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reasonsforhope · 2 months

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When Swiss cardiologist Thomas F. Lüscher attended an international symposium in Turin, Italy, last summer, he encountered an unusual “attendee:” Suzanne, Chat GPT’s medical “assistant.” Suzanne’s developers were eager to demonstrate to the specialists how well their medical chatbot worked, and they asked the cardiologists to test her.

An Italian cardiology professor told the chatbot about the case of a 27-year-old patient who was taken to his clinic in unstable condition. The patient had a massive fever and drastically increased inflammation markers. Without hesitation, Suzanne diagnosed adult-onset Still’s disease. “I almost fell off my chair because she was right,” Lüscher remembers. “This is a very rare autoinflammatory disease that even seasoned cardiologists don’t always consider.”

Lüscher — director of research, education and development and consultant cardiologist at the Royal Brompton & Harefield Hospital Trust and Imperial College London and director of the Center for Molecular Cardiology at the University of Zürich, Switzerland — is convinced that artificial intelligence is making cardiovascular medicine more accurate and effective. “AI is not only the future, but it is already here,” he says. “AI and machine learning are particularly accurate in image analysis, and imaging plays an outsize role in cardiology. AI is able to see what we don’t see. That’s impressive.”

At the Royal Brompton Hospital in London, for instance, his team relies on AI to calculate the volume of heart chambers in MRIs, an indication of heart health. “If you calculate this manually, you need about half an hour,” Lüscher says. “AI does it in a second.”

AI-Assisted Medicine

Few patients are aware of how significantly AI is already determining their health care. The Washington Post tracks the start of the boom of artificial intelligence in health care to 2018. That’s when the Food and Drug Administration approved the IDx-DR, the first independent AI-based diagnostic tool, which is used to screen for diabetic retinopathy. Today, according to the Post, the FDA has approved nearly 700 artificial intelligence and machine learning-enabled medical devices.

The Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, is considered the worldwide leader in implementing AI for cardiovascular care, not least because it can train its algorithms with the (anonymized) data of more than seven million electrocardiograms (ECG). “Every time a patient undergoes an ECG, various algorithms that are based on AI show us on the screen which diagnoses to consider and which further tests are recommended,” says Francisco Lopez-Jimenez, director of the Mayo Clinic’s Cardiovascular Health Clinic. “The AI takes into account all the factors known about the patient, whether his potassium is high, etc. For example, we have an AI-based program that calculates the biological age of a person. If the person in front of me is [calculated to have a biological age] 10 years older than his birth age, I can probe further. Are there stressors that burden him?”

Examples where AI makes a sizable difference at the Mayo Clinic include screening ECGs to detect specific heart diseases, such as ventricular dysfunction or atrial fibrillation, earlier and more reliably than the human eye. These conditions are best treated early, but without AI, the symptoms are largely invisible in ECGs until later, when they have already progressed further...

Antioniades’ team at the University of Oxford’s Radcliffe Department of Medicine analyzed data from over 250,000 patients who underwent cardiac CT scans in eight British hospitals. “Eighty-two percent of the patients who presented with chest pain had CT scans that came back as completely normal and were sent home because doctors saw no indication for a heart disease,” Antioniades says. “Yet two-thirds of them had an increased risk to suffer a heart attack within the next 10 years.” In a world-first pilot, his team developed an AI tool that detects inflammatory changes in the fatty tissues surrounding the arteries. These changes are not visible to the human eye. But after training on thousands of CT scans, AI learned to detect them and predict the risk of heart attacks. “We had a phase where specialists read the scans and we compared their diagnosis with the AI’s,” Antioniades explains. “AI was always right.” These results led to doctors changing the treatment plans for hundreds of patients. “The key is that we can treat the inflammatory changes early and prevent heart attacks,” according to Antioniades.

The British National Health Service (NHS) has approved the AI tool, and it is now used in five public hospitals. “We hope that it will soon be used everywhere because it can help prevent thousands of heart attacks every year,” Antioniades says. A startup at Oxford University offers a service that enables other clinics to send their CT scans in for analysis with Oxford’s AI tool.

Similarly, physician-scientists at the Smidt Heart Institute and the Division of Artificial Intelligence in Medicine at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles use AI to analyze echograms. They created an algorithm that can effectively identify and distinguish between two life-threatening heart conditions that are easy to overlook: hypertrophic cardiomyopathy and cardiac amyloidosis. “These two heart conditions are challenging for even expert cardiologists to accurately identify, and so patients often go on for years to decades before receiving a correct diagnosis,” David Ouyang, cardiologist at the Smidt Heart Institute, said in a press release. “This is a machine-beats-man situation. AI makes the sonographer work faster and more efficiently, and it doesn’t change the patient experience. It’s a triple win.”

Current Issues with AI Medicine

However, using artificial intelligence in clinical settings has disadvantages, too. “Suzanne has no empathy,” Lüscher says about his experience with Chat GPT. “Her responses have to be verified by a doctor. She even says that after every diagnosis, and has to, for legal reasons.”

Also, an algorithm is only as accurate as the information with which it was trained. Lüscher and his team cured an AI tool of a massive deficit: Women’s risk for heart attacks wasn’t reliably evaluated because the AI had mainly been fed with data from male patients. “For women, heart attacks are more often fatal than for men,” Lüscher says. “Women also usually come to the clinic later. All these factors have implications.” Therefore, his team developed a more realistic AI prognosis that improves the treatment of female patients. “We adapted it with machine learning and it now works for women and men,” Lüscher explains. “You have to make sure the cohorts are large enough and have been evaluated independently so that the algorithms work for different groups of patients and in different countries.” His team made the improved algorithm available online so other hospitals can use it too...

[Lopez-Jimenez at the Mayo Clinic] tells his colleagues and patients that the reliability of AI tools currently lies at 75 to 93 percent, depending on the specific diagnosis. “Compare that with a mammogram that detects breast tumors with an accuracy of 85 percent,” Lopez-Jimenez says. “But because it’s AI, people expect 100 percent. That simply does not exist in medicine.”

And of course, another challenge is that few people have the resources and good fortune to become patients at the world’s most renowned clinics with state-of-the-art technology.

What Comes Next

“One of my main goals is to make this technology available to millions,” Lopez-Jimenez says. He mentions that Mayo is trying out high-tech stethoscopes to interpret heart signals with AI. “The idea is that a doctor in the Global South can use it to diagnose cardiac insufficiency,” Lopez-Jimenez explains. “It is already being tested in Nigeria, the country with the highest rate of genetic cardiac insufficiency in Africa. The results are impressively accurate.”

The Mayo Clinic is also working with doctors in Brazil to diagnose Chagas disease with the help of AI reliably and early. “New technology is always more expensive at the beginning,” Lopez-Jimenez cautions, “but in a few years, AI will be everywhere and it will make diagnostics cheaper and more accurate.”

