of your dress before she looked back at you. “Lord Cardew is an excellent match; he has a beautiful estate, incredibly vast wealth — for goodness sake, he is a baron! And he is interested in you.”

“He is a complete lecher,” you snapped. “I’d sooner die than accept even the slightest nicety from him.”

This kind of conversation had been going on between you and your mother ever since your debut the past week — you were no diamond, but you were no disaster either; you were as you’d always been, perfectly content with being perfectly average. But despite your lackluster introduction, you’d somehow managed to earn the attention of Baron Jonathan Cardew. An illustrious man with more wealth than you had ever experienced, your mother nearly fainted when he approached you after your debut and requested a dance. 

It would have been a blessing of the highest order had he been fifteen years younger, capable of basic decency, and you wanted to be married in the first place. 

Unfortunately, none of those were true, and after spending a waltz with him where you were more occupied with denying his advances than truly dancing, you became aware of the reason he flaunted his money so often — it was the only way to cover up how awful he was. But your mother was more taken with him than you were, insisting you follow through on his interest. Therefore, you were stuck in quite the unfavorable situation. 

“That kind of mouth is why you can never keep a suitor,” she berated, turning you around to continue fussing with your hair. “Oh, I know it is disappointing to be unable to marry for love, but this is what you are meant for. You are the crown jewel of our family, my dear — do not throw it away on one of your many whims!”

“This is not a whim, mother!” You pulled away from her once again and stalked across the room in frustration, your arms crossed against your chest as you gazed out the window. “You have known for years that I have never wanted to marry.”

“And you have known for years that it is your duty!” she exclaimed. “Would you so readily allow our name to fall into ruin over something so simple?”

“Marriage is not at all simple!” you retorted, wholly exasperated. “I do not think I am at all unreasonable to reject a union with someone I despise.”

“You are unreasonable,” she insisted. “Your father and I have tried our best to raise you into the finest woman we could. My dear, you are beautiful, kind, creative; you are wonderful in so many ways, and perfectly eligible — if it wasn’t for your ridiculous notions, you would have suitors lining up outside our door!”

“It is not my fault that I am the only one here for you to marry off!” you shouted, aware that you were touching a nerve but too enraged to care. “I do not exist simply for you to dress me up and pass off to a man before society deems me unacceptable. You know who I am, and you should know that you cannot change me. If you wanted a daughter to give you heirs without complaint, you should’ve tried harder to secure your lineage than thrusting the responsibility onto me.”

You saw your mother’s jaw clench, and you felt the slightest pang of guilt. “Do not take that tone with me, young lady. We have tried more times than you know, and your father and I have worked harder than you could ever imagine building this life. The very least you can do is help us keep it.”

“You would rather I be miserable with a horrible man as long as your fortune and good name are ensured,” you accused, and you raised your skirt up as you crossed over to the door. You opened it with one hand and turned to her as you stood in the doorframe. “I will be back in time for Lady Danbury’s ball tonight, and I will participate in the social season to keep up appearances. But I will not seek out suitors, and I will not become any man’s wife — least of all Lord Cardew.”

Before your mother could protest any further, you shut the door behind you. You hurried through the halls of your estate as quickly as you could, armed with the intent of airing your grievances to the only other person in all of England who understood you. 

-

“Lord Cardew?” Eloise scoffed as she set down her book. “I will never understand the men of the ton, going after women that could be their daughters.”

“You as much as I,” you sighed as you settled onto the couch next to her. “I just wish my mother wasn’t so intent on forcing us together. She is so blinded by title that she cannot see how awful he is— how awful we would be together.”

“Daphne had to deal with the same thing during her debut, a man of the same awful sort named Lord Berbrooke.” Eloise grimaced but then looked at you innocently. “She dealt with him with some well-deserved violence. I suggest you try her methods.” 

“Eloise!” you gasped with mock horror at the suggestion. “You cannot say those things to me. You know I will go through with it if given the chance.” 

“As you very well should!” she responded with a laugh. “Have you thought about running away?” You had to stifle your laughter at the question and she rolled her eyes. “It is a serious question! The way you tell it, you would all but be disowned if you go against your mother’s wishes. Disappearing might just be a better plan.”

“I must admit that I have,” you responded, “but I could never follow through with it. As much as she frustrates me at times, I do love my mother. She truly wants what is best for me, it is just that she has no idea what that is.”

“Sometimes I wish I could just escape to the country,” Eloise said, looking at you with a smile. “I would take you with me, and we would not have to deal with society’s demands; no men, no marriages, and everything we’ve ever wanted that has been locked away from us by virtue.”

“That sounds lovely,” you mused, laying your head against the cushions. “Able to simply walk about instead of promenading with a suitor, able to hitch our skirts and run as far and long as we can, able to read every book we can get our hands on, to be more than just another lady — it all sounds so perfect.” You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye. “But I thought you wanted to go to university.”

“Oh, you know I do,” she sighed. “If my half-brained brother can attend Oxford then I believe I am fully capable of doing the same. But a miracle would have to occur for them to suddenly allow my enrollment.”

“If there is anyone in England who deserves the privilege, it is you.”

Eloise beamed at you and you offered a smile of your own, though the moment was interrupted by the door being pushed open along with a demanding voice you had grown accustomed to over the years.

“Eloise, have you seen my quill?”

You looked up at the appearance and bit back a smile at the sight of the viscount — you were familiar with Anthony, having been friends with Eloise for so long, but he never seemed to appreciate your presence. His annoyance simply made it all the more fun to tease him. 

“No, Anthony,” Eloise answered, “but have you tried your own desk? It seems far more likely to be there than in the drawing room the day I have a visitor. You are not as sly as you think, brother.”

It was then he seemed to notice you, whether by design or truth. “If it isn’t Miss Worthing,” Anthony said as he breezed across the room, offering nothing more than a passing glance at you. “I must ask, are you ever seen on your own estate, or have you decided to permanently establish yourself here?” 

“It is quite funny that you ask, Anthony,” you started with a smile. “I have started moving more and more of my possessions here with every visit to Eloise — I believe it will only be a month more until I am fully settled at the Bridgerton estate.” 

He hummed, wholly unamused as he rustled through the contents of the drawer across from the two of you. “I think it best for you to remain on your own grounds, lest you never leave again. I also think it best you refer to me as Lord Bridgerton — we are hardly close enough to warrant anything less.” 

“Brother,” Eloise sighed, rolling her eyes in apology as she glanced at you, “must you insult my closest friend? There is no need for formalities in our own time.” 

“It is not an insult, Eloise,” Anthony insisted. “Your closest friend has just debuted — it would do her some good to learn proper manners before the season gets too far along.” 

“Well, Lord Bridgerton,” you made sure to enunciate his title, which only served to earn you another unamused look, “I very much appreciate your concerns, but they are not needed. I do not intend to marry this season.” 

“My advice should not be taken lightly.” Anthony made a triumphant noise as he found what he was looking for, the aforementioned quill, then turned his attention back to you. “I have been the man of the house for longer than you know, Miss Worthing, and I guided my sister through an extremely successful season. I consider myself an expert on such affairs; it would do you well to listen to someone else for once in your life.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Do correct me if I am mistaken, but I believe that the man Daphne chose to marry was the one suitor you were intent on keeping her away from. Wasn’t it once you finally stepped back for a moment, she truly began to flourish as the diamond?” 

“You certainly have an interesting memory, Miss Worthing,” Anthony said, restraint clear in his voice. “I am sure that you attract many suitors acting like this.” 

“I don’t attract many,” you confirmed with a smile, “which is rather fortunate, seeing as I don’t plan to marry.” 

