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anotherhumaninthisworld · 11 months

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Really do feel like I’m taking advantage of your generosity lately but I’m writing a novel so that’s my excuse.

Lucile goes on a number of quite feminist rants in her diaries , so I’ve been wondering if we know anything about her official views in that area (and Camille’s, as well.) Would the Desmoulins have known/been friendly with people like Olympe de Gouges and Sophie Condorcet? I’m aware both were Girondins so presumably not to the bitter end, but what about earlier in the revolution? I’ve noticed Lucile actually mentions an Olympe in her diary - is this de Gouges…?

I too reacted on Lucile’s rather modern views — both when it came to gender equality and religious questions — so it’s fun to hear I wasn’t alone there.

If the Olympe she mentions once in the diary is Olympe de Gouges was actually something Philippe Lejeune speculated on when first publishing it in 1995, bringing up how the two at the time actually lived in the same area. He does however underline that there exists no real evidence tying the two together and ends by concluding he thinks it more likely Lucile is talking about a person in her own age and not de Gouges.

Lejeune’s words seem rather well confirmed by other pieces I’ve looked at — I can’t find Camille referring to de Gouges in any of his works, nor does the biography Marie-Olympe de Gouges: une humaniste à la fin du XVIIIe siècle (2003) by Oliver Blanc cite anything hinting at a relationship between her and the couple. The same thing for Condorcet — nowhere could I find Camille talk about him in a way that implies they were/had once been friends (and it goes without saying it was the same thing for his wife). I actually had trouble finding proof of a relationship between Sophie/Olympe and any other prominent revolutionary.

Someone we however do know Lucile was friends with is Louise de Kéralio-Robert, who, judging from the amount of times mentioned in the diary she kept 1792-1793, comes off as one of her closest friends along with madame Danton and madame Brune. De Kéralio has been accepted as the first and even only 18th century woman to found and edit a political journal. In said journal, she, like Camille, showed herself an early and fervent republican. She was however far from a feminist, in 1789 we find the following letter from her:

Mademoiselle de Keralio is very satisfied by what [Monsieur Brissot de Warville] said today about the influence of women. It is very much part of Mlle de Keralio’s principles that women should not make a great spectacle of themselves. […] A love of publicity is bad for modesty, from the loss of that comes a distaste for domestic work, and from idleness, principles are forgotten and from lack of morals arise all of public disorders. We should be forced to seek women inside their homes, their presence should be hard to obtain, and rare, offered as a favour.

And one year later we have this passage from her journal:

I do not believe that women can ever have any active part in government, and I believe that the greatest good that the constitution can do to public morals is to keep them out of it forever. Women reign in despotic states, it is enough to say that they must be null in the administration of a free country. The more the austerity of republican mores will make them attentive inside their homes, the more it will render them incapable of knowing enough public men to direct a choice which must be the fruit of constant observation and consummate experience. I know in them the sagacity necessary to judge the best of things, but not the extent of genius which makes known the means of arriving there or the force of temperament which supports the necessary studies. I repeat it again, the more they will be what nature has made them, the less they will want to undertake something beyond their physical and moral strength. Content to teach their children the decrees of the assembly, they will aspire neither to make nor dictate them.

This in response to a footnote inserted in the pampleth Le franc en vedette (1790) by Armand Joseph Guffroy (who, sidenote, was the man Charlotte Robespierre is proven to have had some interesting political connections to and was helped out by after thermidor. While there’s no way of knowing what Charlotte’s own stance on the topic was, it’s nevertheless interesting that the guy she was arguably closer to politically compared to her brothers also fought more openly for her political rights than they are ever confirmed to have done…)

I had proposed to admit women to the primary assemblies, to deliberate on the choice of municipalities, and I still believe that my two separate ballots and my posted ballots would disturb all the conspiracies. If one is wise, one will come back to it; and I predict that we will never have a public spirit, public morals, if women do not participate in the administration as I have proposed. The National Assembly admitted to swearing the constitution, those who were in the tribune on the 4th of this month. Why would we separate them from the public sake? The queen promised to raise her son in the principles of constitutional liberty; all French mothers must publicly swear this civic oath: without that, I repeat, no morals, no morals, no fatherland. Frenchmen, prove that you are men, by giving back to your wives all their dignity; French women, prove that you are worthy of giving birth to a race of free men.

Now, there’s of course no way to know if de Kéralio influenced Lucile’s own view on the matter (it’s a bit unfortunate that the diary she kept during the revolution doesn’t contain any of the poltical/philosophical reflections the one from 1788 has), but I think it can be concluded that, among the people she is proven to have had any close contact with, those who’s political opinions can be traced were more anti-feminist than the opposite. Sidenote again, but the feminist stuff contained in the diary of 1788 Lucile wrote while simultaneously hanging out with Sylvain Maréchal, a guy who in 1801 would suggest forbidding women from learning how to read.

As for what Camille’s view on the subject was, searching for the term ”femme” in Révolutions de France et de Brabant, I would say he comes off as neither a feminist (in the sense that he wants women to be equal to men) nor a misogynist. The most feminist moment from his side I’ve found so far is when he in number 14 he praises Théroigne de Méricourt and transcribes one of her speeches. The speech does on one hand not have anything to do with women’s right, but after transscribing it Camille nevertheless writes:

On the request of Mademoiselle Theroigne to be admitted to the district with a vote of consent, the assembly followed the conclusions of the president, who gives thanks to this excellent citoyenne for her motion; that a canon of the Council of Mâcon having formally recognized that women have a soul and reason like men, they can not be forbidden to make such good use of them as the preopinante; that he will always make Mademoiselle Théroigne, and all those of her sex, free to propose what they believe to be advantageous to the fatherland.

Edit: Camille speaks in favor of married women’s right to administration of property in 1793.

What’s your novel about, anyway? If you want to tell.

#lucile desmoulins #camille desmoulins #louise de kéralio #olympe de gouges #armand joseph guffroy #a man proposing women should get more political rights and a (politically active) woman opposing it…#that’s not something you get to read about everyday #ask #frev

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semper-legens · 1 year

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13. The Silver Collar, by Antonia Hodgson

Owned?: No, library Page count: 312 My summary: Thomas Hawkins, after surviving a death sentence and the ire of all of London (it seemed), was looking forward to a quiet time of relaxation. But when a bothersome preacher darkens his door, he soon finds himself in a spot of trouble. What does the preacher want with his girlfriend Kitty? Who wants him dead? And when he finds the truth, how will he save himself and Kitty from a terrible fate? My rating: 4/5 My commentary:

Some books just sort of call to you. Like this one, as a point of fact. It was out on one of our displays in the library, and I kept casting it curious glances every time I was shelving or doing the item request and happened to wander by. A historical mystery set, not in the Victorian era as is so common, but in the 1720s? Featuring a rogue who is notorious for having escaped the gallows, and touching on the impact of slavery in Britain? My interest, as I am sure you have gathered, was piqued, and I decided I was going to read this one posthaste. And, reader, I was not disappointed.

However, one note - is there anything so disheartening as getting about 50-100 pages into a book you're enjoying only to realise that, not only is it not the first in a series, but is in fact the fourth? People who design book covers should put that information front and centre, I swear it. Nevertheless, it is to this book's credit that I was never lost without the context of the previous books. Events pertinent to this book were recapped in a brief, but informative manner that was still entertaining, and the status quo of the characters and their relationships was well laid out from the get-go. Which, if you're going to come into a book series at the fourth instalment, was pretty much the ideal. No complaints from me writing-wise on that front!

So what of the actual book itself? It was a good read! I'm always interested in historical fiction that doesn't centre the white aristocracy or middle-class, and although the protagonist, Thomas Hawkins, is a gentleman by birth, he doesn't really have any of the privileges associated with it. Kitty, his girlfriend, likewise comes from money but is basically living as a pauper. There is mention of gay characters from previous instalments, and a major supporting character is Jeremiah, a previously-enslaved black man who is searching for his daughter. Jeremiah is interesting - the traumas he has experienced meant that he spoke with a stammer, but when he tells his story in writing he is eloquent and passionate. He is dedicated to his daughter, to the point of calling out Thomas when it seems that Thomas is just using him for his own revenge, and not wanting to help Jeremiah on his own and for his ends. This idea of a man born into slavery who manages to free himself and carve out a life is incredibly compelling, even if it's ultimately not the point of the book.

That's not to say that our main protagonist isn't anything to write home about, either. Thomas is exactly my kind of historical male character - rogueish, dashing, criminal, but with a heart of gold and a burning passion to do what's right, even when it goes against the social mores of the time. What I liked about Thomas was that he had elements of the Genius Detective archetype - he's very quick and makes logical deductions based on cold-reading his clients - but he shows how he came to his conclusions or where he just bluffed or made a lucky guess, and sometimes he's wrong, with devastating consequences. It's a more realistic take on that trope and I'm glad to see it. He's also chugging that Respect Women juice, which for an 18th century fella is very good to see.What else? Kitty, Thomas' not-wife, is a reasonably strong character as she fights against her kidnapper, though at times she did fall too much into the distressed damsel archetype for my liking. The villain is deliciously evil. And the glimpses into Thomas' past adventures, far from putting me off, ended up galvanising me to request the three previous books from the library. So, uh, watch this space for those, I guess!

Next up, we're back to the world of the vampire, as Lestat takes the stage.

#The Silver Collar #Antonia Hodgson #bookblr #book blog #book blogger #4

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darkmulti · 3 years

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(Yandere and non con warning)

Def not the only one who wants a 18th century h.c of possessive and controlling, husband!Jungkook x forced wife!reader. Jungkook gets jealous after witnessing another man asking you out and when you come back home at night, he breeds you. Please make it rough and non con. Thank you❤️‍🔥

-> you’re definitely not the only one. I can assure you that I’ve thought about this too many times😫

⚠️: NON CON, YANDERE!JUNGKOOK, Squirting/piss play, Physically, mental and emotional abuse, spit play,

-> sorry for any mistakes

Your parents owned a local bakery store

All the recipes were from your late grandmother

You spent almost all of your time there because you were in charge of everything

The store was under your parents’ name but you were the one running it

Sometimes, you even slept there because it’d be too late to walk home

Your dedication to the bakery made it successful

Although, you were the one doing all the work, you parents took all the credit and money

They weren’t paying you because you’re their child

They don’t need to pay you

“It’s a women’s place.” Your father said

You wanted to go back to school however, your parents laughed in your face

“School aren’t for girls, Y/N. Learn how to cook and clean. That’s all you need to know. Let the men handle everything else.”

You were tired of fighting with them and eventually stopped because they threatened to set you up in an arrange marriage

Now, it was just you and the bakery

You had many loyal customers and recently, one has been coming everyday, at the same time

He’d always buy a loaf of banana bread and if he was in a good mood, a blueberry muffin as well

Then, he’d sit in the corner table and eat two - three slices before getting up and leaving

He’d always leave a tip behind and you always kept it for yourself

One day, he didn’t come and you were surprised

For a year straight, he came and bought the same two things

Now, he hasn’t visited in 4 days

Tonight, you came back home for the first time in a while

Your parents had visited the bakery to collect “their” earnings and told you that you have to go somewhere with them that evening

After closing up and cleaning up, you went home and got ready

Your parents were taking you out for dinner as a treat for all your hard work

You were really excited because they were finally acknowledging your hard work

Once you arrived at the restaurant, your parents lead you to a table that already had three people seated

You immediately recognize one of them

It’s that guy who buys your banana loaf!

You sat in front of him while your parents greeted the two other strangers

“Oh, so this is your daughter? She’s gorgeous! Come here and give me a hug.”

You awkwardly chuckled and got up to hug the middle aged women

“Oh! Where are my manners? My name is Jeon F/N, this is my husband, Jeon F/N and this is our son, Jeon Jungkook. We’re your soon to be in laws!”

You heart dropped to the floor

“I-in laws?” You asked, confused

“Yeah, honey. Is this your first time hearing about this? We’ve been talking to your parents for a while now.”

You snapped your head towards you parents and they looked emotionless

“No, no they didn’t tell me anything.”

Dinner with them was hell

Your parents were talking about your wedding arrangements right in front of you

You didn’t know what to do

You wanted to rebel but then your parents would disown you

Just like that, you’d be homeless with little money to survive

In the end, you’d be paying the heavy price

You looked at Jungkook who was staring at you the whole time

You wondered if he knew about this

Maybe, that’s why he came to the bakery everyday

“Did you know anything about this?” You said loud enough for him to hear

“I did.”

“For how long?”

“Since last year.”

You eyes widen, in shock

You were right!

“Why didn’t you stop it?”

“Why would I stop it when I’m the one who wants it?”

You scrunch your eyebrows, in confusion

“What’re you talking about?”

“Since the first day I met you, I wanted to marry you. I told my parents and now, we’re getting married.”

Now, you were mad

You got up and stormed off, catching everyone’s attention

You walked to the bakery and locked yourself in

Here, you thought your parents were acknowledging you for first time, when they were actually setting you up for a marriage so they don’t have to take care of you

You cried yourself to sleep that night

The next couple of weeks, the bakery was closed due to your wedding

The wedding was spectacular

You would’ve love it if you weren’t being forced into a marriage

After the wedding, Jungkook took your precious virginity

He made sure to pleasure you until you passed out

He was so in love with you

Now, he was finally able to show you how much he loved you

And mark you as his

The next couple of months, he was attached to you

He took over his family’s business and you took over your family’s business

He’d visit you every day at work to check if you’re with another man

He was so paranoid about it, sometimes he’d come by 3 or 4 times to make sure you were not cheating

You thought he missed you and that’s why he kept stopping by (which is half true) however, you had no idea that he was possessive and controlling

You had to learn the hard way

Sometimes, you wouldn’t leave work until midnight

You had so much things to do like preparing for the next day, making a to-do list, making a grocery lists, and cleaning every area of the shop

It’s time consuming, so obviously you finish up pretty late

Jungkook absolutely hates that

Although you stay late in the shop once in a while, he can’t stand it

He wants you to be in his arms every night

Jungkook gets angry when you’re not

This was your fourth time staying out late in the shop and he’s had enough

He couldn’t help but feel paranoid about what you were actually doing in the shop

What if you lied and went on a date with another man?

What if you were running away from him?

Or even worse, what if you were having sex with another guy?

He raced to the bakery and banged on the door, which scared you

You saw that it was him and let him in

“W-what’s wrong?! You scared me!”

“Grab your stuff, we’re going home.”

“But I’m not done yet! I only have a couple more things to do and then I’ll come home. I told you already-”

“I don’t think you fucking heard me!” He yelled and grabbed your hair

“Grab your shit, we are leaving right now.”

He pushed you towards the counter and crossed his arms

You let your breath out in shock but scurry to get your stuff

You’ve never seen him like this and it terrified you

“I have my stuff.”

“Good, let’s go.”

He helped you lock the door and wrapped his arm around your waist

The walk home was silent

You were scared shitless

All you wanted to do was run back into your parents’ house

But he didn’t let you move an inch away from him

Once you got home, he started pushing you around and arguing some more

“Jungkook, I told you this afternoon when you came to visit! I said I have to stay late so I don’t have to stress myself out in the morning!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me! Who were you fucking seeing?!” He screamed, frightening you more

“No one! I swear, no one!” You whimpered

He corned you into your shared room and locked the door

“Jungkook, I swear! Nothing happened!”

He didn’t believe a single word coming out of your mouth

It was like you were talking to a wall

He pushed you onto the bed and stripped you naked

Jungkook pushed two fingers into your cunt and pretended to scoop out cum

“If nothing happened, why is your cunt full of cum?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I didn’t have sex with anyone!”

You weren’t very educated about sex, so Jungkook had an advantage

You began apologizing even though you didn’t have sex with anyone

You just wanted peace between you two

“I’m sorry! I didn’t cheat or anything, but I’m sorry if it hurt you! I really am!”

Jungkook slapped you and spat on your face

“Dirty slut. Telling me that you’re not cheating but still apologizing.”

“No! Please, I didn’t do anything!”

Jungkook pulled his cock out and shoved it in without warning

You were still new to sex so when he didn’t let you adjust, you automatically started screaming and crying

“Please, slower!” You cried, holding onto his biceps as he went faster and deeper

“Stop! Please!”

Jungkook loved the sound of his balls clapping against your ass

It honestly made him harder

All night, he was on top, fucking you hard

Your legs were spread apart, tears in your eyes and sweat dripping down your forehead

You looked like a hot mess

And he loved every second of it

“Mmh- Jungkook!”

You squirted around him and had a trembling orgasm

You couldn’t stop releasing your liquids on him and he couldn’t stop pounding you

The bed sheet was soaked by the end of it

He pushed his cock deep inside and came

After Jungkook fell asleep, you cried for while

How were you supposed to tolerate him for the rest of your life?

The next morning

You woke up in severe pain

You lower region was begging for some pain relief

But there was nothing you could do about it

Jungkook was still sleeping next to you

You decided to leave before he wakes up

After getting ready by leaning on everything, you slowly walked to town

When you arrived at the bakery, you saw a big “for sale” sign

You panicked and went inside the store, only to be greeted by your parents

“Mother, father! Why is there a “for sale” sign on the bakery?”

You parents looked at each other in disappointment

“You see, we have to explain the obvious to your daughter. Be grateful that someone willingly married your idiot daughter.” Your father said before walking out

His words did hurt but you cared about the bakery more than your father

“Why’re you selling it, mother? Can you not afford it anymore? Why-”

“Shut up, Y/N! You’re married now, you have wifely duties. You don’t have time for this bakery so the best option is to sell it.”

Your world fell apart right before your eyes

“But mother-”

“Save it. You already made your father upset. I’m warning you now, you don’t want to get on my bad side.”

You cried the whole morning

After you opened the bakery, lots of people gathered in line

All breads, cakes and muffins were going on sale

After you served the people in line, you went up to the tables and took their order

After you served them, a regular customer who was sitting alone gestured you to come over

You went over to the man and asked him if he needed anything

He told you to take a seat and accompany him

Since the crowd died down, you sat down in front of him

“You look a bit stressed and sad. What’s on your mind?”

You were touched by his words

Finally, someone cared about you

You told him you were upset about the bakery closing

He understood and even offered money to help you keep it open

You were flattered but didn’t accept the money

“Money’s not a problem, my parents just don’t want to keep this shop open.”

You talked with this guy for a couple of hours

Although this was your first time talking to him, you talked to him like he was your best friend

When closing time came around, he got up and asked you out on a date

You didn’t know what to do

You were married but you really liked this guy

You were considering saying yes when someone pulled his shoulder back and punched him across the face

“Jungkook! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“You think I didn’t see that?! I saw it all. I saw you flirting with my wife for three hours straight and then asking her out on a date!”