And the Children’s National Hospital in Washington developed a portable AI device that is currently being tested to screen children in Uganda for rheumatic heart disease, which kills about 400,000 people a year worldwide. The new tool reportedly has an accuracy of 90 percent.

Both Lopez-Jimenez and Lüscher are confident that AI tools will continue to improve. “One advantage is that a computer can analyze images at 6 a.m. just as systematically as after midnight,” Lüscher points out. “A computer doesn’t get tired or have a bad day, whereas sometimes radiologists overlook significant symptoms. AI learns something and never forgets it.”

-via Reasons to Be Cheerful, March 1, 2024. Headers added by me.

Note:

Okay, so I'm definitely not saying that everything with AI medicine will go right, and there won't be any major issues. That's definitely not the case (the article talks about some of those issues). But regulation around medicines is generally pretty tight, and

And if it goes right, this could be HUGE for disabled people, chronically ill people, and people with any of the unfortunately many marginalizations that make doctors less likely to listen.

This could shave years off of the time it takes people to get the right diagnosis. It could get answers for so many people struggling with unknown diseases and chronic illness. If we compensate correctly, it could significantly reduce the role of bias in medicine. It could also make testing so much faster.

(There's a bunch of other articles about all of the ways that AI diagnoses are proving more sensitive and more accurate than doctors. This really is the sort of thing that AI is actually good at - data evaluation and science, not art and writing.)

This decade really is, for many different reasons, the beginning of the next revolution in medicine. Luckily, medicine is mostly pretty well-regulated - and of course that means very long testing phases. I think we'll begin to really see the fruits of this revolution in the next 10 to 15 years.

#confession I always struggle a lil bit with taking the mayo clinic seriously #because every. single. time I see it mentioned my first thought is mayonnaise #the mayonnaise clinic #lol

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thebabblingbrookenook · 1 year

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The Viscount Who Loved Me Too Much - Part 1

Pairings - Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary - Modern AU - Reader takes control of her life 1 year post heart transplant. She meets Anthony Bridgerton and learns to ask for what she wants in life.

Warnings - 18+ Please, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count - 6.4K

Author’s Note - This is being laid out as a 4 Part Series. While I do plan to sprinkle in the fluff and smut, eventually the angst will commence. I really hope you all enjoy the premise for this story. Lots of research has been done to keep this as accurate as possible. Naturally, some liberties will be taken because this is a world of fiction and writing over the top scenarios are a writer’s prerogative. I want to say a huge thank you to @eleanor-bradstreet on this one. She has been conspiring with me behind closed doors to bring you guys this steamy, angst filled series. She also is a wonderful beta reader, keeping me from seeming completely illiterate.

____________________

You’ve crossed many milestones in your life. Some of them big, some of them small. No matter the size, they always left you with the baited question of “What’s next?” This time was no different. You battled through the hardest trial of your life, making this your greatest victory. You suspected that was precisely why the proverbial after held infinitely more pressure now. Simply put, you were terrified.

Today marked the one year anniversary of the day you received a new heart. Frailty and fear were meant to be a thing of your past. You refused to bend the knee to their suppression any longer. You had given yourself this arbitrary timeline of not just physical, but emotional recovery. One year, that’s all you were allotted.

According to your doctors, your body was healing ahead of schedule. There were no post surgical infections, no signs of rejecting the organ, even your incision site had already started to fade into a distant memory. That was all within a few months of your surgery.

While your body seemed ready to move on, your brain and this new heart needed more time to reconcile with each other. Perhaps you were still raw from the upending chaos of your experience, but every emotion was heightened now, dragging you along against your will. There were parts of your personality that you didn’t recognize and feelings that you’d never met before. It was almost like you were living with a stranger, spending your days trying to get to know one another. You were still you, but now you carried this wistful longing that you could never quite silence.

You were always a practical person. It didn’t take much for you to feel content, and you rarely found yourself reaching for more than what you thought you needed. But this new heart had a lustful appetite for life that you couldn’t ignore. In the end, you decided to follow its lead. It was time you stopped viewing yourself and this heart as separate entities, and embraced it as your own.

That’s how you ended up at this moment. You were determined to explore the capacity of your new heart, and the one year deadline you had given yourself was the perfect excuse to surrender and finally trust yourself.

As you exited the doors of Harefield Hospital and stepped into the crisp London air, your lungs filled to the point of bursting. Oxygen flooded your system, inducing a sweeping euphoria that made you sway a little on your feet. You had finally arrived at tomorrow and the time for living was today.

Turning abruptly on your heels, you startled the two women following close behind you. “ We should go out tonight! It has been far too long since any of us have had any fun, and I think today warrants a celebration.”

“Speak for yourself, you invalid,” Ellie teased. “I have loads of fun, I just leave you at home with your mum.”

A smile pulled tight across your face as you watched Ellie wink playfully at your mother who stood disapprovingly at your side. These two women were the only reason you had survived the past year.

Ellie was the first friend you made upon arriving in London for work, and she had stuck to you like glue ever since. At first you weren’t sure if she even liked you at all, but eventually you came to realize that her blunt commentaries were how she showed affection. If you could meet her challenge, you had a friend for life. She was unapologetically herself, and you secretly envied her for that.

Your mother, on the other hand, was yet to warm up to Ellie’s particular brand of love. What you found honest and endearing, your mother found rude and unnecessary. But they both cared about you wholeheartedly and that was enough to broker a truce.

Ellie was the one who called your mother that night when you had to be rushed to the hospital. Two people who lived half a world apart, and could barely tolerate each other's company, came together on common ground and loved you mercilessly back to health.

Rolling her eyes at your friend, your mother protested your suggestion. “Honey, I don’t think that is such a good idea. You’ve had a big day. Maybe you should just go home and rest. We can order in and watch a movie. Your dad said he was going to try and FaceTime us after work. I think he feels bad that he couldn’t fly in for this.”

Using your dad against you was a low blow, even for her. Your mom knew exactly how to manipulate you, and playing on your perverse sense of guilt worked almost every time. The pull to appease her had almost seduced you when Ellie cleared her throat in an attempt to break your trance.

You shook yourself free and stood your ground. “Mom, I love you, but you have got to stop treating me like I’m dying. I can’t live in a bubble for the rest of my life. I need this.”

Shock planted itself firmly on her face while she processed your rebellion. Eventually you started to feel bad for the tone you took with her. She may test your patience and smother you from time to time, but she was still your mother and you loved her. She had uprooted her entire life when you got sick. Flying back and forth from New York to London, splitting her time between her husband and her only child. This had been as hard for her as it was for you.