“As you’ve already said,” he noted. “An interesting plan, I admit. I cannot imagine your mother is too happy about it.”

“I cannot imagine why you would care so much about her prospects,” Eloise mused. “I would assume your hands are quite full with our family alone. You air your grievances enough just at the idea of my own debut.”  

“It is because she is a bad influence on you, Eloise. Your debut has already been delayed once, and if you continue to spend time around her it will surely happen again.” Anthony then turned to you and gave you a pointed look. “In fact, I believe it is time for you to go, Miss Worthing, if you wish to make it back to your estate in time for Lady Danbury’s ball.”

“How kind of you to remind me,” you said dryly as you stood up from the couch. Eloise stood as well and the two of you embraced, and she placed her hands on your shoulders when you separated.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asked, and she glanced back at Anthony. “My dearest friend, who is in no way a bad influence?” 

You nodded with a laugh. “Of course. I wager I will need someone to accompany me as I find my true calling as a wallflower.”

“It would do you well to change your attitude,” Anthony interrupted, and you responded by rolling your eyes at Eloise as she stifled her own laugh. “You are hardly two and twenty, Miss Worthing. You should not want to throw away your potential so soon.”

“Once again, I appreciate your concerns, but your worries are unnecessary.” You raised an eyebrow. “If you are so intent on my becoming a true lady, perhaps you should take matters into your own hands and court me.”

“Ah, yes. My younger sister’s closest friend; the most desirable lady of the season.” Anthony gestured towards the door in lieu of explaining his sarcasm further. You just smiled. 

“I will see you tonight, Eloise,” you repeated as you started walking. “I look forward to your latest conversation.”

“I am sure my material is far more interesting than any suitor you may happen across,” Eloise reassured. “Including Lord Cardew.”

“You may be my savior yet,” you grinned. As you reached the door you bowed your head to Eloise, and then turned to Anthony and lifted your skirts up in a slight curtsy. “Lord Bridgerton.”

“Miss Worthing,” he responded in kind, offering the same tight-lipped smile as always. 

As Anthony closed the door behind you, Eloise fell back onto the sofa with an exasperated sigh. “Why do you treat her so, brother? Now that my dear Penelope has truly set off into society to find a match, she is the only one that shares my sentiments about our fates. I understand I might not be able to avoid it, but you should at least allow me this much.” 

“She is nothing but trouble,” Anthony responded as he crossed his arms behind his back. “It is in her best interest to find a husband as soon as possible, and yet she resists it with all her might. I should only imagine the kinds of things she is putting into your mind. Are you aware that she has been spotted in the heart of London attending rallies more boisterous than even you could handle?” 

“Truly?” she asked, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “Oh, I must insist she bring me to her next one!”

“That is not my—” Anthony rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “You are just as impossible as her, are you aware?” 

Eloise grinned. “Now that is a compliment.” 

-

Lady Danbury’s ball was shaping up to be as dreadful as you had imagined. 

Your initial plans of blending in with the wallpaper as you watched from afar and enjoyed the music were foiled almost as soon as you had arrived — you faulted the gems embedded into your dress, insisted upon by your mother — for no sooner had you stepped foot into the main hall did the baron approach you.

“Lady Worthing, Miss Worthing,” he greeted with a slight bow, and he eyed you with a smile. “How wonderful to see the two of you here — especially you, my dear. May I say how ravishing you look in that gown?”

“You may not—” you began to say, but your mother cut you off with a very unladylike jab to your side, though masterfully disguised in her usual fashion.

“Thank you, Lord Cardew,” she said. “I apologize for my daughter; she is simply caught up in all the emotions she has been experiencing since her debut. She means no disrespect.” 

“I understand, my lady. Rest assured, I do not mind.” Lord Cardew extended a hand toward you, and your entire body stiffened. “Might I raise your spirits with a dance?” 

“I apologize, my lord,” you said emphatically. “My dance card is full.” 

Your mother forced out a bright laugh as she grasped your arm; it seemed you were already getting to her. “That certainly is funny, my dear! But of course, your card cannot be full as we have just arrived, and one does not refuse a baron in such a way.”

You opened your mouth to protest once more but she leaned into your side and muttered into your ear. “Just one dance with him. The sooner you do it, the sooner it will be over.”

The thought of your time spent within a yard of the baron being over as soon as possible was certainly an appealing notion, enough so that you plastered on a smile and took Lord Cardew’s hand. 

“I would be… honored to dance with you, my lord.” You had to force the words out, but he seemed none the wiser as his smile widened and he led you onto the floor. 

“I have had my eye on you for quite a long time, my lady,” he said as the two of you took your positions and seamlessly joined in with the flow of the other dancers. “You were a sure sight during your debut — truly, none of the other ladies hold even the slightest candle to you.”

“You flatter me, Lord Cardew.” You grimaced as his hand inched further down your waist and you glanced over at the orchestra, as if hoping the desperation in your eyes alone would be enough for them to cut the waltz short. Unfortunately, your silent plea achieved nothing. 

“I must admit, it is a surprise you have only just now entered society,” he said. You noticed your mother smiling at you in the group of many spectators, and you glared at her as best you could in the time the baron was looking away from you. The second his attention turned to you once more, that practiced smile was back in place. “Whyever did it take so long?” 

“I am afraid it is a private matter, my lord,” you said as politely as you could, but he shook his head. 

“You needn’t hold your tongue around me, dear,” he said as he spun you out and then took you back in, your entire body stiffening as he pulled you far closer than what was appropriate. “You do not extend the notion to any other member of the ton, so I do not see why it should apply to me.” 

“My mother simply decided to give me a few more years of respite,” you lied. “It is only this year that she decided she could not delay my debut any longer, so alas, I am here.” 

“And the season is made that much better by your presence, my lady.” Lord Cardew offered a smile and you were only able to manage one so thin it hardly qualified as a smile. But your invisible pleas must have done something because the waltz began to play to a close, and you had to hold back your breath of relief as you both bowed to each other.  

“Thank you for the dance and your… myriad of compliments, Lord Cardew,” you said as you straightened again. 

“It would do you good to get used to them,” he said with a smile, “for they will extend all throughout this courtship and our betrothal — you may have to work harder for them in marriage.” 

Your world stopped spinning on his axis as your entire body stiffened, frozen to the spot. 

“I am sorry?” you breathed, your eyes surely as wide as dinner plates as you attempted to process his words. 

“Compliments may be genuine, but they are also a ploy,” he said. “Without them, how does a man expect to claim a woman? Of course, after marriage a man does not have to fight for her affections anymore, so they—”

“I am not talking about your… views,” you interrupted sharply. “I was not aware of any engagement.” 

“Miss Worthing,” Lord Cardew sighed, his tone nothing less than patronizing, “it is obvious even to the most oblivious that your family is in need of whatever they can get — after our dance at the debutante ball, your father approached me and all but begged me to take your hand. Of course, I prefer to enjoy the process through a bit of courting, but rest assured, it will end in a proposal.” 

That was the shattering point. You had always known that your future hardly lay in your hands despite all your attempts to move it there, but you’d not expected your father to so easily yield— no, not yield, beg— to a man like the one that stood in front of you. 

You felt the rate of your heart speed up as your breathing fell shallow, and you knew you would not last another second in the middle of it all. 

“Excuse me, my lord.” You extracted your hand from his grasp, thankful for the barrier of your gloves however thin it may have been, and offered what you hoped was a convincing smile over the anxieties running rampant below the surface. “I find myself quite parched after our dance — I shall return soon after fetching a glass of lemonade.” 