Jungkook beat the crap out of the guy and pushed him outside

He then came back in the store, looking at you with devil eyes

“Yesterday’s punishment clearly wasn’t enough.”

The entire way home, he was yelling at you, slapping you, spitting on you, pulling your hair, pushing you to the ground and choking you

You were crying the whole time, apologizing over and over

When you arrived home, he seriously had no mercy on you

No foreplay, no lube, no adjusting

Just a raw, thick cock being forced into you

You were begging him to let you go but tonight, nothing was going to stop him

He was moving his hips insanely fast, not giving you enough time to breathe

You were choking on your own sobs

“Jungkook, please no! I’m sorry!”

“Why did you hesitate to deny his offer? You are a married fucking women!” With each word a hard thrust followed, knocking all the air out of you

“Answer me! Is he better than me? Does he take care of you? Does he provide money for you? TELL ME!” He was yelling so loudly, it was making you cry harder

“N-no, he doesn’t. He was just the first person to care about me.” You whispered the last sentence but, Jungkook was able to make it out

“Are you saying that I don’t care about you?”

He got more aggressive and fastened his pace

“Tell me, Y/N! Do you think that I don’t care about you?!”

You couldn’t answer him because you couldn’t catch your breath

He was going too fast and you were crying so hard, you couldn’t breathe

Jungkook noticed how much you were struggling and added onto your struggle by holding your neck down

“Apologize, right now Jeon Y/N!”

You softly apologize but it wasn’t good enough for him

He lifted your legs a little, giving him better access and fucked you till you squirted

This time you sobbed your apology and begged for forgiveness

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook! It’ll never— ah! It’ll never happen again! I’m so sorry! Please for- forgive me for my dumb m-mistake. Please! I’m begging you.” You held onto the bed sheet, praying he would stop

He huskily growled and pushed his cock in deep

“For the next 9 months you’ll be swelling with my baby. Now, everyone can back off.”

He shot his hot cum right into you, filling you up to the rim

Sorry for any mistakes. It’s 3:41am 😄

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut #non con #bts yandere #yandere bts #yandere jungkook

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marwritesgood · 3 years

Text

Just Me | S. Basset

Pairing: Simon x WOC!Reader

Timeframe: Early Season One

Summary: Simon and Y/n had a long history together. So why did it take reading Lady Whistledown’s latest column for her to learn about his blooming relationship with Daphne Bridgerton?

masterlist

A/N: This fic is over 6K words.

The mere thought of a BIPOC love story set in the 18th Century is enough to make me swoon. So I decided to give it a go and write one myself. There’ll be two more parts after this :)

I also wanted to keep the reader description applicable to any and all women of colour, so it’s a bit vague just to ensure all of us (women of colour) can feel included. Please let me know if there any parts of this fic that don’t do this and I’ll fix it asap!

If you’re white, this fic is not for you to identify with x

Also, if at any point you find my attempt at mimicking the language used in Bridgerton laughable... you are not the only one lmao. This has been super fun to write and also very challenging, but I am well aware it is farrrr from perfect :)

Nonetheless, I hope it’s a nice read for my WOC readers <3

Simon and Y/n first met when they were children. Her mother was very closely acquainted with Lady Danbury, so naturally, a friendship grew between the two of them- and a strong one at that.

For years, their interactions had remained within confinements of what was socially acceptable. They bickered. They laughed. They shared inside jokes about the people within their social circle. Their feelings for each other never extended beyond what was befitting of a friendship.

That was until they grew older.

When marriage and love became more and more ingrained into casual conversations, Simon and Y/n explored their feelings for one another. Questioned the extent to which they cared for each other and whether there was something more beneath the surface.

However, just as Y/n came to realise her love for Simon, he left for London. After a few short weeks, he returned with a new title. A new vow that the Hastings bloodline would end with him. Subsequently, with it, any hope Y/n had of her relationship with him becoming anything more than all it had always been: a friendship.

A year had passed since the sorrowful conversation resulting in Simon and Y/n agreeing to not indulge in the affections they shared. Since then, Y/n struggled to focus on securing a marriage proposal from one of the suitors in her town.

“This is your second season,” Y/n’s mother cried as she paced across the sitting room. Y/n sat in silence, having been interrupted from playing the piano by another one of her panicked outbursts. “Your second season and yet you continue to reject every marriage proposal you receive.”

She couldn’t blame her mother for being frustrated with her. As her only daughter, she needed to find a good match and be married off as soon as possible. Her father was of old age, but even he remained restless that Y/n be married. He much preferred the prospect of dying knowing that the estate would be inherited by Y/n’s husband instead of his nephew.

“I did not reject Mr Graham’s proposal, mama,” Y/n responded, unnervingly calmly considering how distraught her mother was. Mr Graham’s proposal was the latest one she had received that season. “I... simply asked for more time to consider my answer.”

“What on earth is there to consider?” Mrs Y/l/n shrieked. Her frustration only grew when her daughter was unable to answer her question. Y/n turned away from her mother. “He is a good man. He comes from a good, honourable family and will give you a good future- something you will not have if you continue to turn away suitors.”

“Mama, please.” Y/n could not say anything more, for fear that her mother’s anger toward her would only grow if she were to find out the truth. The real reason she could not yet bring herself to accept a marriage proposal.

“Why do you need time to consider, Y/n?” Her daughter had stood up from behind the piano and had her back turned to her mother. That did not stop her from continuing to pry. After so many rejected proposals, she felt she had a right to know why her daughter refused to marry. “I beg of you, tell me- what is there to consider?... What could possibly be keeping you from marrying Mr Graham.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Y/n sighed exasperatedly and turned back to face her mother.

“I do not love him,” Y/n replied in a hushed cry, only just loud enough for Mrs Y/l/n to hear from across the room. “He may be a good man, mama, but I... I do not love him, and I do not believe I ever could.”

She knew from their first encounter that she could never love him. Perhaps it was how he mispronounced her grandmother’s name or the way he possessed the same arrogance as every other suitor Y/n encountered.

“My dear,” Mrs Y/l/n said, her voice and expression softening entirely. She reached out for her daughter’s hand and took hold of it gently. She knew precisely how Y/n felt, which meant that, unfortunately, she knew there was nothing to be done. “We have talked about this. Women like you and I... we do not have the luxury to make decisions based on our own feelings.”

Y/n was surrounded by women who did not share the same experiences she did. Women who could not empathise with the challenges she faced and being a woman in the 18th Century. Not even if they tried.

Therefore, whenever Y/n found herself hoping for the same things as the white women around her, she had to bring herself back to reality. She had to remember that if life was unkind to white women, it would always be hell for women like her, no matter who married into the royal family.

“I know,” Y/n answered.

She did. She knew it was incredibly reckless of her to reject all of the proposals she had received. She knew she was naïve for basing her decision based on love. Yet, even so, she could not keep herself from holding out on the hope that she would not end up in a loveless marriage.

“I do not mean to upset you, Y/n,” Mrs Y/l/n said sincerely, as she guided her daughter to the nearest seat. “But I fear that if you continue on, you will have no more proposals to reject, and I... I simply cannot bear the thought... Please, dear, you must-”

Y/n began to close her eyes ready to brace herself for what she feared would inevitably happen- her mother insisting she accepts a proposal. However, just as she did, a maid knocked on the door and promptly brought in the newspaper. When Simon left for London, Y/n requested that any newspaper copy or mail sent to her from London be immediately handed to her. She looked forward to any kind of update on him.

“Thank you,” Y/n said to the maid as she handed her the newspaper. Without hesitation, she immediately turned to Lady Whistledown’s column.

“What does it say?” Her mother asked, giving up on her attempts at convincing Y/n to accept a marriage proposal, at least for the time being.

Y/n’s blood ran cold as she read the column. She had expected to hear more about the bitter impression Simon was leaving in London. She was going to comment on how typical arrogant white elitists villainising anyone who did not approach them in a way that appeases their ego.

But that was not what she read.

Instead, she read about Simon showing a particular interest in the woman named the ‘Diamond of the Season’ by the Queen herself- Miss Daphne Bridgerton. She read about him courting her and spending a significant amount of time with her. She read about flowers, the expensive kind, and walks through Hyde park, and she was unsure whether to feel betrayed or feel furious.

It was one thing for Simon to begin courting another woman, after explaining to Y/n that he would never marry. It was another for her to have to learn all of this from reading the Lady Whistledown column.

Without providing her mother with an answer as to what the column wrote, Y/n slammed the newspaper against the table beside her and stood up abruptly.

Her mother went to reprimand Y/n for slamming the paper so violently against her favourite table. However, Y/n walked hastily into her bedroom. She began to plan what she was to pack when she would leave for London in the morning.

She was adamant on learning the truth in its entirety. And, this time, not from an anonymous publisher but from Simon himself.

***

Y/n had an aunt who lived in London with her husband and their three kids- all much younger than Y/n was. She knew that if she could get away with arriving in London unannounced with intent to stay for longer than a week, her only luck was with her aunt.

After she was escorted inside by one of the workers, Y/n stood and marvelled at her aunt’s husband’s estate. It looked nothing like the sitting room at her home. It looked fancier with much nicer things, leading her to think back to why her mother pushed so hard for her to marry. Mrs Y/l/n had helped her younger sister find a match, and now she lived in a beautiful home in London.

Perhaps all she wanted was to ensure the same future for her only child.

“Y/n, my dear!” Her aunt came bursting through the doors with arms stretched out. She pulled Y/n into a tight embrace as she always did whenever greeting her niece. Before her three children, she had Y/n. “Oh, how I have missed you!”

“I have missed you too, Aunt Philippa,” Y/n smiled, gently clutching her aunt’s hand as she held her cheek. “Please forgive me for arriving here unannounced. I would have written to you in advanced, but I have an urgent matter to attend to.”

“Do not be silly, my dear,” Philippa laughed, before guiding her niece out of the sitting room and towards the staircase. “You are welcome to stay here for as long as you may need. Though I imagine your mother will be impatiently anticipating your return... how is my dear sister?”

“As restless as ever,” Y/n mumbled. Philippa’s laughter echoed across the halls. Just as she expected, her older sister had not changed. Not one bit. “She is adamant that I am engaged by the end of the season, which is part of the reason I needed to leave home so quickly.”

“I do not blame you, dear,” Philippa murmured. She knew from first-hand experience how relentless Y/n’s mother could be. Even so, she knew it was out of love. Y/n knew as well. “Now... what is the urgent matter you need to attend? I imagine you will need a chaperone... and perhaps a carriage?”

Y/n smiled in relief. Everything she had done leading up to her arrival in London was purely impulsive. She hadn’t even thought of how she would get to Simon or who she would have to escort and chaperone her.

“You wouldn’t happen to know the whereabouts of... the Duke of Hastings?”

Philippa’s eyes grew twice in size. Whether it was shock or excitement, Y/n could not figure out. It wasn’t until her aunt pulled her into the nearest empty room, checked to see if anyone was listening in, and grinned at her that Y/n concluded it was the latter.

“When I read about the Duke and Miss Bridgerton, all I could think of was you,” Philippa began, speaking in a hushed tone, though unable to contain her excitement. She did not typically indulge in gossip, but she was entirely invested in staying updated to her niece and Simon. “You never did tell me what happened when he returned. Did you confess your feelings?”

Philippa had generously volunteered her afternoons so that her niece could practise what she would say to Simon. She hoped those afternoons had not been spent in vain.

“I did... And then he did too... Before telling me, he would never marry,” Y/n explained, trying to conceal the way her breath hitched and the way tears welled up in her eyes. “Though, after reading Lady Whistledown’s column, it is clear that perhaps he meant that he would never marry me.”

Philippa frowned and lifted her hand up again, holding the side of Y/n’s face and swiping the few tears she couldn’t stop from escaping. As she did so, Y/n inhaled sharply- trying desperately to keep herself from indulging in her sorrow.

“I am sure that is not the case, dearest,” Philippa insisted.

She refused to believe Simon would do that to her niece. Not after the stories she had heard from Y/n as they grew up. Not to mention all the times she caught one staring at the other across ballrooms and dining tables.

“We must hurry,” she chirped, dropping her hand so she could grasp her niece’s arm. “I believe the Duke will be in Hyde Park with Lady Danbury. ‘Tis best we leave now if we wish to catch them.”

Y/n smiled. Being with her aunt was a nice change of pace to being with her mother. She would have scolded Y/n had she caught wind of what had happened.

***

Upon their arrival at Hyde Park, Philippa approached Lady Danbury. Her plan was to make conversation with her, find out more about Simon and Daphne’s relationship. Then, she would ultimately create a segue for Y/n to have a somewhat private conversation with Simon.

However, Y/n had other plans.

When they arrived, she scanned the park in search of Simon. Once she spotted him walking alone on the pavement, she threw caution and decorum to the wind. Before her Aunt Philippa could stop her, Y/n sprinted.

Once she reached him, she grabbed his shoulder roughly, prompting him to turn around.

“Peach,” Simon whispered, dumbfounded by Y/n’s sudden appearance.

He stopped calling Y/n by her name when they were five. Instead, he called her Peach, for reasons that remained a mystery to Y/n. Despite not knowing the reasoning behind it, she always adored it. She was the only person he had a unique designated name for.

More recently, she wondered if Miss Bridgerton would soon become an exception.

“You owe me an explanation,” Y/n said harshly, not having the patience to beat around the bush. This was primarily because she wanted to know the truth and because she was out of breath from sprinting to Simon. “Do I really mean so little to you, Simon?”

“Please lower your voice,” Simon begged, subtly grabbing Y/n’s arm and quickening their pace to avoid the crowded area of the park.

“Do not speak to me as though I am a child,” Y/n growled, yanking her arm away from him and stepping back.

“Then do not act like one,” Simon retorted.

Y/n scoffed, before dusting off her dress. Simon rolled his eyes to cover his nervousness. He had a habit of concealing it with aggression. Y/n was often able to see through it, but she was guilty of doing the same.

“What changed?” Y/n asked as she looked back at Simon. “You seemed so certain when you told me you would never marry. Now you have extended your stay in London to court Miss Bridgerton?”

“I wish I could give you an answer,” Simon responded honestly. It was perhaps the most honest statement he had made all month.

His courtship of Daphne was a mere ruse to attract more suitors for her. Truth be told, Simon was incredibly stressed by it, but he was too deep into the lie to give up any time soon. He hadn’t anticipated Y/n would be caught in the middle of it.

“Well, what could be hindering you from doing so?” Y/n cried, confused by how vague and cryptic Simon was acting.

He struggles to find the right words. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Y/n any more than he already had, but he could not give her the answer she wanted. Although he was not actually courting Daphne, he still would not marry. Thus, he could not do what would make her happy, which was the main reason he kept his distance from her in the first place.

“Things are different now,” Simon said apologetically, hoping to deter Y/n from prying. Though he desperately wanted to say more, he knew that doing so was incredibly risky. “We... we are not children anymore.”

Y/n blinked, astonished by Simon’s reaction. It was far from what she had expected. She expected an explanation. She expected assurance. Instead, she has pushed aside as though she and her feelings were disposable.

This was a familiar feeling to Y/n.

“Is that all you think of me?” She asked angrily. Simon, of all the people in her life, had the most power to hurt her. And he often did so without realising. “A child?... And our relationship? You think it is something as easy to put behind you as your childhood? Is that all this is to you, Simon?”

She went to speak again. To demand what she felt she had a right to. However, before she could get a word out, a woman appeared from behind her. She was fair-skinned and wore a dress that resembled her complexion.

“Miss Bridgerton,” Simon gasped. He did not know whether to be grateful for her arrival or concerned about how it would affect Y/n. He eventually became both. “May I introduce you to Miss Y/l/n. She is a... very close family friend.”

Y/n had to keep herself from scoffing. She was more to him than just a friend. Y/n knew that well, despite Simon’s denial.

“I am terribly sorry,” Miss Bridgerton cried, averting her attention to Y/n. “I did not mean to intrude.”

“Not at all,” Y/n assured, smiling sincerely at Daphne. Her anger was entirely directed towards Simon. Unlike him, Daphne had no pre-existing history with Y/n to remain considerate of. “I actually must return to my aunt. It was lovely to finally meet you, Miss Bridgerton.”

Before Y/n turned to walk back to her Aunt Philippa, she glanced back at Simon, who was very clearly terrified of how calm Y/n was. He could only imagine the amount of anger she was harbouring. Deterring her would prove to be much more complicated than he expected.

“Your grace,” Y/n snarled through gritted teeth, before forcing a smile as she turned away.

***

It had been a week since Y/n and Simon’s interaction at Hyde Park.

Y/n sat beside her aunt Philippa in a carriage as she read through her mother’s letter. She had made vividly clear, through an eight-paged rant, that she was absolutely livid with her daughter. Y/n’s hands were trembling.

“I assume she is quite upset?” Philippa asked, though she already knew the answer.

Y/n had extended her stay to a week just so she could attend a gala at Lady Danbury’s estate. It was her last hope of catching a moment alone with Simon and gaining, at the very least, some form of closure. She hoped it would not come to that, but from their last interaction, Y/n was losing confidence.

“She is furious,” Y/n answered shortly, before folding the letter abruptly and placing it aside. Her mother wrote one demand that sent chills through her bones. “If I am not home within a week, she will come to London and take me back herself. Then, I will have to accept Mr Graham’s proposal.”

Philippa’s stomach dropped. She placed her hand atop her niece’s. Y/n looked down to conceal the tears that began to gather in her eyes. Philippa noticed and wrapped her arm around Y/n, gently squeezing her shoulder.

“I am sure it will not come to that,” she whispered soothingly, though she struggled to sound sincere. Y/n nodded. She didn’t quite believe her aunt, but she knew there was no point in losing hope entirely. At least not yet.

Once they arrived at the gala, Philippa made conversation with a friend, whileY/n made way to Lady Danbury. The event was held in her courtyard. While others marvelled at her estate, Y/n felt a warm sense of nostalgia. When Lady Danbury brought Simon to her London estate during summers, she would often invite Y/n and her parents. While her parents and the Danburys made conversation in the house, Simon and Y/n would run about freely outside.

“Welcome back, Miss Y/l/n,” Lady Danbury smiled warmly, as Y/n and her aunt approached her.

“It is a pleasure to be here, my lady,” Y/n responded curtly, before laughing out loud as Lady Danbury pulled her into her arms for a tight hug.

Once she let go, they made small talk. Lady Danbury asked Y/n how her parents were. Y/n asked Lady Danbury how she was and how her fruit orchards were. After they ran out of things to discuss, Y/n could not help but scan the room searching for Simon, who was nowhere to be found.

“I am not completely sure where he is,” Lady Danbury said, startling Y/n who had not realised how far from natural she was acting. “Though, he did complain about how suffocated he was by the throng here... I imagine he has gone to a place where it will be difficult for most to find him.”