Taking pity on her, you extended an olive branch. “I understand if you don’t want to, but I’d really like it if you came along. We won’t do anything too crazy.” Her eyes darted over to Ellie who shrugged nonplussed. You chuckled to yourself and reassured her. “I promise, nothing crazy. We can grab a bite to eat. Maybe somewhere that has live music. I’m sure Ellie can recommend a place.”

“Oh, I’m sure she could.” You didn’t appreciate the judgemental tone she directed at your friend, but Ellie didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“Mom,” you rebuked. “If I start to feel too tired we can call it a night. You can come or you can head back to the hotel. Either way, I’m going out.”

Ellie flashed you a proud smile and came over to loop arms with your mom. “Come on, Kathleen. I’ll call my old man and have him get us into his club. My treat.”

“It’s not really your treat if your dad foots the bill,” you whispered slyly.

“Hush,” she retorted. “I’m trying to get in good with your mum.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Ellie’s father was able to secure you a table at his club with one phone call. Your friend’s social status was something that she rarely brought attention to, so you knew this was her way of making sure you got the celebration you deserved. And it didn’t hurt that she had seemed to, if only temporarily, silence your mother’s aversion to her.

You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself as you witnessed Ellie’s attempt to defrost your mom’s cold shoulder even further. “Is that a smile that I see, Kathleen? Relaxed looks good on you.”

“I’m having a nice time,” she admitted. “It’s been known to happen once every three to four years. I’m just as surprised as you are that it ended up being with you.”

The shocked look on Ellie’s face was comical. It wasn’t one that she wore often. Most things didn’t take her off guard. The shock quickly transformed to understanding and she returned your mother’s knowing grin. You suspected the third glass of red wine may have been the culprit behind your mother’s easy mood,but you weren’t about to ruin the vibe by pointing it out.

You sat back silently and enjoyed the snarky banter between the two of them. This was the happiest you had felt in a long time. There was a certain peace in acceptance. Your choice to embrace this new version of yourself was liberating. You could be anyone, do anything. Nothing would be as scary as your brush with death and that knowledge gave you an overinflated sense of confidence. You weren’t invincible or impervious to failure, but that old familiar question of “What now,” was being replaced by “Why not?”

Why not have a night on the town with people you adore? Why not accept the exciting new job offer that you hadn’t told anyone about? Why not order the decadent dessert that has been tempting you all night? And why not…

…Oh…

Your breath hitched in your chest. And why not go talk to the gorgeous man sitting at the bar? He was the most beautiful person you had ever seen. Tall with dark hair and even darker eyes, he was a brooding masterpiece. A heaviness rested on his shoulders as he listened intently to someone on the other end of his cellphone. You wondered how his features would be transformed by a smile. If he was this striking while he was sullen, he would be breathtaking with light behind his eyes.

Your heart started to misbehave at the sight of him. It fluttered in your chest and demanded to be acknowledged. You didn’t know his name, his age, or even if he was a good person. But you did know that he was going to be important in your life somehow and your heart was begging you to pay attention. Maybe your heart was as shallow as your eyes. Or maybe it recognized another heart in need of mending.Or most likely, you hadn't been this attracted to anyone since your surgery, and it was just the reaction of its first flood of adrenaline from your body. Either way, you were fully listening now.

Out of habit, your hand reached up to trace the raised edges of the scar that lined your sternum. You could feel the accelerated motions of your breathing and you tried to steady yourself. You had almost forgotten where you were until your mother’s words snapped you back into focus.

“Honey, are you alright?” Her voice was thick with panic. “You’re flushed. I knew this was going to be too much for you. Come on, let’s get you home.”

“No!” Something inside you had risen to assert itself. You weren’t ready to leave him yet. Realizing your sudden outburst, embarrassment crept over you, undoubtedly covering your skin with crimson splotches. “ I mean… It’s nothing. I’m fine. I just got a little…”

“Worked up?” Ellie smiled mischievously. Her gaze subtly drifted to the man you had been admiring.

“You could say that,” you tried but failed to keep the smirk from your lips.

Your mother, bless her heart, remained oblivious to your innuendos. She was too distracted with deciding whether or not she believed you were being truthful about your current condition.

“Really, mom, I’m perfectly fine. I think maybe I just ate too much. I shouldn’t have finished off the chocolate cake.” It wasn’t a lie. You were full to the point of discomfort.

“Yeah,” Ellie chimed in. “I’m sure she’ll be fine once she gets out of those trousers.”

She swallowed her laugh when you kicked her lightly under the table. You had never known someone more incorrigible in your life.

“I can call you a car though,” you suggested nonchalantly. You didn’t need your first attempt at flirting to go down in front of your mother. “I’m sure you’re ready to settle in for the night. You wouldn’t want to miss dad’s call.”

The mention of your father changed her demeanor entirely. Even after thirty years of marriage, she still lit up when she thought of him. Once you had planted the idea, it didn’t take much convincing to get her safely into a taxi and on her way. You had to promise her multiple times that you wouldn’t stay out too late, and all but pinky swore that you’d text her as soon as you got home, but eventually she left you to your own devices.

When you came back inside the club, you found Ellie at your table, grinning like a Chershire cat.

“You’re going to talk to him, aren’t you?” she teased, brimming with pride.

“That was the plan,” you confirmed. “Do you know him?”

She took him in thoughtfully but shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. But he does look an awful lot like a guy I went to RADA with. This is very unlike the y/n I’ve come to know. What’s gotten into you?”

“Second chances and all that…” you shrugged.

“I like it!” She sat back and watched you expectantly. “Well, go on then! Chat him up.”

Your bravado was starting to waiver. Theory was a lot easier than application and it had been a long time since you were a starting player in the dating game. Meekly, you looked to your friend for advice. “Okay, but how? What should I say?”

Her expression was ready and determined. She was born for this kind of thing. “Firstly, stop thinking you are going to be shit at this. And don’t try to argue with me and say that’s not exactly what was going on in your head. I can see it on your face.”

You rolled your eyes, “And secondly?”

“Have a bit of fun at his expense, but keep it cheeky. You don’t want to damage the ego. I mean, look at him,” you both stared longly to the bar where he was seated. “You know that one has an over-inflated sense of self. Make sure you put a little extra twinkle in your eyes to soften the blow. He’s liable to bruise like a peach.”

“Is that all, Sensei? Aren’t you going to spritz me with something or tell me to reapply my lipstick?”

“Fuck no, you’re already glowing.” She waved you off dismissively. “You’re so radiant it makes me sick. Now go… I have nothing more to teach you.”

Standing slowly, you straightened out your clothes and turned to make your way towards your conquest. You halted when you felt Ellie’s fingers wrap around yours. She was looking up at you with pure affection. “Remember that you don’t need him or his approval. You’re the girl that told death to fuck off and he listened. This guy should consider himself lucky.”