Before the baron could protest you turned on your heel and set off towards the refreshment table. You poured the liquid from the pitcher into your glass with shaking hands, eyeing the baron out of your peripherals once you finished. The moment his attention moved away from you, you set your glass down and hurried off, easily dissolving into the crowd from years of practice. You glanced over your shoulder once more to ensure you were not being followed before you ducked around the corner. The second you were out of sight you picked up your skirts and ran, every step away from the main hall reducing the weight on your shoulders.

If this was to be the model for the rest of the season, you were sure that you would not survive it — you would not even survive another second in Lord Cardew’s presence. 

You nodded your thanks to the servants as they opened the outside doors to you, and you sucked in a large breath of fresh air once you reached the gardens. Thankfully, the nobles here numbered few — enough for you to remain proper being there on your own while still allowing yourself time to recover from what your parents wanted to be the start of the rest of your life. 

You leaned against the wall, the night breeze cooling your flushed cheeks. You hadn’t the slightest clue how you were supposed to get out of anything involved Lord Cardew, especially the inevitable proposal — no matter the number of your denials, it was just a nicety; the second he tired of your stubbornness, he would go over your head to your mother or father and trap you in a marriage you would spend the rest of your life resenting.

You cursed underneath your breath as you allowed yourself a moment to look out over the gardens. If only he were not a baron — then he would be any other common suitor, one that would be no closer to royalty than you and therefore requiring no special treatment. 

It was then that your gaze caught hold of a certain viscount, standing around idly amongst the small groups of people with a flute of champagne in his hand. 

It was no surprise to see Anthony away from the party — his infamy did not come from his eagerness to participate in the season — but you did smile a bit at it all. He was doing the exact same thing you were, running away from responsibility; he just had the added benefit of alcohol. Maybe the two of you shared more similarities than you thought. 

Your eyes suddenly widened. 

Perhaps there was a way to get out of your predicament. 

You hitched your skirt up yet again and all but ran over to the viscount, and his eyebrows rose as you approached. 

“Miss Worthing?” he greeted with a hint of confusion, though he didn’t get the chance to continue. 

“Anthony,” you breathed, coming to a stop in front of him as you loosened your grip on your skirt, “I am in dire need of your assistance.”

“Lord—“ he began to correct almost instinctively, but you shook your head.

“I’ve no time for a lecture,” you interrupted. “I need you to court me.”

He looked so utterly dumbfounded that if your social life wasn’t in the hanging you would have laughed. “Excuse me?” 

“I need you to court me,” you repeated. “Right now.” 

Anthony frowned. “My lady, are you feeling alright?”

“No,” you responded curtly, “no, I am not alright, seeing as the one man that my mother seems intent on me marrying is the single most despicable man in all the world. There is no possible way for me to get out of it alone, which is why I need your assistance.” 

He looked completely vexed, so many emotions warring on his face that you could hardly pick out one from the bunch. “I apologize for your predicament, but what could I possibly have to do with this?” 

“My mother is so intent on the union because he is a baron, and she is fully convinced that all of our problems will go away when I become a baroness alongside him. Because a man of such rank is interested in me, she will not be satisfied with anything less. But you—” you gestured towards him with your hand, a smile blooming on your face, “—you are a viscount. You are more, not less, and if I am thought to become a viscountess myself, then both my mother and every other suitor, especially Lord Cardew, will finally leave me be.” 

“Now I am even more convinced you have fallen ill,” Anthony muttered. “May I, if no one else has, inform you of how ill-advised a plan like this is?” He shook his head, that incredulous expression still on his face. “Even if it wasn’t, this is coming out of the blue — I do not want to marry you, my lady.” 

“Nor I you!” you exclaimed. “You’ve as little desire as I to be bound in a marriage; what better option than pretending to have eyes for each other to avoid a true commitment? At the end of the season, we will stage an argument after we’ve realized that we cannot continue into a union with each other, because I find you completely infuriating and you realize that I am simply far too good for you—”

“Excuse me?” 

You ignored him as you continued on your tirade. “You will no longer be courting me then — you will be free to delay your search for yet another season, and I will be free to live the life of a spinster.” 

Anthony frowned once more; you feared if he continued like this in your conversations, his brow would be permanently furrowed. “I was not aware that was a desirable status for a woman like yourself.”

“Well, perhaps not the title, but the life…” You sighed dreamily, allowing yourself to gaze off for a moment before looking back to Anthony. “An unmarried life would allow me the freedom I have always dreamed of. All I require is your fake courtship for one season, just one, and I will be able to find the rest of the way on my own.” 

Anthony was silent for a beat before he sighed. “I sympathize with your plight, Miss Worthing — it is one that Eloise finds herself in as well — but there is little I can do for you. This is not a matter I should be involved in; it is a conversation much better suited for your own family.”

“Do you believe that I have not tried?” you bemoaned, gesturing with exasperated motions. “The life that I want is one that you could have for yourself at any time. If you ever tire of society and decide you no longer want to be the man of the house, you could up and leave and no one would hear from Anthony Bridgerton again. You have seven siblings to leave in your wake, all there to pick up after you should you go. But for me — the sole daughter, the sole child of the Worthing family — I will never be able to have that life. Not without more sacrifice than I alone am able to give.” 

Anthony opened his mouth to respond, but all he did was stare at you with unwavering eyes, the silence in between the two of you weighing heavily in the air.

You screwed your eyes shut as you heard your name called in a familiarly unwanted voice, and with a shaky breath you opened them and looked at Anthony. The saccharine sweet smile you offered him was undercut by the pure desperation in your eyes as you lowered your voice to a whisper. “You’re out of time, my lord.” 

Just as the words left your mouth the man you’d been trying to avoid turned the corner, and you took in and let out a deep breath in preparation as you inched closer to Anthony. 

“Miss Worthing!” the baron exclaimed as he came to a stop in front of you, and you had to hold back a grimace at his bow. 

“Lord Cardew,” you greeted, latching onto Anthony’s arm as quickly as you could. Though Anthony stiffened at your touch, he allowed it. “I admit, I was not expecting you tonight.” 

“You have been a tricky one to find, my lady. You all but disappeared after our dance.” The lord’s smile quickly faded as Anthony cleared his throat next to you, and in a move that surprised you, pulled you closer to him. 

“Have you considered that it was by design?” he asked curtly, and you had to hold back your shock. “Miss Worthing is quite busy at the moment.” 

“Is that so?” Lord Cardew folded his arms behind his back, his expression unreadable. “Bridgerton, surely you are not suggesting—” 

“That he is courting me?” you interrupted with a slight smile. “It is more than a suggestion, my lord — it is the truth. I’m sorry to say that I am quite occupied; for the rest of the season, might I add.” 

The lord carefully controlled his surprise, the emotion only betrayed by the slightest raise of his brow as he looked at Anthony. “This is quite prominent news — such official courting, and so early on in the season? I had not heard even a word of it until just now.”  

“It is the truth, Cardew,” Anthony answered, “I assure you. It is high time I’ve found a wife, and I believe there could be none better than Miss Worthing.” 

“How interesting,” he noted tersely, his eyes set on you as he spoke. “It is a disappointment you lose your eligibility so soon, my lady. Though perhaps there is still time for your head to be turned for a more… suitable match.” 

“You dare to question Miss Worthing’s honor?” Anthony pressed, and he pulled you closer to him ever so slightly. “I will not have a man such as yourself setting his eyes upon my future wife and insulting her so.”