Y/n thought for a moment. Lady Danbury was cryptic by nature, and after years of knowing her, she had a knack for figuring out what she meant. Once Y/n knew, she smiled at Lady Danbury, before excusing herself from the gala.

Y/n headed away from the gala and towards the maze area. It was well-lit, which she was grateful for as it meant she could navigate her way around swiftly. It felt like second-nature to her; running about in the Danbury’s London Estate. She forgot how much she enjoyed the thrill of running through and past the hedges.

Once she reached the maze’s centre, she saw Simon standing idle, his back towards where she stood. That was the place they spent most of their time. When they were younger, they would sit there and play games. As they got older, they would sit there and talk. Sometimes he would read while she drew. Sometimes vice versa. But most of the time, they spoke—about everything worth talking about, and then some.

“I remember the first time we played here together,” Y/n began, causing Simon to jump. Once he turned around and saw Y/n his tense posture softened, and a small smile appeared across his face. She felt relieved by it, though she didn’t want to let her guard down entirely. “I got lost, almost immediately, and you found me sitting here, cross-legged, in a puddle of tears. Do you remember?”

Simon chuckled. Of course, he thought.

“You were inconsolable when I found you,” he mocked, prompting Y/n to reach out and lightly punch his shoulder. His laughter only grew.

“We were five,” Y/n reasoned. She would never admit that she was dramatic. Not even as a child. “I genuinely thought no one would ever find me... and then you did, within a matter of minutes.”

She joined him in laughing. It made for a very entertaining story that they retold relentlessly. While others were sick of hearing it, neither of them were sick of recounting it, for their own reasons.

“I told you I would never leave you behind,” he added, smiling as he thought back to that day. His smile faded quickly when he realised the irony. He frowned and took a step towards Y/n. “Peach, I must apologise-”

“-No... I am the one who must apologise,” she intervened. Simon stood back in confusion. Y/n sighed before clarifying herself. “I did not mean to blindside you so aggressively before. I did not come here to argue with you, Simon, I... I came to ask you if it is true... Are you courting Miss Bridgerton... with the intent of marrying?”

Simon winced.

He felt conflicted by both his love for Y/n and the promise he made to Daphne to uphold their ruse. He could not in good faith outright admit that he was merely pretending to court Miss Bridgerton. However, he couldn’t bear the thought of breaking Y/n’s heart a second time.

His lips parted, but his mouth ran dry. Before Simon could keep himself from blurting out the wrong thing, he was overcome by a habit he developed over the last month of playing along.

“I am,” he answered.

Just as he did, he lifted his hand to his temple and scrunched his eyebrows. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Y/n. He was still haunted by the look on her face when he told her he would never marry.

“Right,” she sniffled, unsure how to react. Y/n had convinced herself that there was more to the story than what she had read from Lady Whistledown. She regretted how in-denial she allowed herself to become.

One thing Y/n knew for sure, though, was that she did not want to be near Simon. Although she was on the verge of sobbing, she still turned around and intended to leave him, but Simon grabbed her arm and kept her from doing so.

“Please let me explain,” he begged.

Y/n’s tears halted as she glared at Simon, shocked. She shook her arm out of his grasp and took a step back from him. She had always despised the way men often treated women as though they were disposable and replaceable. She never expected Simon to be one.

“There is no explanation necessary,” she scoffed.

“Y/n, please, you do not understand,” Simon cried. It was rare for him to call her by her name, but Y/n dubbed it as him trying to manipulate her emotions. She would not let that happen.

“No, of course, you would deceive me,” Y/n spat, unwilling to let Simon get a word in. She was tired of waiting around just to hear from him. This time, she would be the talking. He would be the one listening. “-about not wanting to marry or have children, and of course, I believed your ridiculous lie, like the fool I have always been for you.”

“Ridiculous?” Simon hissed. Y/n’s dismissal of his vow sparked a fit of anger that overcame him before he could realise it had done so. No one had ever called to question or criticised his decision to remain a bachelor for life. No one until Y/n.

“Perhaps not a ridiculous lie,” Y/n sneered. “No, it was more-so childish and nonsensical.”

“And yet, you believed it... What is that to say about you, Miss Y/l/n?” Simon scorned. Y/n flinched. Simon had only ever addressed her in such a way to either tease her or to emphasise his anger. It had been a long while since he had done so for the latter. “It was not a lie, Y/n, I... You could never understand the immense pressure I have been placed under my entire life-”

“- Pressure that significantly decreased with the death of your father,” Y/n argued. Simon acted as though he had a monopoly over her when it came to challenges in life. He could not have been more wrong. “I, on the other hand, am placed under severe pressure and will continue to be, long after my parents pass... That is one of the many things you will never understand.”

“That is not true,” Simon fired back, only for Y/n to continue speaking- this time, with a louder voice.

“We may be the same in one sense, but we are significantly different in another, because you, Simon, are still a man with a title.” Y/n and Simon both shared similar challenges as neither of them were white. However, where Simon inherited certain advantages for being a man, and a Duke, Y/n was only disparaged more. He often forgot that. “You, at the very least, still have the luxury of choice. To choose how you wish to fulfil your future, and whether or not that may include a wife or children.”

Simon lowered his eyes defeatedly. Though he was still angry, there was no denying the shame he felt.

“I do not. Those choices were made for me the moment I was born a daughter and not a son. So do not act as though you are in a position to empathise with me,” Y/n said. “Especially when you have been the least bit empathetic after I came all the way here, just to confirm the truth about you and Miss Bridgerton.”

“I never told you to come to London,” Simon snapped.

“No, you did not,” Y/n retorted, with just as much, if not more, annoyance in her voice. “You did not tell me anything. I had to find out at the same moment as everyone else in England, as though we are strangers.”

Simon flinched as Y/n progressed from speaking loudly to outright shouting. He had always relied on having her sympathy and her support, even when he was in the wrong. Thankfully, they were far from the gala. However, Simon still feared someone had heard her reprimanding him.

“You claim you are different, now that you are a Duke, but you are the same as you have always been,” Y/n continued. She knew how he had always been. Better than anyone, let alone Miss Bridgerton, that was for sure. “You are still rigid and arrogant. You are still a coward who will never allow himself to feel any kind of joy. And you are still revolving your every decision in life around a man you claim to despise.”

“You do not know a thing,” he whispered, which only confirmed to Y/n that he was scared. He was intimidated. For as long as they had known one another, Y/n rarely confronted his relationship with his father.

“I have watched you go from living only to please him to living only to spite him, even if it means hurting the people who actually care for you,” she cried. She had no more anger within her. Not any more. She had only sadness. “Did it ever occur to you how much it hurt when you rejected me?”

“That was never my intention,” Simon said regretfully.

It was the truth, though Simon had begun to realise that his wrath against his father blinded him from what he cared about more: her happiness.

“Peach,” he whispered, inching towards Y/n as he lifted his hand and held the left side of her face. “Please, believe me, I never meant to hurt you.”

Their eyes locked for what felt like an eternity. It had been so long since they had shared a moment like that. An intimate moment shared between no one but them. Where Simon was not the stoic and emotionally detached Duke of Hastings. He was Simon. Dare she say, her Simon.

Despite that, Y/n was the first to turn away. She wanted to indulge. To take advantage of the opportunity to reconcile with him. To enjoy how vulnerable he was, after months of distance.

But she couldn’t.

Not when there were still questions burning in her mind. She could not rest until they were dealt with. After all, she was her mother’s child.

“Then what about Miss Bridgerton?” Y/n’s expression remained stagnant, but she could not keep hands from trembling. Simon winced at the mention of Daphne. “You... courting her after rejecting me... You cannot possibly tell me you did not intend to hurt me when you did that.”

Simon opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He had no response to what she had said because there was no justification for what he had done. All he could do was curse quietly to himself for taking so long to realise how foolish he had been.

“I had always expected this to happen,” Y/n began, sniffling as she tried to compose herself enough to explain herself. Simon remained quiet and decided he would until she finished. He figured he owed her as much. “I always knew I would be turned away for someone like Daphne Bridgerton.”

It had been the subject of many of her mother’s lessons. Before she was introduced to society, her mother made it a point to prepare her for rejection. To not hold out hope for any man, until a marriage proposal was made.

Simon had been Y/n’s only exception to that rule.

“It’s happened to me my whole life,” Y/n laughed bitterly, as she recalled all the times she had lost to a woman of fairer skin than her. All the times she wept to her Aunt Philippa and to Simon. “I always expected this would happen. But I never expected this would happen with you.”

Simon’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched Y/n struggle to stifle her cries in between her sentences. He had watched her sit in this sorrow many times, just as she had done for him, for this was a pain she shared. But this time was different. This time he was the one responsible.

He didn’t know pain, so heart-wrenching, was possible. But watching her cry and knowing he could do nothing to fix it. That pain had never felt more real.

“I do not blame you, Simon,” Y/n whimpered, which only made him hurt more. He wanted her to be angry. To berate him some more. It was the least of what he deserved for causing her such sorrow. “She is the ‘Diamond of the Season’ after all, and... I am just me.”

Y/n hated the pity party she was throwing for herself, but she could not help what she felt. After a life of being classed second to white women, who could blame her for internalising this?

He was dying to say something. To tell Y/n that she had it all wrong. He wanted to reveal that his courtship of Daphne was all a ruse. That he could never bring himself to entertain the idea of marrying anyone but her. But his fear of only making things worse left him paralysed.

“You have made it abundantly clear that I was a fool forever waiting around for you,” she said to Simon. Unfortunately for him, she had taken his lack of response as confirmation that what she had concluded of the situation was accurate. “I will not make that mistake again.”

“Peach-”

“Goodbye, Simon,” Y/n blurted as she turned away hastily.

Left in too much shock to reach out and stop her, Simon stood, dumbfounded, and watched as the woman he loved walked away from him and back to the gala. Looking back, he wished he had called out to her. Simon wished he had run after her. But he did not.

When Y/n reached the courtyard where the gala was being held, she couldn’t help the wave of disappointment that rushed over when she realised Simon let her go. This assured her that she was right to leave him, but it did not alleviate the pain in doing so.

She made her way through the crowd and searched for her aunt. As she did, she felt her cheeks burn and her pace of breath quicken. She had gone through all the effort of coming to London just for what she feared most to be the reality.

“There you are, my dear!”

Y/n turned around and saw her Aunt approaching her. Philippa smiled brightly as she walked towards her niece. However, when she realised that Y/n’s enthusiasm fell short of matching hers by a significant margin, her smile began to fade.

“Where is Simon?” She inquired, her voice lowered to not draw attention to their conversation. From Y/n expression, Philippa inferred that was the last thing she wanted.

Y/n’s lip quivered as she tried desperately to answer her aunt’s question. When she failed to do so, she hung her head- too embarrassed to face her aunt. Philippa frowned. A line appeared between her brows as she reached out to her distraught niece.

Though she was dying to know, the details of Simon and Y/n’s conversation were the least of her concerns. All she cared for was her niece and helping her in any way she needed.

“I will call for our carriage,” she whispered, before guiding Y/n out of the courtyard.

Once their carriage arrived, Philippa sat opposite her niece and watched worriedly as she refused to make eye contact, let alone speak.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Y/n took a long moment to respond. She stared at her gloved hands as she thought about what to do next. She regretted all the proposals she had turned down, and all the ways she put her life on hold for Simon. She felt ashamed that she had allowed herself to be in the situation she was in.

Then she realised the only thing she could do to fix it.

“May you organise a carriage to take me home tomorrow?” Y/n asked. Her aunt’s eyes widened. Returning home to face her mother was the last thing Philippa expected Y/n to want to do.

She watched her niece closely, trying to figure out what her plan moving forward was. Y/n finally looked up and met her aunt’s gaze. To Philippa’s surprise, her niece had a prominent sense of confidence in her expression.

“Why, my dear?” Philippa quizzed, her eyebrows still knitted in confusion as well as fear. The way her niece was suddenly overcome with confidence after being on the verge of tears was concerning. She couldn’t imagine it would lead to anything good.

Y/n inhaled sharply, pursing her lips as she did so. She knew her aunt would disagree with what she planned to do. But she also knew that, given the circumstance, Philippa would reluctantly do as she asked. Before she answered, Y/n momentarily glanced down at her hands and turned back to her aunt.

“I have a proposal to accept.”

NEXT PART

#simon basset x reader #simon basset imagine #duke hastings x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #duke hastings #bridgerton #simon basset

2K notes · View notes

thebeebi · 3 years

Text

your little games pt. 1

pairing: Jungkook x reader

warnings: smut with a story, non-con, mention of r*pe attempt, implied murder and many more! Read only if you are okay with these topics!

genre: historical AU, 18th century?

word count: 2.7k+ [part 1]

a/n: Finally I got to do a Jungkook fanfic. I am actually happy with this one. So please let me know what you think! Enjooooy! ♥

You ran away from the man who tried to take an advantage of you. You stabbed him and escaped. Escaped to the arms of the handsome captain who was even worse than the man you just killed.

I must run away! You looked around yourself, trying to not notice a dead body on the floor. Still numb from the thing you did to the older man. The fear of being found made you keep going. You took all of your things and kneeled next to the body. Looking away, you patted around his pocket to find the key to unlock the room. The room you were forcefully locked in. You quivered with fear but the possibility of being caught kept you going. Taking off the bloody dress, you put on the new clean one and shoved the old one into the backpack. You hugged the bad and started walking towards the door with the key in the right hand ready to unlock the world of freedom. Hesitating for a bit, you stood still and wondered what is awaiting you out there. You felt fear once again but decided it was better out there than in this hellhole. You run out of the door fast, passing by the kitchen downstairs, stopping in front of the door frame, but instead of the door, there was a heavy curtain. You pushed it a bit to the side and the fear within raised even more. Someone was there. You backed away looking for another exit, but the feeling of someone following you was there. Your breathing was fast and you felt like you could not go on but the freedom was so close. The heartbeat was fast but your steps were faster. You finally found the exit and ran out of the house you were held in. You run, run far away from the place not knowing what direction you were going in. You just wanted to flee from that place. Maybe if I get lost, it would fool the person who is after me? You thought but was confused because you did not hear any footsteps behind you. Is my own heartbeat cause of me not hearing well? You kept on running through the streets of the town, passing by the huge shops, the empty market, around the mansions and the small looking ordinary houses.

People were looking at you but you did not care. You were exhausted and even though you were scared, you stopped for a second to catch a breath. You felt the stinging pain with every breath you took but you were okay with it. As long as you were far away from that place. You noticed how the air changed and the smell of salt and water hit your nostrils. The eyes that were closed before opened widely and you looked up. The heavy fog caused you not to see anything but the fire torch on the side of the house. You weren’t sure where you were, so you slowly started heading towards the only source of the light. Not like you had any other option. You did not want to return to the fog-filled darkness, so you walked towards the fire torch. You could hear the sound of the waves hitting the rocky wall and screeching noise of wooden planks which were presumably used as the floor on the ships, but could not see anything. You did not even know where you were exactly heading to. The sounds were coming from each side and the only source of light disappeared right in front of your eyes.

“I swear to God, it is her! We found her! Come on, Taehyung! Take her.” You turned towards the voices looking surprised at two men approaching your shivering body. They knew. They are coming for me. You were sure they were the people who were following you. You could not move so you stood there waiting for her fate. “Hey there,” said the blonde one of the duo and smiled from ear to ear at his companion. “The captain will like her. What do you think, Taehyung?” The brown-haired man licked his lower lip and simply nodded. “Definitely. This one will work.”

You could feel yourself trembling under the perverted gazes of the men who were too close to your liking but could not say anything. You knew you had no right to do so. The only thing left within is your strong will. The only thing no one can take from you. “Where are you taking me?” you whispered softly. Taehyung laughed and winked at the older man next to him. “She is willing, Jimin. He will love it. Only if I could, I would love to be in his place tonight.” Said Taehyung biting his lower lip once again. “Just a bit further,” said Jimin and tilted his head to the side pointing at the slowly ship that was slowly showing up. “On the board of Bangtan. Let’s go.“ And so you followed him, while the other male was right behind you. There was no chance of running away. You were surprised by the new setting, not understanding why they were taking you on the ship but it did not matter. My life if not mine anymore anyway. You thought as you willing held Jimin’s hand to hop on the wooden plank that connected the docks with the ship. He swiftly let go once you were on board making sure that no one else saw, that he touched the captain’s lady. He pointed towards the direction and asked you to follow him as he led you towards the wooden door hidden at the and of the hallway. In front of them, he halted his steps, took a deep breath and softly knocked three times. Without waiting for the response, Jimin opened the door and made his way inside, into the captain’s cabin. The unfamiliar man stood up from the table. Only if you weren’t so scared, you could have noticed that he was tall, well built and that his eyes were deep brown. The man had brown slim fitted trousers, that were too tight around his waist and the snow-white shirt was unbuttoned down to his hips. It showed his muscular broad chest. He looked a bit like a pirate but also as a demon. His dark hair was up to his chin but the best part was his face. It was like he was made by God’s touch. His nose was straight, but from the profile, you could notice a tiny bump on it. His plump lips were the ones Eve would kiss every day in the Eden but suddenly he was here. And you were well aware of that. He was there and so close to you. If only you weren’t in this situation, you would do anything to get to know that man. When he smiled, your knees went weak. He came closer to you, he measured you from the bottom to the top, not missing any detail on your body.

“I see you did your best today, Jimin. I bet it took you long before you found this gem.“ Said the beautiful man still looking at you. “Not really, captain.” He replied and Taehyung swiftly added: “We found her near the docks, she was very willing.” Taehyung smirked as he looked at your body hungrily. The tall man nodded and slowly started walking around you. He was not touching you by anything than his dark lusty eyes, that were appreciating every curve of your body and your breasts which looked like they were moulded by the goddess of beauty, Aphrodite. The backpack you were holding in you hand went back against your chest, as you were trying to cover from the longing gaze of the captain. The dress you changed into was of thin fabric and you regretted not changing into male clothes back then. The tall man stood still in front of you, smiled, but you weren’t looking at him. You refused to look at him wondering how is your fate going to look like from now on. The two men that brought you there were smirking, satisfied with tonight’s present for their captain.