Squeezing her hand, you smiled at her gratefully and took your first step in the direction of the bar. The blood was rushing through your veins, but with each forward motion your nerves settled. Something inside you sighed with relief when you reached his side.

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound came out. Luckily, he hadn’t yet looked up to witness you standing there slack-jawed like an idiot. It would have been nice if Ellie at least gave you an opening line.

Cursing under your breath, you decided to abandon ship. “Fuck this…”

“What was that?” came a confused, exhausted voice. “Were you talking to me?”

Apparently you hadn’t spoken quite as under your breath as you thought. Shit, what now? You could pretend you didn’t hear him and slink away. It’s not like you would ever have to see him again. Ugghh, but then you would have to deal with Ellie giving you grief for the next hour. And knowing her, she might take matters into her own hands.

No, you decided, it was much safer to fumble this yourself. You summoned a shy smile and brought your gaze to his. For the love of God, he was even more beautiful up close. His eyes, decadently deep, held a somber softness that stood in stark contrast with the rest of his guarded demeanor.

Something in his expression dissolved your previous anxiety and coaxed an answer from your lips. “Yes… Well, I was going to but then I panicked.”

Briefly, amusement brightened his eyes. “Is that so? Well, by all means… If you had a speech drafted it would be a shame to waste it.”

“No speech. I was vastly underprepared. I haven’t mastered impulse control yet,” you confessed. “All I know is that I wanted to talk to you and I ended up here. I may have contemplated offering to buy you a drink at some point but it’s all a blur.”

“That certainly would have been impressive. I can’t say that has ever happened to me before. Not by a woman at least…” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“May I?” you surveyed.

“How do you mean?” he smirked, intentionally obtuse.

“Can I get you a drink,” you clarified, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“No, you may not.” You shrank a few sizes in your disappointment before he redirected your inner spiral. “I don’t drink. But thank you for the offer and the attempt at flirting, however unprepared.”

“Attempt? Ouch…” you feigned injury. “If you don’t drink then why are you hanging out at a bar alone?”

You regretted your question instantly. The faint glimmer that your conversation had managed to bring to his face retreated and was replaced by the torment with which he seemed well acquainted.

“You know what, nevermind. Forget I asked. You don’t even know me, I have no right to that information. It seems I also have not mastered the art of minding my own business.”

“It was a fair question,” he assured you. “One I’ve also been asking myself. It’s been a rough day and I was seeking solitude without actually having to be alone.”

Great. He wanted to be alone and you had effectively ruined his peace. This wasn’t going nearly as well as you’d hoped. “That’s a valid reason. I won’t take up anymore of your time. It was nice to meet you.”

It didn’t hit you until you had turned to walk away that neither of you had given the other your name. He would forever remain a mystery. Your heart sank in your chest. It was arguing with your brain’s decision to end this before it even began.

“I didn’t mean for you to go. Please, sit,” he gestured to the stool next to him. “How about I buy you a drink instead? What would you like?”

Uncontrollable giggles shook your shoulders as he stared at you in disbelief. The look on his face only made you laugh harder. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just that… I actually don’t drink either.”

Your confession was rewarded with the first genuine smile you had seen from him tonight. “Aahhh, I see. Pot, meet kettle. Your previous scorn was a bit hypocritical, no?”

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m not here alone. This was a celebratory night out with friends for me, but then I saw you and got…” You stopped yourself before you said anything too embarrassing.

“And got, what?” he enticed. You were beginning to feel like you were no longer the one in pursuit.

He had this hypnotic way of looking at you that pried a response from your mouth against your will. “I got distracted.”

Oh, God. The way his eyes darkened sealed your fate. He was well aware of his effect on you, the handsome bastard. He reached out for the fingers of your left hand, turning it over so that your knuckles pressed into the cool, marble bar top. His middle finger tickled the soft skin of your outstretched palm. A single touch and he already had you shivering.

“Are you focused now?” he asked. His tone was meltingly sensual and you crossed your legs in an attempt to hold yourself together. This man was dangerous.

“Fixated,” you admitted. Your lungs stuttered when the pad of his finger moved from your palm to trace seductive patterns along the inside of your wrist.

“I came here seeking a distraction and one found me. What was it that you were searching for when you sought out a total stranger?”

“A reminder,” you blushed. Your desire to fulfill his every curiosity had reached the level of compulsion. “There’s a big difference between living and simply existing. I want more than survival, I want to feel it all. I’ve decided to embrace my inner hedonist. Ask for what I want, take what’s offered to me.”

He considered your words carefully and then, with one fluid motion, hooked his foot under the bar on your stool and pulled you closer to him. The knees of your crossed legs were now cradled between the lean muscles of his thighs. Adrenaline crusaded through your nervous system leaving you breathless and lightheaded.

His intoxicating scent invaded your senses when he leaned in a little closer, his lips now inches from your own. His eyes darted quickly to your mouth before locking you in his stare. “Would you allow me to refresh your memory?”

All you could manage was an affirmative nod. His thumb and forefinger tugged your chin forward and his lips melted into yours. His movements weren’t harsh but they could never be described as gentle. He touched with the surety of someone who knew they were capable of bringing pleasure. Not arrogance, but unadulterated truth. It was clear that you were being handled by a grown ass man. He understood his masculinity, which in turn had you dripping in your own femininity.

Disappointingly soon, he relinquished you back to yourself. His thumb brushed over the now sensitive skin of your thoroughly kissed lips. He was still close enough to feel the heat from his breath as he exhaled with satisfaction.

“How did I do? Do you still need reminding?” His hand splayed out over your upper thigh and you practically squeaked when his fingers inched higher.

“It’s starting to come back to me. It’s still a little cloudy though. Just to be on the safe side, I think I am going to need more,” you challenged him.

His eyes darkened and your bones felt like they turned to lava. “How much more?”

“I want it all, remember? Asking for what I want and..”

“Taking what’s offered to you…” he echoed your words back to you.

“Exactly,” you confirmed. “Do you have an offering?”

His grip on your thigh tightened slightly as he leaned in a little closer, and his voice descended into seduction. “I would very much like to taste you.”

His words were a shock to your system. The man certainly knew how to rise to a challenge. The question was, did you? You couldn’t lie to yourself, you were a little scared. Despite your confident banter so far, this wasn’t a language you were well versed in. Choosing a stallion for your first run seemed dangerous. Maybe a donkey would have been more your speed.

He seemed to read your thoughts and came to your aid. “You want this. Your body language is screaming it. I know for a fact that we would enjoy each other. If you can be brave for me, I promise to devote my full attentions to making sure you feel…everything. You owe me nothing, but you can take as much as you want.”