Lord Cardew set his jaw before he bowed his head reluctantly to both you and Anthony. “My sincerest apologies, Bridgerton—” 

“Lord Bridgerton,” Anthony interrupted, and once again you had to bite back your smile at the baron’s visible frustration. 

“...My sincerest apologies, Lord Bridgerton,” he corrected, but Anthony tutted. 

“I believe you owe an apology to the lady as well.” 

“Do not test me,” Lord Cardew snapped. “And do not think I will give up so easily on account of your ridiculous claim.” 

“Watch yourself, Cardew,” Anthony warned. “Should it come down to it, you do not want an enemy in me.” 

Lord Cardew glowered at Anthony for so long the tension could be felt in the air, until he finally released his anger in a huff and stormed off in a way unbecoming of a gentleman. With every step he took away from you, the more the weight on your shoulders dissolved.

“That is the man your mother wants you to marry?” Anthony marveled.

You nodded as you smoothed your dress down and let out a haggard breath. “It is a rather damning fate, is it not?” 

“Indeed,” he murmured, his own gaze fixed in the distance from where Lord Cardew left. “I suppose it is fortunate you have another suitor.” 

“It is,” you agreed. “Though I must admit, I did not expect you to go along with me.”

“It was just as much of a surprise to me,” Anthony admitted, and when you turned to him he still seemed slightly shocked. 

“Then I am all the more thankful for it. You have no idea how much you have just saved me.”

“I cannot believe what you have dragged me into,” Anthony lamented, and as he extracted his arm from your grasp you took a few steps away from him. 

“Do not worry,” you reassured. “I promise, it is nothing but a ruse — just to keep that awful man away from me until he finds a match in a lady that is not me.” 

“And how long will that take?

“I haven’t the slightest,” you offered with a tight smile, “but I pray it will be soon.”  

Anthony let out a loose sigh as he rubbed his forehead. “This is going to be a very long season.” 

“Indeed it will be.” You cleared your throat and took a moment to readjust the neckline of your dress before offering your hand to Anthony. “Now. Shall we indulge the ton with a dance to close out their night and give them something worthwhile to gossip about?” 

“I believe I am the one meant to offer you my hand,” he noted. 

You shrugged. “I suppose I am already preparing for my freedom outside of society.” 

Anthony stared at you for a moment before his lips quirked up. “You certainly waste no time.” 

“One must be efficient if they wish to get anything out of life.” You extended your hand further, your own smile blooming. 

“I agree.” Anthony took your hand and placed it on the crook of his elbow. “Shall we?” 

You nodded. “We shall.” 

— 

Lady Danbury’s ball had been the place of endless gossip after your first dance with Anthony — you now understood how he felt during the social season, for you were now, along with him, the talk of the ton, the center of attention from dozens of miffed mothers. To them, you were the childish, thankless, pathetic excuse for a lady that had taken away their daughter’s chance at viscountess. You had to admit, you did not at all enjoy the spotlight, and on your third dance you’d started to wonder if this truly was the best option — for both your sanity and your feet. 

After all you had committed yourself to in the night before, you had been looking forward to at least sleeping soundly once you retired for the evening. And though you had been granted the relief, it was taken away far too early.

The steps of your lady’s maid alerted you to her presence even before she threw the drapes open, sunlight immediately filtering into your room. 

“Julia,” you groaned as you covered your eyes from the fresh rays with your arm, “you know I adore you, but I do not know how much longer I can handle these early wakings.” 

“My sincerest apologies miss, but your mother insisted upon it.” 

That was the quickest way to get your attention. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and when you looked up, you were, true to Julia’s word, greeted with your mother. 

“What are you doing here so early?” you mumbled, turning onto your side and burying your head in your pillows to avoid the sun. “I don’t have any arrangements planned.”

“The newest edition of Whistledown came this morning,” she explained, walking over to sit down on the side of your bed. “And my dear, you must read it.”

You groaned once more, reluctantly turning over and sitting up as your mother offered you the pamphlet. 

Dearest Reader,

Is there anything as exciting as the beginning of a brand new season? The ton comes to life once more, with frantic mamas and earnest debutantes all finishing last minute preparations in the hopes that they will be crowned the season’s diamond. I certainly know it is a modiste’s favorite time of year. 

You raised an eyebrow at her. “This is truly thrilling news, mother.”

She hit your elbow lightly and pointed towards the end of the edition. “Skip here.”

I had not anticipated delivering this news so early on in the season, nor ever, if I am being truthful, but I do admit it excites me. It appears as though two of the most stubborn heads to set foot in London have found solace in each other, in a move that not even I expected. 

The rumors are indeed true: The Viscount Bridgerton has finally commenced his search for a wife after years of rakedom, and his choice in courtship is none other than Miss Y/N Worthing. Both are known for their outspoken views against marriage, but maybe it is the common dissatisfaction that has brought the pair together. Whatever the reason, they are sure to shake up England together. 

I am ever looking forward to how this courting will end, so fret not; every step of this unusual union will be uncovered. Oh, gentlest reader, I only hope you are just as intrigued as I.  

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown. 

You hummed, unenthused as you handed the leaflet back to her. “I’m in Whistledown.”

“Unbelievable,” your mother said with a shake of her head, and you closed your eyes as you let your head fall back against the pillows. “This is huge, darling!” 

“Really, mother?” you sighed. “You pay no mind to any of my other accomplishments, but getting mentioned by Lady Whistledown is worth your attention. I do not understand it.” 

“It is not Lady Whistledown I am concerned with,” your mother admonished with a glance in your direction, “you know that. It is the fact that you are being courted by Anthony Bridgerton! My darling, you are to be a Bridgerton! Oh, I am so proud of you!” 

How ironic, you thought, that the one thing your mother is proud of you for is something that is not even real. It truly is just your luck. 

“Yes,” you responded idly, “it is quite exciting. But there is no guarantee that I will be a Bridgerton, mother. All the viscount did was request a dance, and all I did was indulge him. It can hardly even be considered courting.” 

She sighed, immensely exasperated. “One does not simply dance with an eligible lady as a bachelor if one does not intend on courtship. Have I not taught you anything?”

“On the contrary, I argue that you have taught me far too much.” You fixed her with a pointed look. “I should think there is no room left for anything of actual importance after all the meaningless dances and instruments you have forced me to learn.”

“I understand you are not a fan of quadrilles, but do not lie to me and say that you do not enjoy the violin.” Her lips quirked up in amusement, and you could see in her eyes she was going back to it. “That was a particularly interesting summer, when you decided to try your hand at as many instruments as you could find.”

You chuckled. “Well, if we couldn’t afford a teacher, I was going to try as many as possible to see what clicked. I just did not anticipate enjoying all of them so much.” 

Your mother smiled at you, and you were reminded of how fond you were of her company when marriage wasn’t on her mind. “You are certainly more gifted than me at the pianoforte — I was a complete wreck. My voice was my saving grace.” 

You laughed again with a knowing nod — your mother accompanied you more times than you could remember with her singing, steadfast through every single instrument you insisted on learning. But your thoughts were interrupted with a yawn, and you covered your mouth with the palm of your hand, giving your mother a soft smile once it passed. 

“As much as I am enjoying these memories, I must admit I am exhausted,” you said as you leaned back against your pillows. “And your early rising for the sake of Whistledown has not helped.”

“Darling,” your mother sighed. “Ladies start their day bright and early — now that you have debuted, you do not get to laze around all morning and read all day. You have duties you must attend to.” 

“I do not have any engagements today!” you protested. “If you so approve of the viscount courting me, I am in need of my rest to deal with him. He is quite a handful.” 