The tall man moved to the side, so Jimin could whisper something to him. You briefly looked around the cabin, but could not see anything. Even though you looked strong, from the inside you felt like you were about to break down. You were tired, exhausted and confused. You could not imagine the trial on the ship, but because you did not know anything about law and these things, you thought that you would be sent to some colony for killing a man. Or so you tough. Oh God, when I think about all of my childhood dreams… When I think about how I wanted to run away from poverty just to be almost raped by that old man. I wanted to have an easy life. But I will be sent to prison or some unknown colony for the sin I committed. You sighed as you got reminded of the reasons why you ended up in the room with the man who tried to take advantage of you. I killed a man, they caught me and now I have to accept whatever the fate prepared for me. You shut your eyes tightly and bit your lower lip nervously. With the saddening thoughts, you went numb. You were guilty. They caught you and now you have to wait for the trail. You were so deep in the thoughts, you did not hear two men that brought you there left.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the deep chuckle of the man standing in front of you. He bowed. “Welcome. What is your name, little one?” He smiled. “Y/N,” you exhaled but when you saw him tilting his head you added softly “captain.” He nodded and walked towards the table. “That is a very beautiful name, Y/N. My name is Jeon Jungkook, but my friends call me Jungkook. Have you eaten already?” You hesitated to give him an answer but nodded at the end. “Wine, maybe?” Jungkook asked and took the bottle to pour himself and then brought a bottle closer to you. You shook your head to reject a drink and looked down on the floor. Captain laughed silently at your reaction and walked to you until he stopped closely. He took the backpack you were holding eagerly and threw it to the other side of the cabin still keeping his gaze on you. He was addicted to your beauty and dress which provided just a tiny coverage of your curves. Your skin was reflecting the light from the candle placed on the table. The captain saw a beautiful woman sitting in front of him with an exquisite bust that was showing above the cut of the dress. As you were breathing, your breasts were rising and falling down. For Jungkook it was a beautiful sight he could not get enough of.

He came even closer to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up. He covered your lips with his. You could feel a hint of bitter wine, the taste your father liked. You were so surprised and reminded of the past, that you forgot to protest and stood still, letting the man kissing you. You could see yourself out of your body, but when his tongue slipped into your mouth a wave of emotions came crashing down of you. Most of all you felt excitement when this tongue opened your soft lips and entered inside. From somewhere within, you felt a weird feeling which was strangely comforting. You knew if the circumstances were different, you would like the situation you were in. Captain stepped back smiling but you could see his eyes were filled with lust. When he pulled his hand away, you gasped as you felt your dress falling down to the floor. For a moment your eyes met, but you interrupted it by trying to lift the dress back up but his hands held your shoulders and pulled you into his embrace. It was when you realised that the man wanted. What he was doing. You knew you could not do anything. Your body was weak from what happened earlier today and the running just exhausted you so much, you could not do anything. You were trying to push him away. You ran away from the disgusting man who tried to take advantage of you just to run into the man who will do the same. The embrace of Mr Brown this afternoon was strong, but Jungkook’s arms were made of steel. You could not push him away to free yourself. While you were moving your hand on his body, by accident you pushed captain’s shirt down of his shoulders and it made its way down to the floor. The only wall between your bodies was a tiny material of your bra. Your lost your breath whenever he covered your lips with his and then he continued kissing your face and the top of your bust. You could feel how was his hand sliding down your back and suddenly your bra was unclasped and fell down. The exposed breast was covered by his broad chest. When you felt the heat he radiated, you strongly pushed him away and for a second you were freed. He laughed and took that as a cue to take off his shoes and trousers.

He smirked, “You are playing your little games well, but there is no way, that you would win.” He was looking at your naked bust and you could see the passion in his eyes. You were more beautiful and charming than he was wishing for. On the other hand, it was your first time seeing a naked man and it was terrifying. You stood still until the captain walked closer to you once again and when he did, you screamed and turned around ready to run away. You wanted to, but his strong grip on your waist halted any action you tried to do. The grip was strong, but it never hurt you. He did not try to do you any harm. You bowed down to bit into his hand. Captain cursed and pulled his hand back to rub the hurt spot. You took it as your cue to run but tripped and fell down to his bed. In the second he was on top of you, pressing you into the mattress. You felt like every movement you did was just encouraging him. The hair that was in a bun before was now ruffled and you could not breathe. “No!” you screamed. “Stop it! Let me go!” Captain smirked and whispered by your neck. “Oh no, little one. No. Not anymore.”

With that, he moved and for a second you could not feel his body. But soon again, you could feel as his hard member was looking for something in between your thighs until it found something. He entered you a bit and you in fear lifted your back from the bed, trying to escape the pain you started to feel. He could hear something between a scream and groan from your mouth when you felt the strong pain in the lower parts of your body. Jungkook moved back a bit surprised. You were weakly laying on the mattress shaking your head. Jungkook softly touched your cheek and whispered something you could not hear, but your eyes were closed and did not want to look at him. He was moving gently above you, kissing your hair and forehead and kept on caressing every part of your beautiful body. You weren’t moving even when you felt his gentle thrusts becoming more aggressive and soon enough he entered fully because he could not control himself anymore. You could feel that your body was about to break with every trust of his body and soon enough your eyes were filled with tears.

When the storm ended, and everything was calm, he became once again the sweet, gentle man. When he finally pulled out, you turned to the side and let out all the tears you were holding in. With the closest blanket, you covered your face and your now filthy body so he could not look at you any longer. Jungkook was confused. He looked at the beautiful woman laying next to him. Jungkook was adoring the beautiful curves of her hips and soft thighs he was holding just a few minutes ago. He reached in to touch you, while wondering what went wrong – how you were willing to come to him at first and walked into his cabin, then how you were playfully protesting but still thrusted against his length in the bed – and now you were crying in front of him with the blood on the sheet. What made you turn into a prostitute, little one?

Part 2

a/n: I really hope you liked this one, I wrote it today and decided to surprise you all! :)

#bts smut #yandere bts #jungkook smut #jungkook fics #jeon jungkook #bts yandere #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #jungkook #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagines #yandere jungkook #yandere

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mothandpidgeon · 3 years

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Ok but since you are writing a Regency piece...could you imagine having Din Djarin and Marcus Pike fighting over you? Each of them is so different and you can't help it because you're attracted to both of them because Din is the brooding yet kind introverted man that quotes to you poetry and takes you on long boat rides (with someone else of course because he cares about your image) and you're head over heels in love but then Marcus comes along and he's dashing and sweet and a little introverted but mostly talkative whenever he has to be and although he doesn't read to you poetry, he does gush about how none of the Greek and Roman and Etruscan sculptures and Italian works of art come close to your beauty and he takes you on long walks in gardens and even invites you to go to Versailles one time with him and then the three of you run into each other during one of the balls and the two are begging just for a moment with you and you're dancing with no one else but them during the entire night and when you try to go to the garden to get some fresh air, you're bombarded by the two men and they get into a heated argument to the point where they say that they will duel for you but you stop them both because you don't want either of them to get hurt and then...oh my sweet lord...and then, you take each of their hands and kiss their knuckles and fuck you shouldn't be doing this because what if someone sees and your reputation and no no no...but they both grow even more shy and you smile at them and-

"How about you invite us over to your estate Captain Djarin? I'm sure we can all...come to an agreement. Right?"

And the two are so confused but when they look at each other and return their gaze to you, they finally realize what it is you're talking about and they're both appalled by your offer but their shock slowly subsides because they fucking crave you and they nod and you throw each one of them a wink and-

"I'm looking forward to the invitation, good evening gentlemen."

And AHHHHHHHHHHH I DIE!!!!!!!!

Ok, Maggie, you went SO HARD on this one. Phew. You really know how to torment me!!! You are always welcome in my inbox. Considering the tale you wove, I really hope this lives up to it and you’ll have to forgive me I could go on but I was already approaching 1.5k words!!

Also I hope you don’t mind (and apologies to Regency!Din) but the mention of Versailles just screamed late 18th century (an important distinction in my nerd brain) so…

A/N: 18+! This ribbon bit comes from Barry Lyndon so apologies to the ghost of Stanley Kubrick.

It was a shame that Misters Djarin and Pike detested one another so when they had so many similarities. Both of them were kind and sweet and terribly handsome.

Mr. Pike accompanied you to the opera on more than one occasion. In the privacy of your box, he would whisper sweet words into your ear and nudge the soft skin of your neck with his nose. Mr. Djarin was more of an outdoorsman. He took you riding on his estate. When you were far enough on the grounds, he would help you down from the saddle and recite poetry to you beneath a shady tree.

And yet seeing them side by side now in Mr. Djarin’s parlor where you’d just shared a very awkward tea, tension straining the air between them, they couldn’t be more different. Mr. Djarin, so reserved, dark and modest. Mr. Pike, flirtatious and warm, cheek always dimpled with a smile.

You knew it wasn't going to be easy to break the wall between them but you’d been wise enough to plan for it.

“It seems I cannot force an accord between you but I know how men like their sport. I propose a wager. Nothing like a friendly competition to encourage affection,” you said.

Marcus cocked his eyebrow. He had wanted to win you since he’d met you last summer, pursuing you endlessly and yet this other man still stood in his way.

“I wonder which of you is a better hunter,” you said.

“And how would we prove that?” Mr. Pike asked. Din’s brow creased. He didn’t know how hunting had anything to do with your ludacris proposal, the one that they had both scoffed at at the ball. He wouldn’t have agreed to contemplate the thought if he hadn’t been so afraid of losing you.

You rose from your seat and both pairs of brown eyes watched you intently.

“I have devised a test. I’ve hidden a white ribbon somewhere on my person,” you said, trying to bite back your smile. “The better man finds it first.”

Both men looked at you in a stunned silence. Your heart was racing nervously but you were savoring their expressions. Mr. Djarin collected himself first.

“You’ll forgive me for being unfamiliar with the ways in which women amuse themselves but I hardly find such a suggestion to be entertaining,” Mr. Djarin said, his cheeks turning pink.

He couldn’t pretend that the idea of undressing you didn’t make his heart pound but he hated how easily you would give yourself over to Mr. Pike. He disliked the way Pike flirted with you so openly. Of course, he knew some of it was envy— he had never been a charmer.

“I do not speak in jest, sir,” you told him.

“That is what you want?” Mr. Pike asked, his soft eyes already slipping lower. He was already thinking of places to explore.

You watched Mr. Djarin look away from you when he nodded.

“And the better man, does he win something?” Pike asked, enjoying how flustered the other man had become.

“My highest regard,” you answered coyly.

Marcus chuckled.

“Then the lady should get what she wants, don’t you agree?” he asked Mr. Djarin.

Din cleared his throat.

“Very well,” he said.

Pike came to your side and took your hand to escort you to the couch where you sat between him and Mr. Djarin.

“Perhaps you should take the first turn,” you suggested to Mr. Djarin who was looking at you with a mix of fear and yearning in his eye.

He’d been so careful with you, always so cautious not to overstep or do anything at all that might invite scandal save a few soft kisses. And here you were laying yourself out for him. He swallowed dryly and met your eye with a shrug of surrender.

“Is it in your hair?” he asked, eyes darting up to your coiffure.

You smiled at him, nearly reached out to put your hand on his cheek. That protective nature was what drew you to Mr. Djarin in the first place. You knew what he really wanted, you could see it in his eyes, but he was too polite to take what was being offered. Not without convincing.

“I believe this requires a more thorough search, Djarin,” Pike said from over your shoulder.

He cupped your hands and turned them over as in a playful inspection, then lifted both of your arms. “No. Not there.”

You laughed and the noise made his heart jump. He’d found that he would make himself a fool if it put a smile on your face. Marcus was happy to take the opportunity to move in closer, to claim you with his touch. He brushed your neck so gently, his fingers tracing a ljne from your jaw to your shoulder where the bodice of your dress began. Goose pimples broke out on your skin and Marcus put his lips against your earlobe.

“I wonder,” he mused, leaning your back into his chest.

He hooked a finger under the fabric and followed the line down from your shoulder to the swell of your breast and you gasped. He had so often admired the rise and fall of your chest, Marcus couldn’t help but caress your skin with his thumb. Din felt himself stiffen as he listened to the soft moans Pike was drawing from you as he put a kiss on your skin. Watching your lips part, Din was frozen in place.

Marcus moved his hand down the straight front of your bodice and you felt yourself pulsing beneath your skirts.

“Perhaps under here?” he asked.

You allowed him to work the front of your gown open, the silk parting to reveal the creamy ivory stays below. Din felt twin aches in his chest and his groin as he saw the other man slide the bodice off of your shoulders.

Neither had seen you in such a state of undress before. Marcus took a moment to steady himself, admiring the figure below and sliding his hand across your middle. You were hardly naked, still clad in your stays, shift, and skirts but your underthings made his cock twitch.

“Now you see how the game is played and that Mr. Pike has been so far unsuccessful,” you said to Mr. Djarin, your voice more breathless than before. “Would you care to try, Mr. Djarin?”

You encouraged him by bringing your foot to rest beside his knee, leaning back into Mr. Pike. Din licked his lips, staring at the floral pattern on your delicate shoe for what felt like a century. Finally, he gave in to his longing.

He ran his fingers up your ankle over your silk stocking, revealing the smooth line of your leg. His large hands encircled your calf as he inched your skirt up further. You let out a shaking breath, squeezing your thighs together. You could hear Mr. Pike’s jagged breaths in your ear as he watched with anticipation. He had half a mind to release himself from his breeches to relieve the torment building there.

Din was careful not to reveal any of your skin, stopping just above the spot at your knee where your stockings were tied with thick ribbons.

“These are blue,” he said, running his thumb over the bow.

You were looking down at him flushed and breathing heavy and it took everything in his power to stop from taking you then and there.

You leaned to him, putting your lips against his and letting your mouth fall open to invite him in. You heard him whimper and he clutched onto your leg. Then you turned to Mr. Pike who kissed you hungrily, his wide palm kneading at your breasts.

“I’m quite disappointed in the both of you,” you said once you could speak again. Your whole body was thrumming with arousal.

You raised your skirts up around your hips and felt both pairs of eyes lustily watching. There, tied around the thickest part of your thigh was the white ribbon. But they only noticed the slick shining between your thighs.

“We shall call it a draw. But I’m afraid that means you’ll have to share me, gentlemen,” you said.

And from their twin growls, it was clear that they didn’t mind.

#Maggie the magnificent #I’m not sure what this is but I hope it was fun #historical au #regency au #regency!din #din djarin x reader #marcus pike x reader #ask the moth

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unbreathable · 3 years

Text

ride home / S. Rogers

Summary : As a girl you were always told to never accept a ride from unknown men. You knew what could happen, you knew the dangers and heck, you`ve seen how it ruined some girls. But hey, he`s your teacher, nothing could happen. Right?

Pairing : Dark(soft)!teacher Steve Rogers x female Reader

Before you read, please understand that this is intended to be a dark fic. There will be noncon elements, rape, violence, manipulation and so much more. If you find any of these disturbing, please click away. 18+ only.

Warnings for this one shot : manipulation, noncon elements, rape, use of drugs, lost of virginity. This is some kind of au and Steve might be out of character a little.

Word count : 3.319

Credit : for the gif I used, the credit goes to its rightful creator.

Note : Don’t expect this to be any good. I came up with this over the course of a few hours and I’m still learning how to write one shots, as I find it much easier to write a series. Also I still suck at writing “smut”. I’m trying to perfect it, tho. Promise. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this one shot till my mind would be satisfied with the way the next chapter of “The Magpie” turned out and would let me post it. :)) Also, please excuse any mistakes I made. Have a great day you guys!

Also, to all the writers from this platform : thank you !

Girl found wondering around without any memory of the last few days, claims she had been abducted and raped...

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at the case which has been all over the news for the past week. It was quite predictable, really. Young girl, too drunk for her own good woke up by herself in the middle of nowhere. You sighed. In a city as big as New York, cases like this happened almost every other day, but there was always something left behind. Fight marks, blood, hair. Anything that could help the police find the person who did it. This time though, there was nothing.

The poor girl. You couldn`t help but pity her. She must be terrified. All alone against a world that knows nothing better than to judge. You pinched your nose in exasperation.

Cases like this, it`s what made you choose to study law. You wanted to be able to help other women. To offer them a chance at justice. No one deserved to be told that it was their own fault for wondering alone at night or for wearing something more showing. No girl should feel like the law protects only the male population...

“ And what`s your opinion on this matter, miss I`m too busy scrolling on my phone to pay attention to class?”

You cursed in your head, as you put your phone away and lifted your eyes to meet your teacher.

Steve Rogers. America`s hero, savior of the world and an actual pain in your ass, was looking at you expectantly. You held his gaze as you forced your lips to form some kind of smile. Something about him always put you on edge and the way his eyes darkened as he stared at you, didn`t exactly help ease the feeling.

“I`m sorry, I was distracted.” you murmured, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that he caught you unprepared. ”If you would be so kind...”

You looked at him as you raised one eyebrow. It was always like this. No matter what you did he`d always find something to pick at you. At first you took it as a form of banter between a teacher and his students, but with time it became clearly that he had a problem with you. Your grades didn`t reflect the hard work you always put in. Your extra work wouldn`t be considered. Every time you would as much as look at your watch he`d find something to jab at you. He would also have something to say about every paper you handed him. It was a miracle you even made the grade for his class.

You cringed as you remembered the comments he would make about your life outside his class. You seemed to bump into him on a daily. There was also something, in the way he watched your every move, that it made the hair at the back of your neck stay high on alert. You really couldn`t understand what you`ve done that America`s sweetheart despised you that much.

”The women rights...” he smirked down at you.

“Oh, yes. I strongly believe that women should have got their rights the same time men did.” you smiled when you realized that he wanted to add something else. “I mean we know that every society of this world was built around androcentrism, but if we`re real the women were the ones that kept everything from falling apart.” you drew in a short breath. “Oh, and I believe that 1920 was a bit late for our women to get their rights, since women all around the world fought for it since the 18th century.”

You smirked, as for once in your life the bell rang exactly when you needed it. Forcing a smile his way, you stood up gathering your notebooks. You were quite proud of yourself, not because your answer was the desired one, but because you got on professor Rogers nerves. While he didn`t seem to have a problem with women and feminists in general, he sure had a problem with the way you choose to speak on the matter. From the corner of your eye you saw his jaw twitch.

At first you were afraid to even say your opinion lest you would upset him, but now you enjoyed to see that vein on his forehead nearly pop. You held back a giggle. Oh well, at least you won`t have to see him for the next few weeks.

“Professor!” you rolled your eyes when you herd your bestfriend use her sweet voice. “I was wondering if you`d like to come to our party tonight.”

You stood straight, narrowing your eyes at the one that has been your friend since the first day you came to the city. What the hell was happening. You knew she had a crush on him, everyone did, but she wasn`t the one to just go and ask someone out, especially not him. You watched her in confusion as professor Rogers made his way to the front of the class.

“You know, with everything happening right now, the uni council would let us hold the party only if there was someone that could take care of us.”

“Oh!” you supposed that made sense, but even so why did it have to be him.

“Of course professor Barnes already said that he`ll be there, but we`d be thankful if you came too. Please!” your friend bated her eyelashes at him as you rolled your eyes.