Your body reacted to his words as if you had been dying from hunger and he offered you food. What sense would it make to deprive yourself now?

Looking up at him between batted lashes, you barely recognized the soft, sultry tone of your own voice. “That’s so… generous of you.”

“Oh, I can be quite giving,” he taunted. “Especially with those who need to learn how to accept more than the bare minimum. The sky's the limit tonight, my dear. What would you like first?”

A small smile played at the corners of your lips. “Well, there is one thing that I have wanted since I first saw you tonight…” You had purposefully lowered your voice, forcing him to lean in to you.

“Tell me,” he prompted. The curiosity danced behind his eyes.

“Your name.” His answering chuckle warmed your insides like a shot of whiskey.

“Anthony,” he offered with a smile. “Anthony Bridgerton.”

You reached out to shake his extended hand. “Nice to meet you Anthony. I’m Y/N.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Your fingers fumbled desperately in your purse searching for your keys. His tongue sliding up the length of your neck had you gasping for air and clutching his shoulders for leverage. His mouth found yours again and he swallowed you whole. Your back was being firmly pressed into the hard wood of your front door, and your front rubbed deliciously against another firm, hard object.

“Anthony, wait,” you pleaded. “I’m never going to find my keys with you touching me like that.”

“I don’t care,” he growled into your ear. “I’d fuck you right here if you’d let me.”

It was tempting, but somehow you didn’t think old Mrs. Finch would appreciate the hallway nudity. She was such a nosy old woman. There was no way she wasn’t perched at her keyhole watching your brazen tryst. Bringing home a random guy was proving to be an exhilarating first for you, but you didn’t think you were ready for exhibitionism.

You pushed playfully against Anthony’s chest and allowed yourself some room to breathe. The oxygen needed to reach your brain for a moment of clarity to open the door. Your fingers shook from the adrenaline and you felt his strong hand steady yours long enough to turn the latch.

The moment the door clicked closed all inhibitions were gone. You were surprisingly comfortable with him already, but you had chosen your place as the location for this dalliance to add an extra layer of security. Ellie knew you were bringing him back here, so you felt like you had done the responsible thing in letting someone else know your whereabouts. You were pretty sure he wasn’t a psycho killer, but you could never be too careful these days. And if he was a killer… well at least you were going out on a high note.

You felt yourself being lifted and wrapped your legs securely around his waist as he carried you deeper into your home. “Where’s the bed?” he asked breathlessly.

“End of the hall,” you instructed between peppered kisses. “Last door on the right.”

You didn’t need the bed. At this point, any flat surface would do, but he seemed determined to lay you down on something soft. He held you tightly with one arm while he reached blindly for the light switch. For a split second, you felt panicked. If the lights were on, he would be able to see every flaw, every imperfection, every scar…

“Fuck the lights,” you commanded. “Get your pants off.”

The vibration from his laughter made you moan. “Yes, ma’am.”

He set you down on the foot of your bed and kneeled in front of you to yank off your shoes. His deft fingers expertly popped the buttons on your jeans, and before you knew it, he was peeling them down your legs.

“I thought I said your pants, not mine,” you argued.

“You first. I need you on my tongue. I can’t wait.” You yelped a little when he lifted your hips to rid you of your panties.

Your eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the room. The large window behind you cast him hauntingly in the moonlight. He was so beautiful it almost hurt. You watched him in awe as he kissed along the inside of your knee. The smile on his face when he looked up to meet your gaze melted you from the inside out, and you threw your head back with a shudder.

He stood between your thighs, looming over you to pull his shirt over his head. His bare abdomen was at the perfect level for you to reach out and kiss. He hummed appreciatively, running his hand through your hair as your lips covered him from hip to hip. His skin was warm and soft, and the light dusting of hair that led your eyes downward made your mouth water.

“Arms up,” he requested.

He reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it up your arms. You were sitting perched on the edge of your bed, completely naked with him nestled between your legs. To say you were feeling exposed was an understatement. Your arms came down immediately to cover your chest.

“Hey,” he lifted your chin, forcing you to look up into his face. “Don’t hide your body. Don’t hide any part of you. You’re beautiful and I want to see…”

Your lashes fluttered open to find him staring intently into the depths of your eyes. The lust that you saw reflected there spoke directly to your aching core, the evidence slicking your open thighs. Gently, his hands pushed yours away and there was nothing left to hide behind. You watched him carefully as he cataloged your body. Reflexively, you flinched when his eyes took in the eight inch scar that lined your sternum.

His arm snaked around your waist and pulled you up the bed to lay your head against the pillows. Without leaving you, he kicked his shoes off over the edge of the mattress and crawled his way up your body to press his lips to yours. The heat from his tongue ran down the length of your neck and his teeth nipped along your collarbone. He paused when his lips brushed over the hollow spot just at the base of your throat.

You knew what he was about to do and you panicked. Your hands wound into his hair, effectively holding him still. “Don’t. It’s ugly.”

He shook his head vehemently, rebuking your insecurity. “No, it brands you a survivor. Makes me fucking hard to know how much strength is under my fingertips right now.”

You shivered when his lips pressed into your scarred skin. He watched you track his movements while kissed over the puckered mark between your breasts. With each kiss, his tongue traced the line with a languid stroke. Slow and seductive, he moved down your body until he reached the end of your incision just above your diaphragm. His head bobbed up and down in time with your ragged breathing.

He was such a gentleman, stopping to give you time, but you needed him to move. “Keep going.” Your hands found their way into his hair again and gave him a gentle nudge in the right direction.

“Mmmmm. With pleasure.”

There was no more talking after that. His mouth was entirely too busy making you feel things. Your brain was so overwhelmed with pleasure that words would have been impossible to find. He looked perfect with his face submerged in you. The obscene, feral noises coming from this throat sent pulsing waves of pleasure into your body. His tongue worked relentlessly against your clit, sucking and pulling you into his mouth. One hand pressed firmly on your tummy to keep you in place while he plunged deeper. He lapped at your opening, fucking you lavishly with the heat of his tongue while his nose grazed tantalizingly over your swollen clit.

“I knew you were going to taste damn near perfect,” he moaned. “God, and the way you smell is making my cock throb. Do you have any idea how devastating you are to me? I need to be buried in you but not before you box my ears with these gorgeous fucking thighs” His teeth bit down on the inside of your leg causing you to jerk with pleasure. His tongue circled the bite mark in a soothing motion, applying his saliva like a healing salve. “Tell me what you need to make that happen.”

“I want your mouth and your hands. And I want you to be rude about it.”

“You want it filthy. I can do that.” He flattened his tongue, spreading your lips apart and licked a slow, antagonizing path from your soaking entrance to the hypersensitive bundle of nerves hiding beneath its hood. His thumb joined the assault and you writhed under his touch. One thick finger pushed into you and he hissed out his approval. “You’re absolutely dripping. I think you need another finger.”