Before your mother could respond, another maid poked her head in through the open door. “Excuse me, misses — forgive me for the interruption, but Miss Worthing has a caller. He is waiting in the drawing room.” 

Your mother’s eyes widened with excitement as she stood up from your bed, satisfaction underneath her smile. “You do have an engagement, my dear, and I cannot wait to see who. Maybe it is the viscount himself!” She squeezed her hands together, her smile growing larger by the second. “Oh, how exciting!” 

Before she exited your room she looked at your lady’s maid. “Julia, will you assist her in getting ready? I do not trust her judgment on such an important matter.” 

“Of course, my lady,” she nodded, and you blew out a loose sigh as your mother closed the door behind her. 

If this truly was Anthony, you needed to ensure any future meetings were set at a much later hour. Elsewise, you would not survive this courtship either. 

—

“So,” Julia couldn’t help the smile on her lips as she laced up your corset, meeting your eyes in the mirror, “you must explain to me how you have gone from an avid hater of marriage to being courted by Anthony Bridgerton, of all men! I believe we have stood in this exact same position before, only with the topic of conversation being his latest outrageous act by word of Miss Eloise rather than his courtship of you.” 

You sighed, shivering slightly as her cold fingers brushed over your shoulder, and shook your head. “I do not even think I can give you an answer to that, Jules. It certainly is… something.”

She chuckled and began to help you into the dress she had selected, the light blue fabric embroidered with white thread designs hanging off of your build in a simple but flattering way. “Whatever the reason may be, I hope you know I am proud of you. I know it is not easy to embark on a journey like this, especially one you have been so firm in denying, but I have the utmost faith that you will succeed. You are doing a great service to your family.”

You opened your mouth to say something but she interrupted you with that slight smile again. “And before you claim the opposite, know that I have always been proud of you, not just in your social season. You have blossomed into a truly wonderful lady, and that will not change whether or not you gain the weight of a ring on your finger.” 

Your lips quirked up into a small smile of your own as Julia laid a locket around your neck, letting your hair go once she clasped the two ends together. “What would I do without you?” 

“Most likely find another much less willing servant to rant to,” she joked. “But you needn’t worry — I am not going anywhere.” 

“And for that, I am eternally thankful,” you said, “though I do not think I am granted the same fate.” 

Julia smiled and smoothed out the sleeves of your dress before she turned you around, that steadfast confidence in her eyes that you knew so well helping to calm your nerves. “You will do just fine, my lady. Anthony Bridgerton is only above you in title and nothing else — I have the utmost faith that you can handle him.”

You had no worries about handling him — your troubles lay more in the fact that your arrangement was nothing more than an illusion. Anthony was not particularly known for his patience, and though you had an agreement, your fears were anchored in the true reliability of your fake beau. It was not at all out of the realm of possibility for the viscount to reach his limit and ruin this entire thing for the both of you. 

Though you often aired your troubles to your lady’s maid, you could not do that now— not when your troubles were of such a sort. So instead you merely took a deep breath as you smoothed out your skirt and adjusted the neckline of your dress.

“Indeed. Now,” you turned to face her with a smile, “shall we?”

-

You trailed through the hallways of your estate with Julia by your side, trying not to show too much of your disdain. Anthony’s courtship of you did not mean you had to act the part of a doting lady, but it did mean your civility was required. 

Of course, a small part of you hoped that it was not Anthony who sat in your drawing room. The amiability required by his courtship was not necessary for a normal suitor — at least if another man was your caller, you needn’t hold your tongue.

Your hopes were dashed the moment you stepped inside the open doors of your drawing room, trying your best to keep a straight face at the sight of the viscount. He did not share your feelings, made obvious by the smile that bloomed on his lips as he stood up from the couch.

“Ah, Miss Worthing!” he greeted. “I was wondering when you would show.”

You responded with a tight smile of your own. “When one shows up unannounced, he should expect delays. In fact, he should consider himself lucky for even earning an audience.”

Your mother laughed uncomfortably as she stood up from her chair, guiding you over to Anthony with an arm on your shoulder. 

“Forgive my daughter, Viscount Bridgerton, please,” she said with the voice of an exasperated mother. “It is still early, and she has not yet broken her fast — she is slightly irritable.”

“It is of no worry, Lady Worthing,” he reassured, and Anthony sat down with you. “I hope I was not an imposition.”

“You—”

“—Are not at all!” Your mother interrupted once again before you could say he most certainly was. She settled in her chair and picked up her embroidery hoop once more, offering a pleasant smile to the two of you. “Please, feel free to converse as if I am not even here.”

You offered her a tight, mocking smile as you turned to Anthony, lowering your voice so as to keep your insults private.

“You are a cruel man,” you muttered, glancing at your mother out of the corner of your eye to ensure she could not hear your true words. “This was not how I hoped our partnership would begin.” 

“However so?” Anthony asked, tilting his head to the side slightly. He was clearly enjoying your pain, of which he was the cause. It was truly irritating. “If I recall correctly, this entire affair was your idea.”

“Showing up as an unannounced caller, and at this hour nonetheless?” You shook your head. “This arrangement is meant to be equally beneficial. I cannot benefit if I am forced to bear constant early wakings.”

“I am an early riser, my lady,” he said, and you could not figure out whether or not his austerity was genuine. “And I have long held the belief that the morning is the best time to achieve anything, when one’s mind is at its most alert.” 

“Your ‘alert mind’ is doing you no good if you are unable to see the effect this has on me,” you said, glaring very pointedly at him as you lowered your voice even more. “This is a fake courtship. None of this is necessary.”

“I see it very clearly. I figured putting up with my own sudden visits could be your payment in return for springing something like this on me at the last possible moment,” Anthony said. ”As you know, I am a man of honor, a gentleman at that— if you want anyone to believe this, you will have to deal with my actions.”

“You could have refused,” you pointed out. 

“I should hope you do not see me as horrid enough to allow that man to actually court you,” Anthony countered with a slight frown. 

“Daphne’s season spells out something entirely different.” 

“You are aware of how much longer this arrangement will seem if you insist on arguing your way through it,” he said dryly.

“It is in my nature,” you responded with a smile. “It is how I’ve managed to avoid suitors thus far.” 

He hummed. “Perhaps I should have been taking tips from you long before this season. No matter how often I expressed my intentions to stay unmarried, countless mothers continued to all but throw their daughters at me. It’s not enjoyable in the slightest.” 

“Imagine how the young ladies feel,” you mused. “Being forced to try their hand at you knowing you fully despise them.” 

Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Is that not what any suitor considering you must deal with?” 

Your nose crinkled at the idea. “I… suppose you are indeed correct.” 

“I often am,” he responded, his smugness not lost on you. 

Your gaze flitted away from him for a moment before an idea popped into your head. Thus far, it seemed that this fake courtship between you and Viscount Bridgerton would be a test of who could irritate the other the most without breaking the illusion you were creating. 

Two could certainly play at that game. 

“Why yes, my lord!” you exclaimed, purposefully raising your voice so that your conversation could now be heard. In your peripherals you saw your mother look up from her embroidery hoop as well as Anthony’s sudden frown, and you could hardly hold back your smile. “I would love to visit the marketplace with you. How kind of you to notice that I am in need of a new reticule.” 

Your scheme quickly dawned on him, but beyond the slightest crease of his eyebrows there was no sign of the distaste surely brewing underneath the surface. 

“The marketplace?” You turned as your mother spoke, a satisfied smile on her lips. “That sounds like a lovely idea, Lord Bridgerton. Thank you immensely for your kindness.”