Professor Rogers had a pleased smile as he moved his eyes from her to you. You held his gaze, even going as far as raising one eyebrow at him. He blinked, before turning his head towards the rest of the class.

“Since you asked so nicely.” he said after a short moment dismissively. ”`I`ll be there.”

There was something sinister in his eyes. Something that you failed to see as you made your way out of the lecture class.

“I can`t believe you invited him!” you playfully jabbed your friend in the shoulder as she walked next to you.

“Oh, come on! It’s just tonight, and I bet he won’t be able to stay up that late since he’s like... the same age as history?” she bit back a laugh, as she took your hand. “It will be fun, you`ll see.”

You hoped she was right since you were never a big fan of parties of any kind.

_ _ _

This wasn`t fun. Not at all.

You knew you should have stayed home, yet you still wanted to enjoy the last night with your class mates before break. But this wasn`t it. The music was too loud and you couldn`t even hear what some people were saying. Also you`ve never really been a techno fan. The food was crap and you were sure everyone came just because there were free drinks.

It was well past midnight and you have been there since the beginning, but you were already dreading it. You smiled as your only joy came from watching drunk freshmen being rejected by some of your friends. The girls were ruthless and that made you proud.

“Hey girl!” your bestfriend came by your side, holding two glasses in her hands as her body danced along the rhythm of the music. “Look at was professor Rogers sent us.”

Her words were slurred and you could see that she drank already too much. That`s why at first you thought you didn`t hear her right. While it wasn`t unusual for men to send women drinks, getting a drink from your teacher was something you never thought could happen. It was wrong in a way.

“What?” your eyes widened as soon as the word left your mouth.

You eyed the glass she handed you. It seemed to be one of your favorites, and after the sour taste the beer left in your mouth, that would have been like a desert. Still something made you suspicious.

“Come on, take it!” your friend pressed as she smiled broadly. “He must have realized that he’s been an ass all year and wants to make amends.”

She was giggling as her glossy eyes drifted around the room. She didn`t seem to be able to focus on anything, but somehow her shaky hands found yours and brought the glass you were holding closer to your mouth. You weren`t exactly sure what came over you, but you opened your mouth and let the liquid go down your throat. Involuntarily, your eyes wondered around till you saw the back of your least favorite teacher. He didn`t even seem to care about anything around him as he was engaged into a discussion with professor Barnes. That alone made you feel safe, even though the drink left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You were too quick to judge, you resonated. This was probably his way of saying: “Sorry I tormented you that much.” You suddenly giggled. It was shortly followed by your friend`s laughter. She threw the glass to the side and took your hand leading you to the dancefloor.

You weren`t that much of a dancer. You knew just some basics moves and that was it, but now you didn`t seem to care. You let your body move, and only chuckled when your legs started to feel like jelly. It was a strange feeling. You suddenly felt like were floating.

You furrowed your brows as you started to feel that your body didn`t exactly respond to your impulses. Everything around you happened in slow motion.

You cursed. Just how much did you drink? Moving one hand to your head, you tried to get your senses back, but you found it too hard to do. Your head buzzed. For a second you looked around trying to spot your friend among the sweaty bodies on the dancefloor, but it was like you couldn`t recognize anybody.

Fuck this. You had enough of this party already, and the way you felt made you decide that it was time to go home. You moved between the sea of bodies as fast as you could. Your coat and purse were the only thing you spent more than five minutes looking for, but as you found them you practically run out of there.

The bus stop wasn`t that far, but just the thought that you`ll have to go home by bus, made you want to throw up. You didn`t feel well and there was dizziness that started to overcome you. As you watched the empty street, you cursed again. Of course you`ll have to wait till the next bus came. Damn it! You should really get your license.

The sound of a engine from behind you, made you turn your head. Your eyes narrowed as you watched the Range Rover slow down and actually stop right next to you. You squinted your eyes, trying to see through the tinted glass, but as a wave of nausea hit you, you moved your head to the side. You didn`t exactly pay attention when one of the windows went down. You didn`t really care. You felt sick, and all you wanted, was to get home.

“ I saw you left the party early.” the deep voice said. “Are you all right kitten?”

You hissed when you heard the voice of the last person you wanted to see right now. What was he even doing here? Your heart skipped a beat as another wave hit. You took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself. Just ignore him and he`ll go away. You didn`t exactly knew why you choose to act like that but there was something in your head that told you it was for the best.

“Come on girl, I have to make sure everyone is safe and sound.” you heard his voice. “If you don`t feel fine, I can take you home.”

The idea of getting home sooner and in a nice car was looking really good right now. But still, you didn`t feel like it was the best for you. You choose to keep quiet for reasons not even you knew. You glossy eyes scanned the schedule of the bus that was right in front of you. Thirty minutes and you`ll go home.

You heard professor Rogers sigh.

“And here I thought you never shut your mouth.” there was a deep chuckle, fallowed by the sound of the engine coming to life. “Look kitten I can either get you home or I`ll go my merry way and let you here all alone... well not quite. But I`m not sure you`d want that kind of company.”

Confusion filled your mind. The sudden move you made to look at him, made you dizzy. You tried to focus your eyes, in time to see him pointing to somewhere behind you. You slowly turned.

A group of guys were eyeing you like a wolf would his prey. Your mouth fell open as they did obscene gestures at you. Your whole body freeze as fear took over you. You knew what could happen. Suddenly you were more sober that ever and as you heard the car start moving, you nearly threw yourself in front of it. On shaky legs you moved towards the door.

“Wait” you find it hard to speak. “Professor, I`m sorry I... please!”

You looked at him with pleading eyes, and didn`t even register the way he smirked as you got into the car. Everything was a haze. You only felt like you could breath when the car started to gain speed. You didn`t even remembered to give him your address or anything, but as the car rolled down various streets you were only thankful you were far away from them.

“It such a crazy world out there” professor Rogers voice made you move your head towards him, but as the fear was gone, you started to feel the dizziness again.

With unfocused eyes you watched him. America`s hero was giving you a ride home for free and you were acting like he was your biggest enemy. What was wrong with you?

“I have to say I`m impressed.” he suddenly said as the car started to slow down. “That was one of the strongest drugs that you drank, and you still have some of your conscious left. The other ones were down after a few minutes.”

You looked at him and simply blinked. You wondered if your mind was playing games with you. Surely, he hadn`t said what you think you heard. You must have imagined everything.

“E... excuse me?” you asked dully.

You drew in a shaky breath as your trembling hand went to the door. He chuckled darkly at your attempts to open it. You wanted to scream but as your movement became slower and slower you found that fear wasn`t enough to fuel your limp body.

The car came to a sudden stop. You closed your eyes as you felt hands pulling you back.

“Now, now honey.” you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. “Don`t waste your energy, you`ll need it.”

You turned your head and watched him through your eyelashes. Something in your head was screaming at you to fight, to run, to get away. You wanted to punch, scratch, hurt him in any way. But your body didn`t listen.

It happened too fast. In a matter of second your dress was ripped to shreds. And your found yourself pressed to the door. He was over you in an instant. Turning your head to the side so that he could stare into your eyes. He had a hungry look on his face. You`ve seen it many times but it never terrified you as much as now.

“Just as pretty as I imagined.” he said in a husky voice.

You squeezed your legs as you felt his hand moving around along your body. He tugged at your bra till the clasps snapped. Your nipples stood erect, you didn`t know if it was from the cold of the car or the heat that was inside you. One of his hands came forward at pinched at your nipples. You made to move, but as sensing your intention he tugged your head back by your hair.

“Don`t you even dare!” he growled as his thumb played with one of your nipples. “I waited a long time for this”.

He leaned forward kissing down your stretched neck. His mouth was hot against your skin. You gasped when you felt his tongue leaving wet traces along your collarbone. He tugged at your hair one more time before his hand went down.

“Always dressing like this world is your own runaway, always thinking that you know it all.” he let out a moan as he squeezed your ass. “Do you know what a face as pretty as yours and an attitude like that do to a man?”

You whimpered. You never meant to catch his attention in that way, you just wanted to feel good about yourself. You wanted to tell him that. To tell him that you were sorry, but your brain didn`t work anymore. There was no reaction even as he spanked you. You felt like you could pass out every second.

“Don`t even think about it!”

You closed your eyes when your panties were soon the same as your other clothes. Slick was going down your legs. Despite everything, you were aroused.

“So fucking wet already. Good girl!” he praised.

You felt his hand descend down to your very core, proding around. You bit your lips as tears filled your eyes.

“How many have been here before?” he gave a low chuckle the same time his fingers pinched your button.

“One?” he mocked as one of his long fingers entered you.

You held back a gasp. Non, no, no. This wasn`t happening. Nobody touched you like that before. Nobody even came close to it. That`s not how you wanted it not how you dreamt it would happen. You wanted dinner, roses, a man you loved... not him.

“Two?” he continued as another finger stretched you.

You felt your walls clench around his fingers, as he moved them in and out ou you, everything while his thumb circled your most sensitive part.

“Fuck... you`re tight!” his breath was ragged, it was like he couldn`t get enough.

There was a sudden pause. In a quick move you found yourself pressed to the door of the car, as he angled your body to have better access to your burning core. He drew in a breath.

“A virgin.” he moaned.

You closed your eyes as you herd him playing at his clothes. The sudden hardness you felt proding around your core, made you shiver. You didn`t dare to look back and see it. You were scared. It seemed too big. You were afraid it would split you in a half.

You screamed when he entered you. The pain blurred your vision. Your whole body ached and tears fell down your cheeks. No, no, no. You bit back a moan of pain when he started to move, not caring about you at all. His moves were rough, punishing.

“Shhh doll, I`ll take care of you.” he rasped. “You must have waited so long for this... saving yourself for me.”

Your body moved in rhythm with his. His cock dragged along your walls as every move sent a wave of pain through you. Soon though, you found the pain disappeared. A strange feeling took over you. It was almost pleasurable. You guessed you would have enjoyed it under any other circumstances. But now? Now you were just tired.

As you passed out, you failed to notice the feeling of something warm flowing through you.

_ _ _

Steve smiled down at your sleeping form. So pretty, even after being used like that. You had a glow. Too bad you might not remember anything that happened. He chuckled. It`s a good thing he planned to keep you. He`ll make sure you`ll never forget him.

You were his girl after all. The only reason he took that shitty job as a teacher.

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clear-as-starlight · 3 years

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Nathan Hale’s Death vs the Primary Sources

(aka did William Hull actually know anything?)

“The first the Americans heard of Hale’s death was on the evening of the twenty-second [September 1776], when Captain John Montresor…an aide de camp to General Howe, approached an outpost…under flag of truce. His main business…did not concern Hale, but was to transport to Washington a letter from Howe offering an exchange of high-ranking prisoners. Joseph Reed, accompanied by General Israel Putnam and Captain Alexander Hamilton, rode to meet him. After passing over the letter, he casually added that one Nathan Hale, a Captain, had been executed that morning.”

This passage comes from “Washington’s Spies: The Story of America’s First Spy Ring” by Alexander Rose and it, along with the wonderful @queerrevolution1776 inspired me to go on a (brief) primary source deep dive of Hale’s death. A challenge, given the lack of primary sources surrounding Hale’s spy work, and the tall tales that grew up around it.

I started here: Why was Hamilton there? He was not an aide-de-camp at this point, why would he be present? And that question, my friends, led to a whole host of others!

(Info under the cut because there is a lot, and it’s fascinating :))

The (Un)reliability of Recollection

The idea of Hamilton having been present to hear of Hale’s fate, so far as I can see, is first related in “Revolutionary Services and Civil Life of General William Hull”, a biography based on Hull’s unpublished memoirs, and written by his daughter, Maria Hull Campbell:

“In a few days, an Officer came to our camp, under a flag of truce, and informed Hamilton, then a Captain of the Artillery, but afterwards an aide to General Washington, that Captain Hale had been arrested within the British lines, condemned as a Spy, and executed that morning. I learned the melancholy particulars from this officer, who was present at his execution, and seemed touched by the circumstances attending it.”

William Hull was a friend of Hale’s from Yale, and they were both in the 19th Regiment, before Hale transferred to Knowlton’s Rangers. A lot of what we know of Hale’s death seems to come from Hull’s memoirs, right down to his (possibly incorrect and/or exaggerated) final words: “I only regret, that I have but one life to lose for my country.” Hull was a close friend of Hale’s, so it does make some sense that he’d know something of it. However, the above biography was written in 1848, and related conversations that had taken place a long time earlier. Campbell herself admits she includes conversations not even present in her father’s memoirs.

Though her book is not the only 18th/19th century one about Hale’s death, it quickly became clear that all of them were based on conversations with Hull. The first time the name ‘Nathan Hale’ even entered the public conscious properly after the war was in 1799, in Hannah Adams’ “A Summary History of New England and General Sketch of the American War” where she writes: “The compiler of this History of New England is indebted to Gen. Hull of Newton for this interesting account of Captain Hale.”

Hale isn’t mentioned again until 1824, in a book by Jedediah Morse, who says he got his info from Adams, who in turn got it from Hull. It seems likely, then, that the idea of Hamilton being there (and indeed, that most of what we know) came from Hull’s supposed recollection, 20+ years after the event took place.

Now, this is not to say that Hull was lying. Return records show that he and his Regiment were certainly present at “Camp near to Harlem Heights” with Washington’s forces at the time that Washington would have been given the information about Hale, and we know Hamilton and his Artillery were present also, as it is at Harlem Heights that he apparently first came to Washington’s notice (according to John C. Hamilton). It did seem a bit strange though, to both me and @queerrevolution1776 , for Hull or Hamilton to have met with an official flag of truce, when they were both only Captains, and not on Washington’s staff (he’d only just become aware of Hamilton’s existence, after all).

Washington makes no mention of either of them in his correspondence, instead writing to Jonathan Trumbull Sr. that it was Colonel Joseph Reed whom Howe’s aide, John Montresor, met with. It makes sense that Reed would have met with Montresor, given his position on Washington’s staff. Reed is mentioned in Rose’s book, but not Hull’s account, and I thought that was a discrepancy worth a look. Hull, writing after the fact, mentions only Hamilton, who by then was a well-known, and scandalous, public figure. Reed, on the other hand, was nowhere near as popular, and perhaps did not serve as such an interesting figure in a story about Hull’s friend, one of America’s earliest spies.

Sure, Hamilton could have been nearby, or overheard the discussion, and in turn told Hull what he had heard—which could explain why Hale’s last moments have been exaggerated, or perhaps accidentally falsified, given that a British officer who was present apparently heard: “It the duty of every good officer, to obey any orders given him by his commander in chief” and not what is so often recounted. Even a newspaper (The Essex Journal) publishing an account five months later, quoted Hale as having said: “If I had ten thousand lives I would lay them all down, if called to it, in defence of my injured, bleeding country”—No one seems quite able to agree exactly what he said! Hull may well have also told his children he was there to make the story seem more personal, and exciting.

(And I’m really starting to doubt that Hamilton was at the meeting at all. It’s never mentioned in any of his writing, or in the John C Hamilton biography)

There’s no “official” reports of Hale’s death either (excepting the noting of his death on the 22nd September casualty list) which is why so much has relied heavily on what Hull claimed to have been told. When Washington wrote Trumbull about the flag of truce meeting the next day, he was mostly concerned with the fire that had engulfed New York the day before, and the claims that Continental soldiers and spies had set it. The only possible reference we have from him that concerned the meeting between Reed and Montresor, with perhaps an oblique reference to Hale, is as follows:

“On Friday night about eleven or twelve o’Clock a fire broke out in the City of New York, which burning rapidly till after Sunrise next morning, destroyed a great number of Houses—By what means it happened we do not know; but the Gentleman who brought the letter out last night from General Howe, and who was one of his Aid De Camps informed Colo. Reed that several of our Countrymen had been punished with various deaths on account of it. Some by hanging, others by burning & c. alledging that they were apprehended when committing the fact.”

Howe himself never mentioned Hale explicitly in official correspondence between him and Washington, and Washington never did either. In fact, neither of them mentioned the spies or the fire to one another at all, concerned with prisoner exchanges, and the accusation of ill-treatment of British prisoners (Howe to Washington 21st September 1776 and Washington to Howe 23rd September 1776). Hale, and his fate, was unfortunately left to Montresor’s verbal account, and Hull’s dubious reporting.

Tench Tilghman on Hale’s Death

In terms of other primary correspondence that might reference Hale’s death, even remotely, we have accounts from Washington’s aide-de-camp, Tench Tilghman.

Firstly, Tilghman wrote his father, James Tilghman, on the 25th September 1776, of the events and executions surrounding the fire. He was sent to deliver Washington’s reply to Howe’s camp under another flag of truce the day after Montresor’s, and spoke with some men in Howe’s camp then:

“Reports concerning the setting fire to New York: If it was done designedly, it was without the knowledge or Approbation of any commanding officer in this Army…every man belonging to the Army who remained in or were found near the City were made close prisoners. Many Acts of barbarous cruelty were committed upon poor creatures who were perhaps flying from the flames, the Soldiers and Sailors looked upon all who were not in the military line as guilty, and burnt and cut to pieces many. But this I am sure was not by Order. Some were executed next day upon good Grounds… I went down to the Enemy's lines yesterday with a Flag to settle the Exchange of prisoners…I met a very civil Gentleman with whom I had an Hours conversation…”

In Rose’s book, he mentions Hull & Colonel Samuel B. Webb going with Tilghman to the camp to further question Montresor about Hale. Webb, another aide-de-camp to Washington, may well have gone. But it seems a bit strange for Hull to have done so. And Hull’s account did not mention Webb, or Tilghman, which is also a bit odd. Rose made no note of his source for this, but I’d like to find it! Perhaps it’s mentioned in Webb’s journals, something I’d have to travel to Yale to see :(

Tilghman did, eventually, mention Hale explicitly, though not by name, when he wrote to Egbert Benson on 3rd October 1776:

“I am sorry that your Convention do not think themselves legally authorized to make examples of those villains they have apprehended…The General is determined if he can bring some of them in his hand’s under the denomination of spies, to execute them. General Howe hanged a Captain of ours belonging to Knowlton' s Rangers, who went into New-York to make discoveries. I don’t see why we should not make retaliation.”

So he definitely knew of Hale’s death by then, and it seemed to anger him greatly.