“Ohhhhh,” you moaned out as a second finger curled inside you.

“Mmmm, that’s it. Take my fingers like a good fucking girl. Can this pretty pussy handle one more for me?” A third finger stretched you wide, filling you with a satisfying ache.

And then he moved. His mouth captured your clit roughly with the suction of his lips, creating a lewd popping noise when the pressure released you from his mouth. His fingers pumped in and out of your cunt at a punishing rate, your hips lifting slightly from the bed to chase the release he was pushing you towards. He slurped and kissed along your folds, collecting the arousal now spilling out around his fingers. The stubble on his face teased you lightly with an almost painful friction

Your back arched towards heaven when his ministrations found the perfect rhythm. His groans of approval stimulated you even further and you trembled around him uncontrollably. He guided you through your orgasm, slowing his movements to help you land safely back on Earth. Aftershocks rippled down your spine with each pass of his tongue that still toyed with your exposed nerve ending.

Lacing your fingers into his luscious, messy locks, you pulled him harshly up your body.

“Get up here,” you demanded. Your mouth crushed into his and you could taste your own pleasure on his strong tongue. “Fuck me. Fuck me right now!”

Your hands fumbled desperately with his belt, pushing the soft material of his dress pants over his toned ass. He came to your aid, yanking the remainder of his clothes down his legs and kicking them off the bed. His knees forced your thighs wider, opening you to him without obstruction.

A shocked gasp escaped your lungs at the harshness of his entry. It was a pain you welcomed, stretching you to your limits deliciously. Your hands moved to the muscular globe of his backside, gripping him beseechingly, pushing him deeper inside you.

His hot breath tickled your neck as he panted heavily in your ear. Your fingers explored the taut muscles rippling along his back, finally settling your grip under his broad shoulders. All of his grunts and whimpers set your blood on fire. The entire room smelled like the feral creatures you were, driving the primal instinct to rub each other into oblivion.

This was exactly what you needed. The feel of his body hovering over yours soothed an entire year’s worth of loneliness. And the feel of him moving within you sparked a hope for new beginnings. You could have a life of excitement and fulfillment. There could be passion and joy. Fear could simply signify a nervousness for things unknown, urging you to expand your horizons. It didn’t have to be a prison forcing you to merely exist without the driving purpose of being alive.

You clung to him for dear life as your second orgasm overtook your senses. The walls of your channel pulsed around him, eliciting from him the most gorgeous sound you had ever heard another human make.

Abruptly, he withdrew from you and stroked his mouth watering cock until he spilled himself all over your pubic bone. The ghost of your climax echoed through your body, sending you into small convulsions every time his lips brushed your skin. His face nuzzled between your breasts, resting his head on your chest while he caught his breath.

“That was perfect. YOU are fucking perfect,” he praised, collapsing his full weight atop you. His spent body covered you entirely, lulling you to sleep with its warmth. Your fingers mindlessly stroked through the soft strands of his dark hair and he sighed contentedly

After a few more moments of comfortable silence, he whispered, “I should go.”

“Don’t you dare move,” you threatened without malice.

You could feel his laugh reach out to touch you, his chest still pressed to yours.

“We should at least get you cleaned up. You’re filthy, as requested.” You felt bereft when he lifted his body from yours. You would have pouted if it wasn’t so ridiculous. “Where’s your loo?”

“It’s the door across the hall,” you answered, half asleep.

He was only gone a few minutes and returned carrying a warm washcloth, and a clean fuzzy towel. You watched, mesmerized, as he climbed back into bed with an athletic grace.

“Open your legs for me.” You did as he asked and dropped your knees.

It made no sense to feel embarrassed, he had his face buried there ten minutes ago, but you could feel the heat coloring your skin as he cleaned you intimately. The contrast of the cold air in the room and the warmth of the damp cloth made you shiver.

“Ssshhhh,” he soothed you. “Almost done.”

After he dried you with the clean towel, he leaned down and pressed his lips to your belly. The gesture was sweet and you were hit with an unnerving urge to cry.

“All clean,” he announced. “We’ll be ready for more first thing in the morning.”

“More,” you purred. “Careful, you’ll spoil me.”

“That was the idea,” he confessed. “Spoil you. Ruin you. Whatever keeps your taste on my tongue.”

A sleepy smile stretched your cheeks. You were happy, and grateful that you had decided to trust the impulses of your new heart. This could be the start of something meaningful, or it could be a singular night that you would never forget. Either way, you had proven to yourself that you were capable of reaching out for the things you wanted.

Tonight, a handsome stranger. Tomorrow, accepting a challenging new job.

You had officially shed the uncertainty of the “What Nows,” and embraced the possibility of “Why Not?”

Snuggle in close to Anthony’s side - Why not?

Run your hand over his talented cock - Why not?

Wrap your lips around him until he came undone - Why fucking not?

Tomorrow had arrived, and the time for living was today.

@faye-tale @colettebronte @bridgertontess @angels17324 @musicismyoxygen84 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys

#Anthony Bridgerton #Anthony Bridgerton fanfiction #Anthony Bridgerton and Reader #Anthony Bridgerton and You #Bridgerton fanfiction #Anthony Bridgerton x Reader #Anthony Bridgerton x You

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generalofficestudio · 1 year

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https://en.petersen-tegl.dk/inspiration/references/d91-harefield-road

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agentbilliard · 7 months

Text

saint senyoyi, better known as agent biliard has been with cerberus corp as an eo since 2023 and is LEVEL III. BEING CRUSHED BY A VENDING MACHINE has gifted them telekinesis, though PHYSICAL INFLUENCE WEAKENING WITH DISTANCE, DISTRACTIONS, AND LARGER WEIGHTS has also been noted. when they aren’t protecting the tri-state area, they are fond of playing rounds of fischer random by his lonesome and are never seen without A LEATHERBOUND JOURNAL. civilians think they are meticulous & benevolent, but some of the other agents see them as NEUROTIC & COWARDLY. cerberus corp should consider the fact that their last mission status was successful, although unsuccessfully cleaning up local garbage might have been more impressive when giving out the next one.