“Of course,” he replied easily, and after he stood up himself he offered a hand to you. You stood up without it, causing only an amused expression to flit across Anthony’s face as he looked over at your mother. “Should you like to accompany us?”

“Oh, no.” She brushed it off with her hand as she beamed at you. “I do not want to intrude on the new lovers. Julia, would you please chaperone them?”

Your lady’s maid nodded with a smile. “Of course, my lady.”

Anthony offered his arm to you, and this time you took it, albeit very begrudgingly. “Do you hear that?” he muttered with obvious amusement, leaning to speak into your ear as the two of you walked out. “We are new lovers.”

“You could at least act as if you are not enjoying this,” you whispered back. 

“Oh, but I am,” he smiled. “And you should be as well! This was your idea, and yet you are already completely miserable. What were you thinking when you proposed this to me?”

You huffed. “I was thinking the man that has avoided marriage for his entire life would not be so insistent on conducting a real courtship.”

Anthony simply chuckled. “Then it appears you still have much to learn about me.” 

-

The fresh air of the London streets helped in clearing your mind as you strolled through the marketplace, despite the fact that you were arm in arm with Anthony Bridgerton. It did bring you some satisfaction to know that you had at least dealt yourself into the fold with this outing, but you had a feeling Anthony could play this game far better than you. 

After all, a man did not become the head of his household and prepare his myriad of siblings for their respective seasons without picking up some skills of his own, even if he has not yet chosen a wife — especially if he was without a wife, it seemed, as Anthony had all the charm and knowledge of how to seduce a lady and yet none of the results. You surmised that was just the way he liked it. 

If anything, this was just as much of a game to him as it was to you. Some way to make himself feel like even more of a gentleman while avoiding the ton and having a bit of fun all the same. 

“My lady, did you hear me?” 

You blinked a few times as you looked to Anthony, shaking your head. “Apologies. My thoughts are much more interesting than you.”

He chuckled. “You wound me so, Miss Worthing. However am I to cope knowing the woman I am courting does not see me the same way?” 

“Do you always act like this?” you questioned. “Because if that is the case, it is certainly no wonder you have not found a wife. You are far too irritating for any lady to possibly stand.” 

“Did you choose me for your task simply to ridicule me?” Anthony asked instead. “Although I admit I enjoy your company, Miss Worthing, I am not sure if I can handle an entire season of insults.”

“You have seven siblings,” you said. “You have handled fifteen years of insults.”  

“Ah, but they are all the more scathing coming from you.” You chuckled a bit at his words, and Anthony continued. “But truly, what was your reason for choosing me over any other man?”

“I chose you because of your title,” you said simply.

“There must be other viscounts or earls for you to rope into this scheme,” Anthony said, “other men that do not annoy you half as much as I.”

You smiled a bit. “Truth be told, you are the only one I am acquainted with that is of higher ranking than the baron. Even if I knew others, the plan only came to mind when I saw you out in the gardens last night, and you are the only one that I could think of that would even entertain my offer.” 

Anthony hummed in acknowledgment. “It is rather fortunate I was there, then— it will be a welcome reprieve for the season, not having to deal with mamas throwing their daughters at me left and right.”

“See?” you said. “It was purposeful on my part. Mutually beneficial, just as I told you.”

He chuckled, and you smiled. The two of you continued to walk idly through the marketplace, his attention lingering on each stall for a few seconds before passing to the next. The silence between the two of you was surprisingly comfortable, especially with the ambiance of the city you so enjoyed, which is why the question that came out surprised you just as much as him. 

“Why did you choose me?” 

Anthony gave you a curious look. “I’m afraid you have to be more specific, my lady.” 

“By agreeing to this ruse, you chose me, just as I chose you,” you said. “Why would you do such a thing when you are not yet officially looking for a wife?”  

“…I suppose your words struck me,” he responded. “Your position is not one of envy— the sole heir to a family in need, put on a pedestal to a horde of suitors that you don’t desire in the slightest. I am in a similar position, having to marry for the good of my family, but you are correct. The level of scrutiny I face is nowhere near the amount you must put up with, and the idea of you marrying…” Anthony grimaced, “that sorry excuse for a man? No one with good conscience could deny you.”

“So you accepted because of sympathy,” you said.

He chuckled. “Perhaps. Would you rather I outright denied you?”

You smiled yourself as you shrugged. “No. I just enjoy questioning everything you do.”

Anthony shook his head, though he was clearly amused. “Perhaps we should continue this courtship for real— you already bother me as much as a true wife.”

And at that, you laughed aloud. “And you irritate me as much as a true husband.” You glanced behind you to see your lady’s maid walking a distance behind you, pretending not to listen but very obviously eavesdropping.

Anthony glanced back as well and looked at you, catching onto it. “Will she be a problem?”

“Julia?” you asked, and when he nodded you laughed again. “Spare no mind — she has been one of my closest confidantes, and I hers, for as long as I can remember. Should she overhear anything, she will not repeat it.”

“You are close with your lady’s maid?” Anthony asked, and you frowned.

“Are you not acquainted with your manservants?”

“No,” he said, “they are simply servants. I’m friendly with them of course, but certainly not close. Not to the level of sharing secrets.”

“I cannot imagine that,” you sighed. “We employed her three years ago, and since then she has become one of my best friends. Julia knows some of my closest secrets— not having such a bond with the person who spends so much time with you is nearly impossible in my eyes.”

Anthony went silent, and when you looked over you saw him staring at you with an odd look in his eyes.

“What?” you asked, and he shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said, and then he stopped you in front of a market stall that was selling coin purses and reticules. “Should we complete the task we embarked on this journey for?”

You wanted to push him on the subject of his thoughts, but you decided not to as you gave him a smile instead. “So formal, my lord. But I suppose it cannot hurt.”

Anthony picked up a light blue reticule, the white embroidered floral pattern particularly catching your eye. “This one rather suits you, I think. It matches your gown.”

“You’ve got quite an eye!” you exclaimed, taking it from him and holding it up to your dress. You weren’t one to indulge in luxuries such as mindless shopping — you couldn’t quite afford it, to be truthful — but… it did compliment your outfit, and it was a lovely purse.

But you did not even have a chance to deliberate any further, as Anthony was already talking with the merchant. Before you knew it he was thanking her and handing over coin, and you raised your eyebrows at him.

“What?” he said, having the gall to not even look ashamed. “You did say you were in need of a new reticule.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, tell him that you could not afford to waste money on trivial things such as purses out of instinct, but you realized you did not have to. It was the Bridgerton’s coin, and they were far more affluent than your family— with seven children, they had to be. 

And if it was on the Bridgerton’s coin, did it really matter? Would you not be expected to accept gifts from the gentleman courting you? 

“...Thank you,” you finally said, and you beckoned Julia over. 

“What do you think?” you asked as she stopped next to you, holding it up in front of you to model it. “Does the viscount have a better eye for fashion than I thought?”

Julia grinned. “It is as lovely as you, my lady. The color compliments you perfectly.”

“You flatter me so,” you said with a smile. 

“I only tell the truth, Y/N,” she insisted, and you chuckled. “If I may, I’m in need of a few items— do you mind if I wander for a bit?”

“Of course,” you nodded. “Would you like us to wait for you?”

Julia shook her head. “I know the way by heart; I will be fine. Enjoy your time with the viscount.”

She winked at you as she walked past, and you couldn’t stifle your laugh as you rolled your eyes. She would be the death of you, you were certain.

“Shall we, then?” Anthony offered his arm to you, and you nodded as you took it. The two of you began to walk again, the conversation picking up once more.

“Your workers call you by your name?” he asked, and you raised your eyebrows. 