Miscellaneous Reports of Hale’s Death

There were also reports made by various others, that mention explicitly, or might imply, Hale’s death:

“Friday last we discovered a vast cloud of smoke arising from the north part of the city, which continued '‘ill Saturday evening…those that were found on or near the spot were pitched into the conflagration, some hanged by their heals, others by their necks with their throats cut. Inhuman barbarity! One Hale in New York, on suspicion of being a spy, was taken up and dragged without ceremony to the execution post and hung up.” (A Letter from September 28th 1776)

“We hanged up a rebel spy the other day, and some soldiers got, out of a rebel Gentleman’s garden, a painted soldier on a board, and hung it along with the Rebel; and wrote upon it, General Washington, and I saw it yesterday beyond headquarters by the roadside.” (Kentish Gazette, November 1776)

“A spy from the enemy (by his own full confession) apprehended last night, was this day executed at 11 o’clock in front of Artillery Park.” (General Howe’s diary)

“The Enemy charged some stragglers of our people that happened to be in New York with having set the City on Fire designedly and took that occasion as we were told to exercise some inhuman Crueltys on those poor Wretches that were in their power.” (Committee of Secret Correspondence to Silas Deane 1st October 1776)

What does all this mean?

Hamilton probably wasn’t there (but I can’t make a call on that for sure!)

basically, it’s clear that the primary sources on Hale’s death are few, and somewhat contradictory in places. I found it super interesting, and thought y’all might too! Please keep in mind I’m not calling William Hull a liar (and I definitely haven’t done anywhere near enough research to say anything conclusively!)

But I definitely think it’s always worth examining what we think we know from primary sources. And it’s very fun!

#this took me literal days to collate so I hope y’all find it as interesting as I did #should’ve been doing uni work but no regrets #we all know history research makes me ridiculously happy #nathan hale #William Hull #alexander hamilton #tench tilghman #spy work #September 1776 #american revolution #amrev #tw: death #izz gets historical #izz rambles

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teawaffles · 3 years

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Forbidden Games: Chapter 3

From the end of the 18th century, gentlemen’s clubs had begun to proliferate rapidly in Britain. These were members-only social circles established by men of the gentry class [1] who shared common goals such as hobbies or research. At its peak, the area of London’s East End known as Clubland [2] was home to around 400 such establishments.

Normally, clubs have neither a doorplate nor signage. There was a rumour that one time, when a policeman became suspicious and entered a club, he found an archbishop, the president of a bank, and the prime minister all gathered there. The building that William and Sherlock had arrived at was no different, with a lone man standing at the entrance, and not a single item displayed that indicated what lay within.

Upon descending from the carriage, Sherlock gazed intently at the building, and spoke to William beside him.

“It’s a pretty big building, but this looks like the right address.”

“Indeed, the proof is in the fact that people are going in and out.”

Right at the corner of William’s sight was the figure of a gentleman who looked like he wanted to enter. He gave a slight bow to the doorman, then opened the door and went in.

Sherlock observed the sequence of events.

“They don’t seem too concerned about their surroundings when they enter.”

“True. Perhaps the club itself is not illegal in nature.”

“In other words, there may be people doing something illegal in there.”

The two men exchanged deductions as they drew nearer to the club. As expected, the apparent receptionist spoke up.

“Excuse me. Do you have business here…… Ah? You would be Durham University’s……”

As a nobleman and a young professor of mathematics, it looked like William was fairly well known around these parts.

William shrugged off his coat, doffed his top hat, and greeted the surprised man with a gentle smile.

“Good afternoon, I am William James Moriarty. I heard that this is a club where one may play certain games.”

At that, the man visibly relaxed and responded in a polite manner.

“Indeed it is you, Mr Moriarty, welcome. As you mentioned, this is a place where gentlemen with time to spare may gather, even when it is the middle of the day.”

William smiled at the man’s self-deprecating manner, and made a respectful enquiry.

“My companion and I have heard rumours about this place. However, could it be possible that we would be denied entry without an introduction from an existing member?”

“Not at all, there is no such rule. There is a token receptionist like myself for some reason, but in essence all newcomers are gladly welcome.”

“Including me?” Sherlock cut in, and the man nodded.

“That’s right, we have no qualms about that. I hope you don’t mind me asking your name?”

“I’m Sherlock Holmes.”

Upon hearing that name, the man blinked.

“Could it be, that Sherlock Holmes? I’m astonished that a man like you would also come to such a place……”

Perhaps the mathematics professor and famous detective made for an unusual duo. More surprised than one would expect, a wry smile rose to his face as Sherlock continued.

“Right. I just have a little something to investigate here.”

“An investigation, I see……”

In contrast to his manner with William, the man seemed shaken by the appearance of a detective. William calmly pounced on his suspicious behaviour.

“Could something be the matter?”

“Um, that’s, uh”

The man glanced toward the door as he tried to evade the question. But eventually he seemed to give up, and revealed the situation to them in a hushed voice.

“In a manner of speaking, this is indeed a place where one can enjoy a variety of ‘games’, however…… to liven up the playing field, money does change hands as well.”

“I see.”

From the man’s faltering voice, William could tell what was on his mind. Gentlemen who shed appearances and amused themselves with gambling, contrary to social expectations of dignity — this was not something one would wish to make public.

On top of that, a place where gambling has become the norm could easily become a hotbed of crime. It was likely that the doorman was stationed here to ascertain if new participants were connected with the police or other related parties, hence avoiding any unwanted attention. With Sherlock being a detective, this would also be the reason why he was shaken by Sherlock’s visit.

However, the two of them had ascertained that exchanges of money were taking place here. The question now was to what degree.

“Could it be, that the bets placed here are large enough to draw the attention of the Yard?”

The man waved the question away. “Nothing of the sort. They are really just small sums. One could see them as an entertainment fee.”

“An entertainment fee, I see……”

Sherlock murmured strangely, and watched the man’s movements with nonchalance. By layperson standards, even if it was just for fun, there was likely to be a good amount of money involved where nobles were concerned. But the man’s demeanour didn’t suggest that he was involved in anything illegal.

“Well, you won’t need to worry about that. I’m pursuing a different case here, and besides, I can agree that it’s more fun when money is involved.”

“That’s certainly reassuring to hear……”

For William, who had a close associate who was fond of gambling [3], this was a statement he couldn’t help but smile wryly at.

However, at present, his prediction that there was nothing wrong with the club itself was correct. Hence, they would need to see it in person.

“In any case, it should be fine for us to enter, yes?”

“Y-Yes, please be generous with your wagers……”

“So it’s okay then. Well, let’s get going.”

Sherlock immediately opened the door, with William following behind him.

The interior of the building was a large hall, with simple and subdued decor, and good-quality furnishings lined along the walls.

Wooden tables and chairs were spaced equally, and seated there were groups of gentlemen in formal attire, playing various card or poker games. Gold coins and stacks of bills could be seen scattered across the tables. Although the gentlemen maintained the dignity of their upper station, the occasional groans and cheers revealed their enthusiasm for the games.

The two men stood near the entrance, gazing at the players’ figures.

Looking at William, who was earnestly observing the situation to search for the missing young man, Sherlock made a somewhat envious expression.

“It sure looks fun. Since we came all the way here, I might join a game myself.”

“……Please don’t forget your original goal here,” William reminded him, looking troubled.

Just then, a stout man approached them, holding a glass filled with wine.

“Who might we have here? And on the young side too…… Ah, might you be the mathematics professor William Moriarty…… and your companion, the famous detective Sherlock Holmes?”

The man raised his voice, and a number of people in the vicinity turned to look at the duo. William kept a smile on his face, albeit a little awkwardly.

“Greetings….”

“Nice to meet you.”

Seeing how they had attracted attention so quickly, William spoke to Sherlock in a low voice.

“I would’ve honestly preferred to investigate more discreetly, but it sure is difficult when you’re known by name alone,” he scowled.

“Well, it’s the price of fame.”

After that somewhat sour exchange, William enquired after the man who spoke to them.

“It does seem that people who truly enjoy games are gathered here.”

“Indeed. These games have been brought by the players themselves. In fact, I’ve heard that games involving guns have become popular recently.”

“Guns?”

As the pair frowned at the unexpected word, the man continued, as if to explain himself.

“Please do not misunderstand. Of course, the games do not involve actual guns, but mere toys made to resemble the exact items themselves. One simply loads a bullet, decides the order in which he goes, and then—“

The man made the figure of a gun with his hand, and held it against his temple.

“One would pull the trigger on his own. The person who gets hit by the bullet loses. I believe this is a game that originated from Russia.”

“—Russian roulette, eh.” Sherlock murmured solemnly.

Even though the game was but an imitation, it was difficult to understand why these nobles would use such dangerous items.

However, the man proceeded to ignore the duo’s incredulous expressions, and pressed on with the topic.

“Although this game only became popular here a while ago, the company here got tired of it quite quickly. That’s why I’ve been trying to change various aspects of it on a trial-and-error basis. In fact just recently, based on a rumour I heard going around another social circle, I tried having three people use three different guns—“

“Ah…… It’s been kind of you to tell us all about this, but I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this some other time.”

Sherlock, somewhat disgusted, interrupted the man’s passionate speech and looked around the room.

“I’ve come here to look for someone.”

“I see.” The man seemed to change his mind and reacted distractedly.

“Yeah, it’s about a noble’s son……”

Then, Sherlock told him the missing young man’s name.

At that instant, William noticed that a gentleman in the vicinity had reacted vaguely to the name.

However, this wasn’t the first time it had happened. In truth, when Sherlock had entered the hall, a number of gentlemen had cast wary glances at him.

William memorised their faces as he spoke about the missing noble, casting a glance at Sherlock. The other man swiftly cast a glance back to him. Back then, Sherlock had knowingly used his fame as a detective to smoke out any suspicious characters as he entered the room.

Now all that was left was to determine the move their opponent would make.

The pair silently agreed on their next course of action. But before they had the chance to explore the movements of the people identified, a gentleman approached Sherlock.

“Could you be Mr Holmes?” he enquired.

He looked to be past forty, with a lithe figure that suited a swallow-tail coat, and a personable smile on his face. However, a cunning glint lurked in his narrow eyes.

Sherlock nodded and gave an affirmative grunt. Then the man put a hand to his chest and let out an exaggerated sigh.

“……Ohh, I simply can’t believe I’d be able to meet you in the flesh like this! Or rather, I think I’ve used up all the luck I had for today’s game.”

Saying that, he immediately straightened his posture.

“Apologies for my poor manners, I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Alan. I absolutely love exciting things that can even astonish people from the sidelines, and I’m a devoted reader of your thrilling adventures with Dr Watson.”

“Heh, I’m grateful you’re reading Doyle’s work [4]. I’m sure he would be pleased to hear that.”

“I’m deeply moved to be able to speak to you as a fan. By the way, I don’t mean to be rude, but it does appear to me that you are a little different from what’s been written in his works.”

He’d hit on a sore spot. Sherlock awkwardly scratched his cheek with his index finger.

“Ah—…… That would be due to the author’s focus on entertaining his readers. It seems he has somewhat glorified me. I suppose any differences between my image and myself are only for the worse, eh.”

“Not at all. In fact, from now on, when I read his works I’d love to imagine the real Sherlock Holmes instead.”

“Would you really enjoy that?”

As Sherlock chatted with the man who introduced himself as Alan, William made idle chatter with the man who spoke to them at first. He was carried away talking all about the Russian roulette from back then, and William nodded at the appropriate times as he observed the other gentlemen, who were gazing intently at Sherlock.

The cordiality of the conversation prevented Sherlock from bringing up the matter of the missing noble in a natural way. As such, his next move was fairly predictable.

“Well, I never thought I’d be able to have this much fun speaking with the detective I so admire.”

“If you’re that happy, then I’m happy for you too.”

“Fate’s a strange thing indeed…… By the way, Mr Holmes, would you happen to be interested in games?”

“Hmm? I did say earlier that I’m here on a different case…… but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested. Since we might as well, why don’t you introduce me to an exciting one?”

“I see, I see. You would desire something exciting.”

Immediately, something in Alan’s smile had changed. He covered his mouth with a hand as he whispered to Sherlock.

“It is true that many of the games here provide a change of pace, but my friends and I have grown completely bored with them. Hence we are in fact playing a secret, thrilling game at another location.”

“Hmm. A thrilling game, eh.”

Sherlock put on a conspicuous smile. Alan, reading it as an expression of interest, gestured to William.

“How would your companion like to join us? As long as we do so in secret, so the company here remains unaware.”

“……Sounds like fun,” Sherlock replied.

He called out to William. “Oi, Liam. Have a moment?”

“What’s the matter?”

William turned to Sherlock, having missed their conversation as he was chatting with someone else — or so it appeared.

“Alan here wants to go somewhere else to talk. Care to join us?”

Alan smiled. It was a friendly expression, as if he were the master of a house greeting guests as they entered, but William saw the true nature behind it.

——It was the look of a hunter who had just caught his prey in a net.

William readily understood the situation.

“I see. Allow me to accompany you both, then.”

He apologised to the man he was conversing with, and left the hall with Sherlock.

Footnotes:

[1] The class of people right below the nobility, considered to be of good social position (Wikipedia)

[2] Located in the St. James’s area of Westminster, London (Wikipedia)

[3] i.e. Moran

[4] In case anyone is confused about this, Watson has been writing about Sherlock’s exploits under the pseudonym of Arthur Conan Doyle.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #forbidden games

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introvert--weeb · 3 years

Text

The Case of the Other Time-Leaper

Below is the first chapter of this Tokyo Revengers fanfiction. Please bare with me as I haven't written in this style for a long time <3

Please do give some constructive feedback on what you all think. And whether it should be continued here.

Shibuya, Tokyo. 5.07.2005

"Kisaki wishes to meet with you."

The voice of Shuji Hanma filled the cold night air, his golden eyes narrowed at the one he was talking to. He really didn't want to be an errand boy for Kisaki, especially when the jobs were not as fun and thrilling as the others. Yet here he was, standing at the entrance of an alley, glaring at a shorter male who simply stared blankly back.

Genji had arrived in 2005 a few hour ago so he really wasn't expecting someone to request his presence already. While it was a little strange, the grey-haired boy was bored and in desperate need of some entertainment. After all, beating up random people he found was getting old quickly.

"Sure, just give me a moment, yeah?" He pushed himself from the wall he was leaning against before heading over towards the recent unconscious boy that had provided some brief entertainment. Rummaging through his pockets, he pulled out a wallet and pocketed it into his own jacket. "I'm good to go!" Genji smiled, his eyes focused solely on the tall boy. Hanma didn't know what it was about those eyes but they sent shivers down his spine, almost resembling instinctual fear. Something about the grey-haired boy had him on high alert for the first time. But he led the boy to where Kisaki was waiting regardless.

"So you're Tetta Kisaki?" Throwing his cigarette to the ground, Genji crushed the butt under the toe of his boot. For some reason, he was expecting someone more...intimidating? Not some scrawny blond with glasses. But hey, who was he to judge? He had come across a load of people in his travels, most of them surprising him.

Kisaki watched the newcomer in both caution and interest. He had heard about a boy that suddenly turned up and was beating down gang members left and right. All reports seemed to make out that Genji was something of a monster but the person stood in front of him seemed like nothing more than a regular 16 year old.

"I'm Genji! At least, that's what everyone calls me... I am surprised you heard of me considering I only arrived here a few hours ago!" Genji didn't wait for an answer to his earlier question. It was pretty obvious that he must be Tetta Kisaki considering the lanky male had brought him here.

"Here? As in Shibuya?" Hanma butted in.

"No, no, no. Here as in 2005! I can't remember where I was beforehand though! I do think it may have been 18th Century France though!" None of what was coming out of Genji's mouth made any sense to the other two boys. What did he mean he came here from 18th Century France? He was dressed in modern clothing after all. Surely if he had come back from then, he would be dressed in old timey clothing? Hanma put it down to the boy being delusional. After all, what sane person would believe anything coming out of the stranger's mouth?

"What are you talking about?" Kisaki asked, his interest piqued by what the boy was saying. Logically, none of what he had said was possible, but there was a part of the blond that believed him. That this Genji person had travelled through time and ended up here. And he would be damned if he didn't find out if it was possible.

"Leaped through time. I ended up here as I had no real destination in mind. Just had to get out before they pulled out the good ol' guillotine," Genji laughed, recalling the only memory he had from the last experience. "Didn't want to lose my head more than I already have, after all." The laughter started to creep Hanma and Kisaki out. It was a laugh of a person unhinged. Hanma knew he was crazy but damn, this boy was making him look normal.

"So you can travel through time...willingly?" Kisaki tried to confirm this information and smirked when the grey-haired boy simply nodded, now finding his attention on his lighter. "Then, are you willing to use that ability for me? I can make it worth your time," the blond simply came right out and asked the request. If he had a time-leaper, he could make sure his plans would work. Having Genji around was looking like a huge advantage. Hanma glanced over at Kisaki as if he was insane. Did he seriously believe what the boy had said? Sometimes, Hanma had to wonder if he was the normal one in this situation. Without proof, there was no way he would believe anything Genji had to say. Maybe he would get the shorter male to prove it later.

"What's in it for me? They do say that a favour is meant to be repaid with...something or other. Or was it that nothing in this life comes in threes? That didn't sound right..." Genji had lost himself in trying to recall a popular saying, his spare hand harshly ruffling the short grey strands. The information he was searching for must be in there somewhere. After all, that's what minds are for, collecting stuff to recall later, right? But it seemed as if his was failing him. "But never mind that! As long as I get to have some fun, I don't mind doing anything. However, want someone killed and that will cost you some candy!" Genji grinned, his eyes sparkling like a child in a toyshop. That is what he reminded Kisaki of anyway. A small child that had been told they could have whatever they wanted for simply having a mouthful of veggies.

From that moment, it seemed as though an agreement had been set. Kisaki could use Genji as a tool to further his plans, as long as he provided some entertainment for the older teen.

Somewhere in Shibuya, Tokyo. 6.07.2005

Takemichi comes back to the past, a clear mission in mind.

Meet with either Manjiro Sano or Tetta Kisaki and prevent the two from meeting.

Now that the blond thought about it, it seemed easier said than done. After all, he doesn't recall ever coming across either of them in his original past and he had no idea what they looked like. The only information he had was that they were the Top Two of Tokyo Manji Gang in the future. And the only people he knew that had any information about Toman were Kiyomasa and his small gang.

What the young teen didn't expect was to be thrown straight into a brawl as soon as he gets to said past. One punch to the face and he was out-cold on the ground, shouts and jeers being the last thing he hears before losing consciousness.

When he had finally regained consciousness, he wasn't expecting Kiyomasa and his gang to still be where the Fight Club takes place. Maybe he could use this situation to his advantage. After all, it would make his mission a lot easier if he could meet up with either Kisaki or Sano as soon as possible. Quicker he was in making sure they never meet, the sooner he gets to go back and Hinata would be safe. That was his thought pattern anyway.

Kiyomasa obviously didn't take the mention of his boss' name falling so casually from Takemichi's lips very well. In no time, Takemichi was beaten up a lot worse than he has ever been, blood staining his skin.

What was he thinking? He couldn't save Hinata. Not when he couldn't even stand up and protect himself. All he wanted was to head back to the comfort of his future. At least there he wasn't being beaten by Kiyomasa with a baseball bat.