001. GENERAL

name saint senyoyi

nicknames agent billiard, vender bender, any saint under the canonized sun courtesy of agent jester

age thirty-four

date of birth march 9, 1989

zodiac answer

place of birth harefield, hillingdon, london

current residence brooklyn, new york city, new york

gender cis man

pronouns he/him

orientation bisexual, biromantic

occupations level iii agent at cerberus corp, mathematics teacher and head custodian at brooklyn academy of ostentatiously pubescent pricks

faceclaim daniel kaluuya

height 5’8

tattoos none (he does, however, have the divine patience and dearth of dignity required to doodle and calculate all over his forearms daily)

piercings none (he does, however, have a fake nose ring from his stint in a school-sponsored production of annie wherein mr warbucks and his servants made liberal yet incorrect use of african-american vernacular english to teach middle schoolers about the cold war)

distinguishing features there are few features of saint’s corporeal form that function as evidence of him being a good person, but at a minimum he has good grooming. his collars are pressed to perfection, his trousers are steamed to sublimity, his hair both facial and scalp-al is combed and clipped as much as possible. nonetheless, a good portion of his shirts are stained with presumably non-toxic paint or crumbs of a graphite muffin. the backs of his blazers are often adorned with sticky notes with adorable titles such as ‘YOUNGEST SENIOR CITIZEN’ and ‘NOBODY LIKES MATH’ and ‘MY FAVE FUNCTION IS =3’ from his students. what can he say? he’s sentimental to a fault. and far too broke to go to the laundromat every week.

positive traits altruistic, diligent, humble, observant, organized, polite, pragmatic

negative traits craven, cynical, deceitful, insecure, perfectionistic, pessimistic, unyielding

labels / tropes absent-minded professor, bad liar, beware the quiet ones, stern teacher, the fettered

likes alphabetical lists, dish washing, libraries, origami (he cannot do it whatsoever), pranks (if they’re done right), summer, students at brooklyn academy of ostentatiously pubescent pricks (at least they’re funny pricks)

dislikes art museums, astronomy girlies (if he learns that he has pisces energy one more time he will lose it), drinking (hypocritical), level iii agents, living conditions in nyc (no relation to previous item), rollercoasters, the subway

fears blood, cockroaches, crowds, death, disappointing his family, his family period, smooth peanut butter, snakes, spiders, vending machines

hobbies assigning homework, billiards (surprising who?), playing chess, solving crosswords, scrabble, sudoku — only the coolest activities for him, obviously

habits bites pencils when deep in thought, cracks back against chairs, gestures to whiteboards that simply don’t exist, writes with said pencils on imaginary paper

002. EXTRA ORDINARY

near death experience…

“you two! i swear on my non-denominational god that i am not forcing you to believe in, if i see you trying to axe deodorant the animals into making a little baby leopard in front of you, i’m calling your mums and telling them to pick you up this instant.”

the two snicker in response. saint isn’t sure how to respond if not with a wave of his hand, a pinch of his brow, a tour-guide-induced plug of his ear for when half his salary goes to dealing with the legal repercussions of incident number graham. this is his first field trip sitting in as a supervisor, and between the bloody boring itinerary his class has been breaking for the past few million hours and the boorish colleague he’s been paired up with he reckons that it will be his last. good riddance, he will say. good riddance, the class will say. really, the people of new york pay high enough taxes for their final destination to be more than a borough away. yet, here he stands in the densest stench he’s known since ap calculus was moved to seventh period.

this is not what he signed up for. you know what he said, when teachers asked what superpower he wanted to have? his voice would crack and his face would be lightning-split open into a barely-toothed grin and he would say he wanted to be a teacher because wow! they did so much for so little! and the teacher’s voice would crack and their face would be thundering with the truth and they would move on with their days because saint senyoyi had parents who hated him and peers who tolerated him and the guidance counsellor could deal with all that when she got back from happy hour.

he knows what he wants. something cold to drink. stupid brooklyn uniforms have gotten dark enough to hide period stains but continue displaying the effects axe deodorant has on his physiology with pure crystal. he excuses himself temporarily, tells the tour guide he’s off to the bathroom and that all the kids have do not resuscitates somewhere between their baggy pockets and knockoff gucci fanny packs, and gets to a vending machine. it’s bad, he knows, to continue to support capitalism and pollution after all the public service announcements from the lions of lying-about-admissions-policies colleges but it’s all he can afford and all that he wants and you know what superpower he did not wish for? guilt tripping. it’s a part of the faculty welcome package, but he’s never liked gifts.

no diet options. not like he cares. he hasn’t had much time to go to the gym lately. he just needs energy. a temporary fix.

the vending machine, he finds on a note far too small to be in compliance with the the occupational safety and health administration’s latest spicy issue, is temporarily unserviceable. not like he cares. he’s already annihilated the rules by leaving his class to their own devices, shiny and beepy and blackmail-filled as they are. this is just the narcotizing nightcap on the mushroom cloud. he slips a coin through the slot and waits.

and waits.

bloody hell. tommy j’s probably got his arse stuck between an alligator and a hard place by now, assuming sophie m’s greasy ipad hasn’t liquidated underneath the september sun. and assuming they haven’t broken up again, which is a flimsy variable by itself considering the seating arrangement’s got tommy j next to jason m and in front of jayson w and the three of them were exchanging notes yesterday like their lives depended on it. saint knocks on the glass. his parents never bothered to knock, but his sister had in the tune of an old ugandan choir song about welcoming and stars, so he does the same. welcome, cold coca-cola into his hands. welcome, please.

next he’s seeing stars. this is getting ridiculous. the machine is burping, whirring, choking, doing what saint should be doing as he details how the penguin populace has plummeted because of plastic straws and whatnot. he groans. only one thing left to do. he shakes.

and shakes.

next he’s seeing stars and blood and bone and you’re going to be a star saint because sophie m is taking a video of the entire ordeal as russell p drops his forged permission slip between sobs call 911 what’s the british version of 911 he’s english jayson same thing crapface pay attention in geology that’s geography jayson CALL 911 SCREAM CRY IS IT LUNCH IS HE DEAD SCREAM CRY I’M GETTING A REFUND CALL 911. there is glass everywhere. the ringing in his head is louder than the cries, the screams. pain is piercing yet heavy, paperwork that acts like a cactus to his poor eyes. that’s what he’s going to die as? the idiot who got crushed under a vending machine? no. he just needs to move. get out of the geysers and into a hospital that won’t charge him several billion dollars to get in.

he just needs to move.

he is not going to die before getting his one dollar bonus from the state exams.