“Not all of us are viscounts of important families, Anthony,” you said. “I do not see the need for someone I regard as closely as a sister to call me by a title I’ve no use for. Many would certainly argue I am in no way a lady.” 

“If your family is viewed in such a way, then why not try to change their opinion? Why not marry a man of higher standing, bring the Worthing name up with you, and prove the ton wrong?”

“I’ve no need for you to impart your wisdom upon me, Lord Bridgerton,” you chuckled. “In terms of high society, yes, my family is wildly poor. But if we were to just exit the ton, live a normal life in middle class sections of the city, or even move to the country where we can have an even simpler existence, then all of our problems would be solved.” You sighed deeply. “But I do not think my parents will ever choose to do so. I’ve no idea why they are so set on us remaining in Mayfair.” 

“You used my title,” Anthony mused, the statement coming out of nowhere after a weighted moment of silence. “Was a walk together all it took for you to find it in yourself a modicum of respect?”

You let out a laugh and looked at him with mirth twinkling in your eyes. “If this walk somehow earned you my respect, then the clarification of it has certainly lost it. Besides; I thought it quite obvious I was merely joking.” 

“The more time I spend with you, the more I think that half the insults towards me in Eloise’s repertoire have in fact come from you.” Anthony gave you a pointed look. “Have you anything at all to say about turning my sister against me?” 

You shrugged. “I cannot be blamed for Eloise’s own creativity. However she chooses to express it is out of my control.” 

Anthony chuckled and glanced away for a moment, before a surprisingly soft gaze found its way to you. 

“You are much more than I expected.” He did not say it with disdain, rather an unexpected lightness. Maybe the viscount was not the way that you expected either, with walls surrounding his emotions impenetrable even by the queen’s army and a mind set only on business matters. Maybe it was possible that Anthony Bridgerton truly had a heart. 

But you could not tell him that you were already beginning to see him in a different light — no, that would mark you as the loser of this game you’d started. You were quite good at irritating others, Anthony included, as you’d realized after years of friendship with Eloise. It could not be too difficult to continue it under the guise of a courtship. 

So instead you shrugged, an amused smile on your lips. “Perhaps there is still much for you to learn of me.” 

And in that moment, looking into Anthony’s eyes, you would’ve given anything to hear his thoughts. But you could not, and so when he smiled back at you, it was merely a smile.

“Perhaps there is," he said.

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator

bridgerton tags: @theonewithallthemilkshakes @milkiane

anthony bridgerton tags: @gwenebear @lurkymurker @likeballet @tommymcartney

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fic #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton fanfic #x reader #bridgerton imagine #sadie writes

[chubs-deuce]

I am... confused as to what age the other anon thinks Charlie is but if she was so young she wouldn't be able to canonly date Vaggie, who I'm pretty sure is in her 20s

So why wouldn't she be able to be shipped with Alastor? I think Rosie was just teasing him about bringing a girl to her, anyways. Introducing someone you're close to to someone else you're close to, I could see it as a big relationship deal and I too would probably tease my friend

Idk man :'D

Sounds to me like someone was just really jumping to the most surface level conclusions without much critical thinking, it happens.

I think the comment might've just made them think that Alastor is like. Canonically double her age or something, which is really funny considering the opposite is the case by a long shot. Rosie likely just said that bc he came in with a young looking, objecitvely very pretty girly, so it's an easy jab to make - it's just friendly banter between acquaintances. [some further thoughts I ended up having about aging in hell under the cut]

It's really hard to guess how old Alastor would actually be tbh since sinners' demon forms generally seem to hardly reflect their actual ages, so he could've honestly died in an age range that's anywhere from mid-20s to mid-50s.

(And at least based on how stubbornly driven to achieve his mysterious goals he is and how childishly petty, if not outright violent he gets when his authority, power and/or control are questioned; and the fact that he is finding himself with a bad deal at his hands now that he's struggling to escape - so I presume he accepted it recklessly, not something a wise old man would do - I'd say he likely died on the younger side of that range.)

And if he died in the 1930s and clearly managed to not get himself killed all the way into what I'm guessing is the 2020s, then that adds like 90 years of further existence in hell.

But that still only amounts to about 110-130 years total.

Charlie's 200+ years completely eclipse that lmfao.

That does make me curious though how old Vaggie actually is then, we don't know if she's a human soul that has been alive on earth before going to heaven and becoming an exorcist, or if she's a natively heaven-born kind of creation...

UItimately... these characters are all adults at the end of the day, and as such they could all do whatever they want, hypothetical age gap or not - it's honestly not like that sort of thing is even really something we can track in this "nobody ages once they're here and can only die at heaven's hands" sort of setting, so I don't see why it should matter that much ^^"

Like-

Say, hypothetically, you die at age 16 and go to hell, where you then continue to exist for an infinite amount of time. Are you now perpetually and forever a minor? Do you count the years you spend in hell on top of your human age despite not actually aging on a physical level in any capacity?

I'm gonna go on a limb here and say that bothering with age gaps in Hazbin Hotel makes little sense, since the inherent issue with those always boils down to unbalanced power dynamics and uninformed and/or coerced consent anyways - factors that are easy to define as bad and we all understand are objectively toxic.

#charlastor #not the focus but mentioned and tangentially considered in my ramblings but still #hazbin hotel spoilers #chubs answers

[theinnerunderrain]

Their favorite attributes of you

Characters: Kaeya and Diluc.

Warnings: Yandere themes, suggestive content, unhealthy relationships, violence.

+

Your words.

Kaeya never really regarded himself to be a verbose man, despite his reputation for being one. Kaeya enjoyed engaging in conversations with a variety of people, from light-hearted banter to in-depth debates from time to time but it wasn't his favorite pastime. Kaeya, however, prefers to listen to your voice above his own during exchanges between the two of you.

As long as Kaeya can hear your voice and acknowledge what you were expressing, he would do whatever it took to aggravate you, even if it meant employing the crudest insults and taunts. He does not really mind if you spew hateful and vicious things as long as he can hear you speak.

Although ordinary social interaction usually meets his demands, hearing your thoughts while you're under his authority seems to be almost certainly more pleasurable. He is enamoured by how quickly your speech becomes agitated, how a tiny movement raises your voice to a high note, and how a simple nibble makes your heart quiver. Your speech becomes slurred anytime his hands brush a lower portion of your body as even the smallest stroke or trace of his fingertips on your flesh can easily cause you to fall undone.

Then your words begin to sound sickeningly sweet, as if another woman had seized control of your body and coerced you into speaking certain seductive sentiments.

As though a lustful devil has taken possession of you.

But Kaeya doesn't mind. Even whether you screamed in wrath or joy at him, or if you sobbed and begged him to let you go. Kaeya doesn't care how you're feeling as long as he can hear you speak and hear you.

As long as your voice is solely his.

It doesn't matter.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue? Why don't you continue, it seemed like you were finally getting to the interesting part of the tale. I'm waiting, so do continue."

Your eyes.

The brilliance in your eyes seems to be something Diluc cherishes. Even on the gloomiest of days, the illumination within your eyes is joyous and brilliant, like the beacon at the coast that offers the travelers a glimmer of direction. He enjoyed the way your eyes could catch his reflection in them when they peered at him through your heavy eyelashes, fluttering at him in a youthful manner.

He liked how they would look up at him and beg for things he couldn't quite comprehend, but he knew you were pleading for something.

His mind wandered to the innocent deer whose round, doe eyes he used to constantly glimpse in the forest next to the winery, looking timid and fragile. Which might occasionally—more accurately, on extremely rare occasions—provoke the urge in him to slay the deer and hold it in his possession. However, he simply is unable to carry out that thinking; he simply cannot.