Genji had decided he would wander around Shibuya, having heard about there being Fight Clubs taking place there. However, he must have been late since when he got to the location, all he saw was a beaten and bloody blond. He was about to walk off again in search of some other type of entertainment until he caught sight of the blue eyes. Those eyes didn't fit a 14 year old boy and it clicked almost immediately for the taller boy.

"Hey! You're a time-leaper, aren't ya?"

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers fic #tokyo revengers spoilers ahead #the case of the other time-leaper #original character #canon divergence au #follows main canon #kisaki tetta #hanma shuji #takemichi hanagaki #hanagaki takemichi #toman arc #constructive criticism welcome #feedback welcome

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waitineedaname · 3 years

Text

Benrey knew about bouquets theoretically.

They were what the winners got in some sports games, and they were bought by sitcom boyfriends when they’d fucked up with their girlfriends. They were bundles of flowers that held some kind of meaning that was really beyond Benrey.

The thing was, he never saw one in person until months after they’d all made it out of Black Mesa. They were all at the Boomer household, throwing them an anniversary party. No one was quite sure if it was their one year anniversary or fiftieth anniversary -- neither of them would give anyone a clear answer -- but Bubby had presented his husband with an enormous bouquet of flowers, trying and failing to appear like anything but a sappy fool.

Benrey was fascinated by it.

Xen didn’t have flowers. There were plant-adjacent things, sure, but most of them tried to stab passersby or emitted poisonous gasses. Benrey was sitting on a barstool next to the bouquet in its vase on the countertop, and he had yet to be stabbed by the dethorned roses, and the sprigs of lavender didn’t emit anything except a soothing scent that reminded him of the hand lotion Gordon wouldn’t let him eat. He gently ran his fingers over the layers of carnation petals while Coomer spoke beside him.

“-language of flowers was introduced to England in the early 18th century by Mary Wortley, Lady Montague, whose husband was Ambassador to Turkey. By the Victorian era, almost every-”

“Flowers have a language?” Benrey said, looking up and zoning back into the Wikipedia infodump.

“Yes!” Dr. Coomer informed him brightly. “Floriography (language of flowers) is a means of cryptological communication through the use or arrangement of flowers. Meaning has been attributed to flowers for thousands of years, and some form of floriography has been practiced in traditional cultures throughout Europe, Asia, and Africa. In Western culture, William Shakespeare ascribed emblematic meanings to flowers, especially in Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Similarly, in a scene in his Henry VI, Part 1, English noblemen pick either red or white roses to symbolize their allegiance to the Houses-”

“So different colors have different meanings? Like, uh. Like Sweet Voice?”

“Yeah!” Tommy answered him this time, Dr. Coomer too busy telling the rest of them about Victorian flower meanings. “And- And each kind of flower has a different meaning too. It’s like a whole language!”

Benrey stared at the bundle of flowers in front of him. He sang out a Sweet Voice note the exact shade of one of the scabiosas and smiled.

He didn’t tell anyone his plan when he started. Something told him that would ruin it somehow. It felt more meaningful to have it be a surprise. He did his research in private. Wikipedia may be gone, but there were still plenty of websites eager to inform him of all the strange meanings Victorians applied to flowers. (What the hell was “assiduous to please” supposed to mean?) He stayed up after Tommy and Gordon had gone to bed, and sang notes of Sweet Voice as softly as he could, searching for the right correlations between flowers and Sweet Voice colors.

A bouquet arrived on Bubby and Coomer’s doorstep first. Cheerful American starworts and chrysanthemums wrapped in convolvulus, accompanied by sprigs of larch and black poplar. (White like sagebud to misty golden, you’re a bold one. Morning glory, I’m glad you got through this story. Black poplar to yellow larch, I’ll follow where you charge.) Bubby was wildly confused by its appearance, but the next time he saw them, Coomer took Benrey under his arm and gave him a noogie that would’ve drilled a hole into anyone else’s skull.

Gordon and Tommy’s came next, and Benrey made sure they arrived at the same time. Gordon was the one to find them, having opened the door to two bouquets addressed to the two of them. “Uh, Tommy?” He called out over his shoulder, picking up his bouquet and examining it. Bright Peruvian heliotropes peered out from between hundred-leaved roses and pencil-leaved geraniums, all surrounded by southernwood and Irish ivy. (Purple as heliotrope, you give me hope. Geranium to rosy pink, I’ll love you forever, I think. Green as ivy and southernwood, for you, I’ll be good.) “Do you know anything about this?”

“No,” Tommy said, walking up behind him and peering over his shoulder. When Gordon stepped aside for him, he scooped up his bouquet too. His was entirely made of flowers, a bright splash of color: the warm colors of the red periwinkles and scarlet lychnis offset by the American cowslips and traveller’s joys. (Scarlet, with you, my worries I forget. Purple like cowslip, I think you’re smart as a whip. White, you make my life bright.) “Benrey, do you- did you do this?”

“Nah, man.” Benrey shrugged, hands in his pockets. “Y’all must have, uh. Some kinda secret admirer, or something.”

Tommy stared at him for a long moment, and Benrey could swear he saw the wheels turning in Tommy’s head, but if he was going to say anything, he was distracted by Gordon ushering them into the kitchen to find vases.

He was hunched over his laptop that night again, trying to figure out if he could feasibly make a tiny arrangement of sorrel, bearded crepis, and juniper to put on Joshua’s bedside table (Green to juniper blue, I’ll protect you. Yellow, I’m proud of this tiny fellow) without Gordon accusing him for bringing weeds in the house, when a voice broke the relative silence of the living room.

“Ben?” Gordon said groggily. Benrey jumped in his seat and sang out a string of surprised teal. “You’ve been coming to bed late like every night this week, what’s up.”

“Uh, nothing. Just… browsing. Making deals on… eBay.” Benrey bluffed. Gordon squinted at him, clearly not believing the lie, then glanced at the laptop screen.

“Are those flowers?”

“...What are flowers.”

Gordon snorted and draped himself over the back of the couch. “I fucking knew it. You’re not sneaky, dude.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are flowers.”

Gordon flicked the side of his head. “Why were you keeping the bouquet thing a secret?”

“I dunno.” Benrey looked away, embarrassed. “Thought it’d be a fun surprise.”

Gordon chuckled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I never expected you to be the sentimental type.”

“Didja like them, though?” Benrey looked up, hopeful.

“Obviously. I put them on the kitchen table, they’re beautiful.” Gordon straightened up and reached for Benrey’s hands. “Now c’mon, Gordon want cuddles.”

“Gordon want cuddles? Cuddles from Benrey?” Benrey teased, taking Gordon’s hands and standing. “What about Tommy?”

“Tommy also want cuddles. He’s the one who told me to go get you.” Gordon said, pulling him up the stairs to their room. “Also, he figured out the flower meanings. Why the hell is there a plant for bantering?”

“The Victorias knew banter is important to any relationship, man. It’s like you don’t even understand enemies-to-lovers, smh.”

“Stop saying abbreviations out loud.” Gordon laughed, shoving him into bed, where Tommy sleepily grabbed him.

The following afternoon, Benrey found a vase of roses addressed to him, alongside several seed packets.

#hlvrai #frenreylatta #benrey #I'm not gonna tag the others bc they're barely in it but they're all there #my writing #okay to reblog #I wrote this in a rush today because the idea would not leave me alone!!!!!#shoutout to people who regularly come up with sweet voice rhymes bc that was HARD #most of these are a stretch but I wanted to make them work with the flowers #the flower meanings come from a flower language book I have and the meanings are as follows:#american starworts: cheerfulness in old age #chrysanthemum: cheerfulness under adversity #convolvulus: bonds #larch: boldness #black poplar: courage #peruvian heliotropes: devotion #hundred-leaved roses: dignity of mind #pencil-leaved geraniums: genius #southernwood: banter #irish ivy: clinging affection #red periwinkles: early friendship #scarlet lychnis: sunbeaming eyes #american cowslip: divine beauty #traveller's joy: safety #sorrel: parental affection #bearded crepis: protection #juniper: protection #I did not proofread this whatsoever hope y'all like it

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

This is a very vague plot but I would love to read an Emperor or very powerful WWX fic from you. I enjoy Boashan Sanren’s Emperor!WWX AU and I also love fics where WWX really is powerful and free to kick ass and just wreck shit. I really think your take on these tropes would be an interesting one and enjoyable read for all. Thank you for all the fics and your efforts in the fandom so far. Take care yourself. ☺️

fictional 18th century France in which the entire century is happening at once - part 2

- for part 1 see: ao3 or tumblr -

Wei Wuxian came to Nie Huaisang for advice.

Well, technically, that’s not quite right, Nie Huaisang reflected. Wei Wuxian, when faced with a situation that exceeded even his formidable talents, reverted back to his old ways in times of severe crisis. Namely, he ran back to ask for advice from his adopted family – which by this point consisted only of Jiang Cheng, what with the majority of the Jiangs having perished in the infamous massacre.

(The newspapers had dubbed it “le massacre des lotus”, a poetic way to elide the horrific mess of blood and death and despair that it had actually been.)

Naturally, Jiang Cheng didn’t have any idea what to do with the hot potato he’d been handed, and so he, and Wei Wuxian with him, came to Nie Huaisang, who always knew what to do. Who else did they have to ask?

Sure, Nie Huaisang supposed they could have gone to seek the advice of Lady Jin, formerly Jiang Yanli, Jiang Cheng’s older sister, but luckily Jiang Cheng was self-aware enough to know how much of a political disaster that would have been. Regardless of her personal merits, of which Nie Huaisang was certain there were many, the former young lady Jiang had married into the Jin family, a move that was widely viewed with suspicion.

After all, the spectacle of yet another wealthy noble marrying another wealthy noble in exactly the sort of thing the Revolution and the abolition of noble privileges had been meant to stymie – and this particular marriage especially suspect given that everyone knew that the Jin family’s politics leaned heavily monarchist, having only just barely refrained from becoming émigrés themselves by the thought of the financial advantages they thought they could get following the fall of the Sun King.

For the Jins, the marriage had been a coup, giving them a claim to legitimacy in their new era; for the Jiangs, it was far from being the best move, politically speaking, no matter how much they swore that it was a love match.

It must have been, for the normally astute Jiangs to make such an unforced stumble.

The marriage itself was bad enough, but if Wei Wuxian, grand (if highly unorthodox) hero of the foreign wars, was seen consulting with the Jins, allowing them to influence him…well, it wouldn’t end up good for anyone, except maybe the ones who wanted to overthrow the Revolution and reestablish the rule of the Wen dynasty on the basis of the divine right of kings.

Apparently, chopping off the heads of the last set wasn’t enough to warn the rest of them off.

Fucking émigrés.

At any rate, that was how the whole mess had ended up in Nie Huaisang’s lap.

“I’m not sure what you’re looking at me to tell you,” Nie Huaisang said, idly fanning himself. That wasn’t exactly in fashion either – fans were very much seen as an affectation of the previous political order – but it was garnished with the appropriately patriotic rosette and anyway, everyone knew he liked fans, useless self-indulgent dandy that he was. Good only for throwing parties and keeping an active salon for his own entertainment, albeit one very in vogue and coincidentally very popular with all the famous revolutionary thinkers of their day.

Besides, no one in their right mind was going to claim that Nie Mingjue’s little brother wasn’t sufficiently revolutionary.

“Don’t pull your good-for-nothing stunt with me,” Jiang Cheng said, rolling his eyes at him. “I was there when it all started, remember?”

Jiang Cheng had lucked in to being there when it all started, since unlike many of the other people Nie Huaisang had so carefully invited to his salon, Jiang Cheng had been invited purely on the basis of being an old friend from school. That he’d become a hero of the Revolution instead of being imprisoned and executed after the massacre of his family by the increasingly paranoid and dictatorial Sun King was his own good fortune and hard work, naturally, but he wouldn’t have even known where to start if it hadn’t been for Nie Huaisang and his connections.

“I remember,” Nie Huaisang said. “I also recall that you and Wei Wuxian broke ties long ago, isn’t that right?”

Obviously that little façade had been entirely political.

It would have been awkward for Wei Wuxian, darling of the armies and terror of the continent, inventor of a brand new form of warfare and at least half a dozen new pieces of artillery, to be so closely tied to any one noble family, no matter their history together. It would have led to accusations that the Jiang family was seeking to take advantage of the Revolution to strengthen their own power, no matter how passionate a revolutionary Jiang Cheng was personally - the Jin sect had already started spreading rumors, casting allegations, implications, smears...

Their show of very publicly disowning each other had put an end to that.

“Don’t play dumb,” Jiang Cheng said impatiently, because he knew that Nie Huaisang knew that it was all bullshit, even if the newspapers Nie Huaisang bankrolled pretended to swallow the bait down whole. “Are you going to help us or not?”

“Of course I will,” Nie Huaisang said, rolling his eyes at him. “We’re friends. But because we’re friends, I’m going to tell you flat out that you already know what the choices ahead of you are and you know which one is the best move. What you want is for me provide you with any other options, and I’m not going to be able to do that.”

“This is just insane!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed. He was pacing around the room, face pale and cloak black, as looking dashing as always. Nie Huaisang wanted to get out his paints and force the man to pose for him and maybe a dozen or so of his closest artist friends; it would be stunning. “I can’t – why would they ask me? A few years ago, I was just an artillery captain! Son of a servant and a runaway novitiate!”

“The whole point of the Revolution was to favor merit, not birth,” Nie Huaisang reminded him. “And anyway, who cares that you were an artillery captain back then? You’re a general now. The Lion of Yiling.”

“The Menace of Yiling, the Fiend of the Burial Mounds, the Nightmare of Europe…” Jiang Cheng murmured, recounting some of the less polite versions. Nie Huaisang waved his fan at him – he wasn’t helping.

“Your brother is a general, too,” Wei Wuxian pointed out, a little desperately.

It wouldn’t help him.

“Mm, he is. He’s also nobility of the sword - well, saber - from a line that has existed for generations, even if we did have rather ignoble origins,” Nie Huaisang said. He was not without sympathy for Wei Wuxian’s predicament, but really, some things were obvious. “We all know he’s the incorruptible and all that, but it’d be far too easy for the newspapers - and our enemies - to paint him as having done it all for his own selfish interests. There’s a reason he announced all the way back at the beginning of the wars that he wasn’t interested in political power when he was done, that he’d retired like a modern-day Cincinnatus. Who would have trusted him as commander-in-chief if he hadn’t?”

“Me,” Wei Wuxian grumbled. “Sane people, if they’re thinking straight! Your brother is incorruptible. He doesn’t even like war, even if he’s damn good at it. People should be chomping at the bit to get him to be the one – the one to – !”

“They are,” Nie Huaisang said dryly. “The innocent ones and the ones egged on by the Jin family both. They know the only way to tear down his influence is to get him to make a mistake.”

“And you won’t let him do that,” Jiang Cheng said knowingly.

Nie Huaisang snorted. What did Jiang Cheng know? “I didn’t need to say anything. He was offended on principle by the very thought of it.”

All three of them sighed in unison – Nie Huaisang a little long-suffering, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian a bit dreamily.

It was a good thing Nie Huaisang had long ago accepted that every young man in France between the ages of twelve and thirty four, at minimum, was at least a little in love with his brother, or else he would have found it all far more aggravating than he did.

“To get back to the point,” Nie Huaisang said a moment later. “There’s simply nothing for it: you have to be the one to take it. No one else will suit half as well as you.”

“Why does someone have to take it at all?” Wei Wuxian demanded. “The principles of the Revolution -”

“Because we can’t function with these endless wars on our borders, as well as within them,” Nie Huaisang said, losing patience, and both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian scowled, not wanting to accept the truth of what he was saying. “We need a stronger executive than we have right now, simply put. As for the form of that executive, well, the Revolution simply happened so fast that people are refusing to accept it without at least the trappings of the ancient regime - even if it’s not quite the same as the last time around. And as for why you, that’s because you can be trusted to shepherd it, to let it grow to the maturity it requires, and we will not fear you clinging to power when the time comes for it to return.”

Wei Wuxian scrubbed his face. “You trust me too much.”

“Not really,” Nie Huaisang said with a shrug. “You’re upright, moral, selfless…it helps that you’re exclusively interested in men, of course. No heirs means no dynasty.”

They both started spluttering.

“Oh, I’m sorry, had you not realized that yet?” Nie Huaisang barely bothered to hide his smirk behind his fan. “I thought it was obvious. You flirt with women for sport, not profit, and of course there’s your taste in pornography…”

“Back to the subject!” Wei Wuxian shouted, his normally shameless face flushing bright red. “Back to the subject!”

Nie Huaisang snapped his fan shut, making them both jump.

“All right,” he said. “Back to the subject: you have to become emperor, Wei Wuxian, or else someone else will, and they’ll be worse. I’m not saying that you’ll be good at it, or that you’ll enjoy it, or that it won’t end up with you exiled to some island in the middle of the ocean for thirteen years before making a miraculous return to save the country from itself –”

“Oddly specific.”

“Be quiet. What I’m saying is that you have to do it. The army supports you because you’re their darling, the people support you because of your victories in the war, the Jin and the other aristocrats support you because they think they can manipulate you through Jiang Yanli, the Lan and the other members of the Church…well, to be frank, most of them think that you’re a horrible blasphemer, which they think about all of us, but if you agree to let them crown you they’ll get over themselves and endorse you anyway. Even the foreign nations that we’re currently at war against would support your ascension to the position because the greed for power of a single man at least makes sense to them and accords with their understanding of history, as opposed to our Revolution, which is new and makes them afraid of what they might lose if it’s allowed to live. In short: it has to be you.”

Wei Wuxian sat down heavily on the couch. Jiang Cheng went over and put his hand on his shoulder.

After a few moments, he cleared his throat. “What about the rest of them?”

“The rest of them?”

“The other revolutionaries. What will they think? Your brother – he’s one of the most ardent proponents against the institution of the monarchy. How can he be happy with an empire?”

Nie Huaisang went and sat next to Wei Wuxian, pressing a nice pastry into his hand. “You went to the same classes I did, Wei Wuxian. You know that in ancient Rome, the position of Emperor - the imperator power - was originally established in the form of the ‘dictator’,” he said. “A magistrate granted absolute power in extraordinary times, for a limited time, for the purpose of rescuing the Republic.”

The most famous example of which was, of course, Cinncinatus, the man his brother was so often compared to.

He thought Wei Wuxian would be a good example of that selflessness as well.

“I did attend class, and more often than you did,” Wei Wuxian said with an uncalled-for amount of snark. “And I remember very well that in ancient Rome, the institution of the position of Emperor meant the death of the Republic.”