SAINTS DO NOT DIE where did you come from father ABSOLUTE DISSOLUTION an inch towards the snake enclosure could save me SAVE YOURSELF swimming around nana’s lake house i wonder if i would taste good right now i wonder if a hot emt will try and save me SAVE YOURSELF you taught me how to swim by throwing me in the lake SAVE YOURSELF

he comes back with a massive headache, three exams to grade, and the power to move things with his mind. and a viral remix of his death, but he still hasn’t watched that in full. he’s told the chorus is incredibly vulgar.

power…

“i wasn’t cheating!”

saint is making a scene for the first time since the tender age of five years old for bragging rights and a lukewarm beer. he hasn’t been accused of cheating since his preliminary foray into the cutthroat world of primary school mathletes, and that situation had the excuse of being started by a bespectacled potato sack no older than five years old herself. he’s kicked out for a myriad of reasons, none of which he believes are based on truth: he had fixed the game, he had fixed the bets, he had fixed his life and therefore had no business being with his friends. honestly? he thinks they just can’t look at him the same after seeing his broken body in a bed of glass, and he can’t blame them for that. he blames them for what happens, next, though.

he retreats to his apartment in shame, exile. daedalus has lost his son, he has lost his place on the top ten trivia masters. then he learns that he can fix everything in his apartment with nothing more than a mathematical buttload of attention and his mind. which, yeah, sounds boring when he puts it like that, but it’s telekinesis. objects already within arm’s reach require little to no effort to move towards him, while materials any farther than that require great concentration and a clear view to be moved. saint and telekinesis have a relationship comparable to a coparenting strategy on the verge of collapse, and none of it is particularly empowering. if he desires to take control of a stack of papers he has to focus on those papers, get an unobstructed path to those papers, stare at those papers for a solid few seconds wherein a hostile could stab him in the back. if he decides that he does not want to touch those papers, they have about a 50-50 chance of coming at him in an effortless tornado anyhow. it makes thinking inconvenient, which makes his life inconvenient. still, they’re something. he can lift roughly as much as he can with his arms, which is around the hundred-fifty pound mark with oscar-worthy thanks to a premium gym membership he passive-aggressively received from his mother some years back, although he has limits. many of them, in fact.

drawbacks / vulnerabilities…

“shitterdoodle cookies.”

saint is on the same ground level of pathetic as his choice in curse words, for someone who has access to the school twitter account and all the bots that spam it for engagement. the heavier the object, the harder it is to move in manners that do not sound like nails on a chalkboard. the more he uses his ability, the more he is exhausted, liable to ramble about sensitive industry secrets or his feelings. neither will stop, neither will leave the conversational partner with any semblance of sanity. he has to be careful with how long he spends looking at anything, too, lest he drag some family heirloom other than his own through new york mud. also, everything he moves seems to really like his face. his pockets are nothing but bandaid collections by now.

cerberus corp…

“and i am auditioning for the part of…”

that’s not quite right, is it? he clears his throat. a decade of teaching under his overly tight belt and there persists a lump in his throat whenever it must open. saint’s feelings on cerberus corp are complicated in the way that proving 1 + 1 = 2 is complicated. it’s a fact of life to most, easy to accept for some, but it’s also something that gets the smart alecks of the yearbook salivating and thus something he does not want to be involved in. well, strike that out and rewrite it in the past tense, his teachers would demand, for he now desires a status in american society that does not amount to school/fast food slander scene packs or graves with no return policy. his audition video was enough to get him invited for an in-person appointment, but he suspects that the possibility of him using lights and strings to get the effect of telekinesis pulled along a hundred-pound weight in comparison to his ounce of charisma.

he gets accepted, anyways, by some miracle. maybe it’s merely a seasonal investment in the marketability of a man who can soon hurl snowballs at unprecedented heights and velocities if he manages to concentrate. concentration is harder these days, however, and that descriptor of his career prospects comes with a near-overdose of pressure. he’s been with cerberus for roughly a month now, though the days blur with the hustle and bustle of extraordinarily tedious tasks assigned by the big bosses. saint is a worker bee to his core, though, and understands ranks, roles, and professional hierarchies better than breathing, so he questions nothing. as long as management of his powers is a possibility, the probability of him becoming a manger who has to do zero practical saving is above zero.

saint isn’t the best partner to have around, per se. his abilities are useful, but his personality isn’t much of an asset unless the mission involves stationary store espionage, and his desperation for a guide to everything is everlasting. nonetheless, he is nothing if not nice and accommodating to those he respects (ie everyone except agent jester. dishes can only go unwashed for so many days before his conscience is wiped clean of sanitary scruples) and aims for perfection. which isn’t the best philosophy to have around, per se, but at least he’ll do all the paperwork for you with zero prompting.

codename…

“vender bender? i would rather die again than be called that for the rest of my life.”

it’s a joke, but saint’s never been proficient with making those. his comedy is a dependent variable, a misshapen animal lump coagulating to the back of circumstances that prove truth is stranger than fiction. proof: here, now, as his branding is being discussed in a manner far too formal for the setting they find themselves in. he has no idea how he got here, honestly. how he got with cerberus, how his card didn’t turn red at the door of the bar. he supposes it’s something like the pythagorean theorem, if the hypotenuse was meant to be the shortest side. he’s not the shortest level iii agent, thank the non-denominational god that he is not forcing anyone to believe in, but there is a nagging feeling that he does not belong, that however many lives he saves he will always be the guy stuck under the vending machine traumatising upwards of infinity children.

he’ll stick with something short and sweet, thank you very much. occam’s razor has never cut murphy’s law while shaving at three in the morning. it is time to show the party how real english billiards is played. he’s set up his own cushions at the left and right ends, shown off his custom snooker spectacles, let everyone know what a genius he is. this is his element, the art of arithmetic gambling. one shot and he’s set for the night, getting his drinks paid by everyone in a fifteen foot radius.

he takes the shot and gets his nose broken by the ball going straight to the hard, wooden edge and bouncing straight to his hard, idiotic face.

agent billiard. that’s a joke for the ages. it’s short, sweet, and a math pun. saint hates puns. cerberus loves the name. saint then decides he loves it, too, changing his social media handles accordingly.

(this is me begging for someone to have their agent suggest billiard after seeing saint smack himself in the face with a cue stick pls and thank you)

003. EXTRA

tl;dr of backstory while i make it all nice and fancy: the middling middle child of a blackjack dealer for one of the most corrupt casinos in london and a professional sports gambler, saint has always wanted to help people. he’s just never liked people. he’s always liked math, though, and upon moving to the us of a for the sake of his older sister’s career in medicine, he made sure that, if he was to be ignored by his beloved parents, he would be ignored and rich. flash forward to getting his first job at his alma mater which has improved in much the same way that milk improves by growing curds and the lowest college admissions rate in the city, getting crushed by a vending machine, getting kicked out of his favourite bar for cheating at billiards with superpowers, and getting his cool agent nickname his cool agent roomie and his uncool first few missions; if you need a reluctant ass-kicker/incredible ass-kisser/high school math tutor, this is your guy. his mission suit is 100% an actual suit. it doesn’t look cool whatsoever tho it’s the same getup he got into for seventh grade winter formal <3 also he's a faithful reddit user. thats his biggest character flaw i think but he's addicted to r/billiards and does not intend on quitting ever

wanted connections page here!!

#cc.intro #gore tw #just skip his nde section if that's not for you! tldr can be found in his bio @ part 003

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