Diluc could see everything in the recesses of your eyes. From his aspirations to his wishes to his ambitions to his objectives to his thoughts to his thoughts to his secrets to even his whole existence, which he wanted you to be a part of forever. He observed life through your eyes, predicted the birth of your children, and imagined how you would appear while carrying the blessing you two had created.

He saw it all.

Diluc was by no means an artist, therefore his ability to portray the glimmer in your eyes was severely constrained. Even if he had attempted to portray the serenity of your eyes, all the painting truly achieves is to take that allure away from you, turning you into a doll inside a work of art. In the painting, they resembled glass orbs since they were polished and dark which wasn't something Diluc wanted to see.

That's the reason he was willing to rearrange his schedule just to spend more time with you; he enjoyed taking walks around gardens and listening to you chat about your days, as well as the way your eyes would brighten at certain points. It makes him forget about all the suffering and pain he's gone through and temporarily frees him from his misdeeds.

Your eyes are indeed beautiful.

He doesn't deserve to look at them.

"I love you."

However, there can be instances when he prefers that you keep your eyes shut, particularly during the still hours before morning when he might softly make meaningful confessions. Confessions that are only audible if you listen carefully, as they have the potential to be hollow as swift as the wind, leaving him to flee whenever you awaken.

He was relieved that he couldn't see your eyes staring at him in dread when he leans in to steal a quick kiss from your sleeping form when your eyes are completely closed.

Your eyes are beautiful.

However, it would be better if they were closed to filter out the bloodied corpse of your lover.

"Don't cry...I'm sorry you had to see this. Don't worry everything will be alright, come here. I'm sorry I had to do this."

#yandere fanfiction #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin au #yandere x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere diluc #yandere diluc x reader #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #yandere kaeya x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeyagenshinimpact #kaeya alberich #genshin impact kaeya #kaeya x you #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc x y/n

[docgold13]

Profiles in Villainy

Bill Cypher

The enigmatic menace known as Bill Cypher is a powerful entity from the Second Dimension.  The being existed in the second dimension for eons, becoming horribly bored by the ‘flat thinking’ of the 2-D realm. It discovered the much more vibrant world of the third dimension and tried desperately to access it so the being could quell his boredom by wreaking havoc and mayhem on the unsuspecting denizens of the third dimension.  

The being was ultimately able to affect the 3-D world by slithering into a membrane between the dimensions known as the Nightmare Realm.  Although it lacked a corporal form, the being could manipulate the minds of men through their dreams.  It toiled at this endeavor for centuries and its demonic presence came to be known as Bill Cypher The Beast with Just One Eye.

Many years later, a brilliant occult researcher named Stanford Pines traveled to the Gravity Falls area of Oregon to investigate mysterious phenomenas.  Bill Cypher came to Stanford in his dreams and manipulated him into create an ingenious device that would bridge the two universes and allow the destructive entity to gain full access to the third dimension.  Fortunately, tragedy was averted when Stanford’s friend, Fiddleford McGucket, altered him to Bill’s true intentions.  Stanford quickly disassembled the device and hid away the journals regarding how it might be recreated.  Beaten but not bested, Bill Cypher bided its time.  It continued to attempt to coerce others into seeking out Stanford’s journals and creating the bridge that would allow it access to the 3-D world.       

Alex Hirsch provided the voice for Bill Cypher in the animated Series, Gravity Falls.  The villain first appeared in the nineteenth episode, airing on July 12th, 2013.

#Profiles in Villainy #Gravity Falls #Bill Cypher #Alex Hirsch #cut-out #paper art #Villains!

[octopiys]

omg that old guard piece 😮

i did not know i needed this au until now! life changed, thank u

Oh my goodness I'm glad u enjoyed it :D I'm gonna take this ask and use it to infodump the au ideas I had.

Makarov was one of the first immortals (Laswell knew of). He was born during Roman times, kind of like I said, but he was more often known as Emperor Nero, (or one of the worst guys to exist) and only sought to bring about destruction. Now, historically, Nero committed suicide so he wasn't held liable for his actions, but what if this was the moment that Makarov found out he was immortal? And he took this opportunity to continue for what was essentially behind the scenes, toppling empires and governments as he went. The collapse of the Pttoman empire, he fired the first cannon to break down the walls of Constantinople, he gave the idea of the guillotine that then turned into the Reign of Terror, he's bringing about World War 3. He's wild and I hate him but he's a great villain. He almost turned in Laswell to scientists during the scientific exploration during World War 2, and that's when she realized how horrible he was.

Laswell was a World War 1 spy, born in 1887. She was caught over in enemy territory and executed point blank, and only realized she was alive when she woke up in a pit. She and Ghost had been brought about similar ways, it seemed. When she realized she was alive, that she couldn't really die, she disappeared. Years later, during the Great Depression, she met a man who called himself Vladimir. They grew close, until she caught him coercing a world leader into launching an attack, or starting a war, or something extremely serious and something she extremely frowned upon. Eventually, she realized that he had been causing wars and destruction for thousands of years, and left him, disappearing again. Traveling for years on money she'd saved doing odd jobs, or invested, she meets a few other immortals, one named Jonathan Irons, who had been around since Colonial New England, a man also corrupted by Makarov, another man named Frank Woods, a veteran killed in the Vietnam War, later turned CIA operative before once again being "killed" on an op, giving Kate, his mentoree, an in to the American CIA, and where she had been ever since. The only other (outside of the task force) that she had met was her wife, Athena.

Ghost was born around then, and if we stick when he turned immortal, it would've been around the same time he dug himself out of what was essentially his own grave in the comics. He suffocated in that coffin, and then again when he was halfway through the dirt, before finally unearthing himself and making it through the Mexico-Texan border, before again in front of that border patrol guard. Out of all the immortals Laswell knew, he's died the most. When the patrolman discovered he'd lived again, they reported it directly to the General, who passed him on to Laswell, then eventually to Price.

Reader, as said in the previous post, was found to be immortal during that mission when they bled out in front of Price.

Price figured out he was immortal halfway through the Irish Rebellion, when General Duff himself shot him dead, and met Laswell briefly during World War 2. They'd done their best to stay in contact since then, and eventually, Price formed Task Force 141 by working his way into the Queen's air service despite how much his family and first wife would've despised him for it. He met a man named Nikolai, who was killed in the second World War, executed when he was thrown off the ship and drowned by an anchor at the bottom of the ocean. He's taken a fancy to the skies since then. He still doesn't know how the man escaped. Must've taken years.

Soap is killed by Makarov, we know now. Seems like his whole heart wasn't set on dying, because he didn't stay that way, and we all know John MacTavish sets his whole heart into something before actually doing it. He wasn't determined to die... I guess that's why he didn't.

Gaz is a... Special story. He's the only one who hasn't died yet, and he's almost younger than Soap. It would make no sense that there were two immortals being created at the same time, so in his mind, there's no way in hell that he's one. And he hopes he doesn't have to find out. Not soon anyways. Watching his friends go down each time.... It takes a toll on him, and then they just- they just get back up, like nothing had ever even happened. He's not sure he could do that. Not yet, not soon, at least.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #modern warfare 2 #ghostsoap #captain john price #kyle garrick x reader #kyle 'gaz' garrick #kyle gaz garrick #john price x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john price #john mactavish x reader #kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #vladimir makarov #ask #frank woods #jonathan irons #cod black ops cold war #advanced warfare #cod #nikolai cod #the old guard