“But not this time,” Nie Huaisang said confidently. “That’s what all our enemies will think, yes, but in truth you’ll be a dictator in the old-fashioned sense of the word: you’ll take the power, you’ll do the work, and then, when the Revolution has progressed enough to continue on its own, you’ll step down. My brother would support something like that. They all would.”

“But what if I don’t step down? What if the power goes to my head and I start to see myself as – as essential?”

“Three things,” Nie Huaisang said. “First, you’re an arrogant piece of work who already sees yourself as essential, and it hasn’t made you go crazy yet. Second, you’re fundamentally lazy and indolent at heart – take it from someone who knows – and while you’re very industrious if you think it’s your duty or the right thing to do, if given a chance to do the right thing by not doing work, you’d jump at the chance.”

Jiang Cheng looked as if he would protest the characterization, but Wei Wuxian nodded. He’d always loudly dreamed of retiring to the countryside to be a farmer or a mad scientist or something, and if Jiang Cheng had always thought he was joking then Nie Huaisang, at least, had not made that mistake. “And the third thing?”

“If you really do end up fucking it up, my brother will turn Baxia on you.”

Jiang Cheng choked, and Wei Wuxian snorted.

“That’s oddly comforting, actually,” he said, and smiled. “Okay. Fine. You’re right – I’m the only one that can do it and do it right. And since that’s the case, I’ll accept: first the position of Consul, and then, as necessary, the position of Emperor. But you have to help me – you, your brother, Jiang Cheng…even Wen Qing. I insist on it; I won’t let her get executed just because of her name.”

“I can work with that, and really, no matter what the Jin say, I don’t think that’ll be a real issue. Having a daughter – well, cousin, but who’s counting – of the former dynasty working for you is a good move,” Nie Huaisang said. “Set her up with something that’s both important and yet non-political so people don’t feel threatened…revitalizing the hospitals and improving public health, maybe. She’d like that; didn’t she always want to be a doctor instead of a princess?”

“Anyone else I should make sure to add in?” Wei Wuxian asked. His eyes were avid and serious, which he rarely was in peacetime; Nie Huaisang looked forward to the day when he could be frivolous and light-hearted again.

Still, it was good to see that he was committed.

“Jin Guangyao is the least objectionable of the Jin family, even if he is a belatedly recognized bastard,” Nie Huaisang said. “He’s more treacherous than a snake, but since we know that, we should be able to manage him appropriately. Put him in charge of the police and the spy network; he’ll do wonders with it.”

And probably end up assassinating his father, but in Nie Huaisang’s opinion that wouldn’t be that bad of a thing either. He resolved not to mention it to the others.

“Jin Zixuan isn’t objectionable,” Jiang Cheng put in.

“No, he’s very pretty,” Nie Huaisang agreed. ��Your sister can hang him on her wall as artwork.”

“…he really doesn’t have many other talents, does he?”

“I’m given to understand that he spends money very well,” Nie Huaisang said dryly, and both men winced: as a dandy, Nie Huaisang had the most experience in such things. “You should also take Lan Wangji into your administration.”

“Lan Wangji?” Wei Wuxian’s face was a bit red. “Doesn’t he hate me?”

“After all the polemics he’s written in your favor, you still think he hates you? Just because of your little tussle back at school? Please get over yourself.”

“They’re in the Revolution’s favor, not mine…”

“Actually, no, he’s right,” Jiang Cheng said. “There are definitely some explicitly in your favor, and he wouldn’t do that by mistake - not with how eloquent a writer he is, even if he’s practically a mute in person. But...Nie Huaisang, what role would you put him in? He may be from a family that’s closely affiliated with the Church, but he’s not actually a priest himself – and anyway, if we were going to have to appoint an archbishop to help support us, I’d rather it went to someone like Xiao Xingchen. Everyone likes him.”

“And the fact that Xiao Xingchen is beholden to no one and interested in charitable works to the exclusion of all else is an extra bonus,” Wei Wuxian said, showing that he did, in fact, know some politics underneath his thick-skulled appearance. “But that’s a good point. What role did you have in mind for Lan Wangji?”

“I mean, ideally he’d be Empress,” Nie Huaisang said breezily, and enjoyed seeing Wei Wuxian’s face heat up and Jiang Cheng start spluttering again, “but since that’s at least ten years out, might I suggest appointing him as your chief of staff, and his brother as your foreign minister? That way you can keep Lan Wangji nice and close by, his aura of righteousness and habit of policing everyone around him will help stop the flow of corruption, and it’ll appear as though you’re using him as security against Lan Xichen – nice and distant and not at all corrupt, even as his writings continue to make the populace swoon over you. Jiang Cheng can continue to lead the navy, as he does now, and my brother the army; we can work out peacetime posts for them later on.”

“Hold up,” Wei Wuxian said. “Go back to why he’d be the Empress…? He doesn’t even like me!”

“That’s not the problem with that idea,” Jiang Cheng squawked. “Wei Wuxian..!”

Nie Huaisang went to pour drinks.

His work here was done.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #wangxian #briefly #my fic #my fics #belles lettres #okay this is DEFINITELY not the prompt #but I was inspired #also please please please ignore the timeline here #Anonymous

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notquitetwilight · 3 years

Note

Would you mind sharing some headcanons for Irish/American Emmett?? 🥺 What do you think is the story of his parents or like what connection does he have with his identity? Both in Cullanos or in canon?

Irish-American culture seems quite different to Irish culture in a lot of ways (when I was in the US I first heard the term “an Irish goodbye”, which apparently means leaving a place without saying goodbye, and that was so bizarre to me because actual Irish people say goodbye about four times and are still there talking an hour after saying their first 💀) so I’m not entirely sure but I’m gonna project as someone who lived in the US for a period of time and wondered how I’d keep my kids close to my culture if I was to settle there!!!!!! Lol

I know that while a lot of plastic Paddys claim heritage without knowing anything about where their ancestors came from, the country itself, or the culture and instead perpetuate cringe stereotypes about The Old Country™️, there are plenty of Irish-Americans who are closer to their roots, especially when their parents or grandparents were Irish and so an actual Irish person from Ireland had a hand in how they were raised. Given the time and place Canon Emmett is from (Tennessee, 1915), he’s probably more likely to be a descendant of immigrants or indentured servants to the Appalachian region in the 18th Century.

But I like to pretend he was born in NYC or Boston to fresh-off-the-boat parents from Cork (where the McCarthy with a T surname hails from). Cities on the coastal East make a lot of sense, given how many Irish construction workers sailed across the Atlantic there for a better life at that time bc of how poverty-stricken Ireland was while under British rule. And his English forename would still make sense bc English would’ve been widely spoken in Ireland by that point, plus many Irish immigrants would’ve given their American-born kids English names for assimilation purposes.

I like to think of first-gen Emmett’s bedtime stories coming from Irish legends and folklore; his mother telling him about Oisín and Niamh in Tír na nÓg, the Children of Lir, the Salmon of Knowledge and so much more. My personal lil headcanon is that Emmett truly respects the wolf pack and is actually happy when the Cullens finally get to work with them, because they remind him of the stories he grew up listening to about shapeshifters who took the form of wolves (this is a really common thing in Irish mythology).

His surname suggests he’s also Irish Catholic so I find the idea of his mother dragging him to mass or confession hilarious. I can literally picture him in the confession box mumbling “bless me Father for I have sinned” and the priest recognising his voice and smelling the stale alcohol and being like “Christ above, Emmett, what have you done this time?”

We know he was into his drinking, gambling and womanising as a human so I’d say he was consistently threatened with this Irish Mammy favourite:

👆🏻This also fits perfectly with the fandom canon that Emmett calls Esme “Ma”, it’s what many Irish people call their mothers (as fans of Derry Girls will know). Irish mothers also worship their first-born son so I’d say he was such a mama’s boy who adored her and that’s why he adores Esme — he loves that maternal dynamic.

The eldest kids in large Irish families also would’ve had quite a few responsibilities when it came to looking after the younger kids (taking them to school, minding them etc) because both parents had to work to make ends meet and/or bc there were so many kids to be looked after! So I imagine Emmett as a loving older brother who was surprisingly responsible in his care-taking duties. With both this and what I hc about his mother, I find it very hard to get on board with the idea that he just took to his new vampire life with no questions or hesitations. I hc him and Rose having a much more slow-burning romance than they were given, and that they bonded while she grieved her humanity and he grieved his family.

I think it’s really sweet to imagine them spending one of their honeymoons in Ireland, given how his parents likely wouldn’t have been able to ever afford going back once they immigrated. So he’d never have seen the country he heard so much about growing up while human, and I think he’d make it his business to do so as a vampire. Plus it’s such a small island that it’d probably take them 5 mins to run from one side of the coast to the other, meaning they’d fit lots of different parts of the country in on their visit!!!! There’s this Celtic wedding tradition called handfasting which symbolises the binding of two lives by tying the couples’ hands together with knots of cloth (it’s actually where the phrase “tie the knot” comes from!), so I also hc them having an extra lil ceremony to do that while they’re there, maybe in Cork as a nod to his parents. 🥺🥰

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sweeethinny · 4 years

Note

Hey :) can you write Hinny kissing in a bar. Reason: Missing each other! Thank you :)

thank you for sending <3

i hope you like it! i really enjoyed writing this

Ginny had traveled for 3 months for an immersion that Gwenog suggested that all players do. It had been three months since Harry had spoken to Ginny in letters (not too long, as Jones didn't want anything to disturb the girls)

Harry was miserable. Completely.

Ron and George even tried to cheer him up, but nothing helped, he started to get quite cranky after the third time that Bill called him to meet them at the bar.

He missed his girlfriend.

During the months; he painted the wall of their bedroom, living room, Teddy's (even the ceiling). He redecorated the kitchen, made a vertical wall of plants, on the balcony... But nothing helps.

The more time passed, the more he looked forward to the 18th, when Ginny would return.

He bought a video game and several Muggle games, and spent the weekends sitting on the couch, shooting computerized humans, driving cars at high speed and fighting enemies.

He grew a beard, then took off his beard.

He even let Molly cut his hair.

He just wanted the 18th to arrive.

Ginny cheered him in a way that he couldn't even describe. She was the one who cheered him up when he had a horrible day at work, and it was she who lay on his lap when a workout or game hadn't been that good.

She was the one who said she didn't like sleeping on a spoon, but he always woke up with her hugging him, making Harry eat a lot of hair, and with her legs wrapped around his.

It was she who encouraged him to run every morning (and who enjoyed the body he had been acquiring with his exercise routine)

Even Teddy missed her.

He didn't want to eat the pancakes (even if they looked like a bear) because they weren't Gin-Gin's.

Teddy didn't even want to fly on the broom they gave him last Christmas, complaining that there was no fun when Gin-Gin wasn't there.

They were both miserable without her.

On a day where Ron managed to drag Harry off the couch, and take him to a bar with George, Lee and Neville. He was in the worst mood.

He hadn't seen his girlfriend for three months, and the last letter he received was more than two weeks ago, written ''I miss you too, I can't wait to go back. Kisses.''

Harry was not happy.

He fought with a reporter for talking about Ginny, and it wasn't at dinner last week at The Burrow (but in his defense, he really needed to work).

Anyway: Harry wanted to stay at home, cuddled up with Ginny's immaculate pillow, smelling her scent while playing some muggle game he bought last Thursday.

He had even learned to configure television to be of better quality.

But he agreed to go out with Ron (mainly because it hadn't been long since he thought Hermione was pregnant, so now, everything was a cause for celebration).

Harry was drinking what was his third or fourth glass of mead when the bar doors opened.

He didn't look to see who came in, he was miserably separating the peanuts in order from largest to smallest, thinking about the time that Ginny managed to hit 4 peanuts in his mouth (one of them, she had her eyes closed).

He was startled when cold hands covered his eyes. But then, the smell denounced the owner of the hands.

Harry didn't even have to really look at who was, just turning around in his chair and grabbing Ginny's face so longingly, that everyone at the table laughed.

He kissed her for what felt like days, years, centuries. It was like everything was sunny again.

Even Ginny laughed.

''I missed you too.'' she said, holding his face and smiling passionately.

"Wasn't it the 18th that you were coming back?"

''We had an unforeseen event and came back earlier... But I can be gone for another week if-- ''

''--No. I would probably die.'' Harry stood up, throwing some money on the table and grabbing Ginny's hand. ''We're going home, and for the rest of the week it's going to be you and me. Goodbye guys.'' He waved at his brothers-in-law, but it was barely time for Ginny to say goodbye to them before pulling her out of the bar.

"Harry, we have to be at least polite" she joked.

''You have no idea, how much I missed you'' Harry said, taking her to the dark alley next to the bar, and apparating them next.

#Ginny Weasley #hinny headcanon #hinny fanfic #Harry and Ginny #harry x ginny #Harry Potter #hinny

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luvspence · 3 years

Text

roommates (III)

i’m literally obsssed

I, II , IV<- additional roommate fluff

prompts i used: 1 2 3

spencer reid x reader

synopsis: and they were roommates

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

————

sunday paper

to you the paper was just something to be eventually recycled

but to spencer it was something so special, so special he’d wake up at 8 am on a sunday just to grab it. usually waking you up in the process

“spencer why”

he was perched on his chair, coffee in hand getting settled in to read

“why what?”

“why must you get up at 8 am, that stupid news paper would still be there at noon”

“i don’t wanna risk the neighbors stealing it, they’re sketchy y/n”

“believe me spencer no one wants to steal your news paper, and anyways wake up when you want but you don’t need to be so loud”

“hey it’s not my fault i tripped over your 100 cords plugged into the wall”

you rolled your eyes are we about to go back to bed when spencer called out

“so you don’t want the cross word y/n?”

you immediately turned around, you had a love for crosswords

you stood in front of him “give it”

he tuts “i thought you said my news paper was stupid”

“it is, give me the cross word”

“you have to respect the newspaper to get the cross word”

you scoffed

“fine i respect the news paper”

“and?”

“and??????”

“what else”

“it’s very cool and it’s totally not a waste of paper and ink when you could just look at news online”

he nods and hands you the crossword, that you work on fervently

——

white board

you and spencer had a little white board that was on your fridge, you’d write little notes to each other as you came and went

“we’re out of coffee creamer

- reid”

“okay i’ll get more creamer, why do you sign your name? there’s only two people living here

-l/n”

“the new creamers great, thanks. and i don’t know what if someone broke in and decided to leave a note. it could’ve been them

-reid”

“fair enough, have a good day spence!

-l/n”

—

“y/n, question that’s too awkward to ask any other way: do you miss me when i leave on cases?

-reid”

“yeah of course i do, i miss having someone to talk to constantly, of course i miss my best friend when he’s gone spencer was kind of question is that. but it’s not too bad because we work together and we’re always on the phone. anyway yeah i do

-l/n”

“oh okay, that’s good to hear because i miss you too, i never wake up in the middle of the night to find morgan baking in our hotel. and i miss hearing the singing from the bathroom. anyways,,, we’re leaving on a case tonight (as your most likely aware). don’t forget to feed the fish for me!

-reid”

“have a good day y/n!

-reid

p.s. attached is a drawing of a lady bug!“

“i quite enjoy your lady bug spencer, have a good day as well!

-l/n

p.s. i tried to draw a bee”

“y/n i love you but that’s the most a.) terrible drawing of a bee and b.) most scientifically un accurate bee i’ve ever seen, why is its stinger so big?

-reid”

“dont stinger shame my bee, he likes himself how he is

-l/n”

——-

blackouts

you and spencer were both in the home office, you were sitting through emails and spencer was reading a book under the lamp, when suddenly the light went out

“my computer! i was just- my emails!!”

“ugh now i can’t see my book”

“dont you have that book memorized at this point spencer”

“yes, but i like to re read”

you laughed and went under the sink to pull out the flash lights

you stood up, immediately tripping over spencer

“jesus christ spencer dont sneak up on me like that”

he caught you mid fall

“apologies, do the flash lights work?”

you clicked them on and off, gave the back of them a good smack as well

“shoot no, i think i have some candles”

you wandered off into your room, spencer hearing another loud thump and rushing to see if you were okay

“y/n?? are you okay?”

“yes i’m fine, this wall came out of no where”

you found the few candles and the lighter, giving a couple to spencer to spread around the apartment

you were criminally bored, your whole life revolves around your computers, which were useless without an electricity

spencer was reading his book next to one of the candles, he looked like an 18th century philosopher, crouched down with a tiny worn out book in his hands, next to the light of a candle

you were hanging backwards off the couch in boredom

“spencerrrrrrrr”

“yes?”

“i’m bored. the super said the power won’t be back for a whole TWO hours”

spencer looked around, your apartment wasn’t nearly illuminated enough to play any sort of game

“do you want me to read to you?”

he flashed you the book, “the prince” by niccolo machiavelli

“it is much more secure to be feared than loved”

“ahh you’re an expert already”

he crawled on the couch next to you, moving another candle near him to start and reading the pages to you

you listening peacefully as spencer read the pages to you, his voice like music to your ears

———

spiders

spencer was finishing up his nightly routine, about to enter his bed when he heard a scream from tour room

he immediately ran in “what’s wrong? are you okay?”

you trembled as you pointed to the spider on your wall, you then took refuge under spencer’s arm

“y/n seriously? it’s not going to hurt you”

“i don’t careeeeeee!! spence kill it please please please”

he looked at you, you were glossy eyed and had a terrible fear of spiders. he didn’t wanna kill it, but he’d do anything for you, including insect murder

he grabbed a tissue and crushed the spider, disposing of it in the trash

“my hero!” you flung your arms around him, he stroked the back of your head

“y/n if the food chain in this apartment is thrown off now i’m blaming you”

———

keys

“hey y/n you ready to go home?”

you wearing in the cave with penelope

“hey tonight i’m gonna stay a little late, penelope can give me a ride home”

“oh okay, see you at home then”

you guys waved to each other

penelope started to tease

“you’re so in love”

“am not!”

penelope put her best spencer impression on

“are you ready to go home the dearest y/n? ready to come with me? your genuis future boyfriend?”

you threw a piece of paper at her

“shut up! oh my gosh it’s not even like that”

a couple minutes later you get a call from spencer

“hey spence what’s up?”

“okay so, i um. am locked out? i t-think my key fell out on the jet?? i’ll check tomorrow but for now can you please come and open the door for me”

you laughed and told penelope

“yes of course i can my love, sit tight i’ll see you soon”

“okay thank you y/n, bye”

you put down your phone and laughed to yourself a bit

penelope dropped you off at your yet apartment, you found spenxer sitting on the steps on the front door

“spencer?”

“oh hi y/n sorry for making you come out”

“hey no worries, i live here too”

you opened the door and spencer followed you in

“thank you y/n, you’re the very best roommate”

you nodded but in your head you said

“if you like me as a roommate you should see me as a girlfriend”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fluffy #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer x y/n

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