#man i love anthropology

[bluberimufim]

IT'S TIME!!! IT'S FINALLY TIME FOR THE RANT ABOUT 19TH-CENTURY PORTUGUESE URBANISM!!!! (@kingkendrick7 mentioned they were interested a While ago and who am I to withhold information about my Interests)

I'll be focusing exclusively on the city of Porto in northern Portugal because it's what I studied in my Anthropology class. And also: disclaimer! I'm translating all the names of the things from Portuguese so if it sounds weird, yeah, that's why.

The Industrial Revolution in Portugal created a very weird relationship between work and personal life due to the way the cities were planned. Basically, the people who worked the factories, and even the owners, lived extremely close to their place of work - and I mean they were pretty much neighbours. The factories were also built in the city centre itself. This is much more similar to the work-life relationship of rural areas than any model existing in normal cities.

There was, at this time, a strange impasse when it came to building housing. Porto specifically is known for having extremely thin and deep plots of land in the oldest parts of the city - I'm talking 5 by 100m (approx. 16 by 328ft). No house is gonna be that deep, so there's always about 80 to 70m of backyard.

Workers were paid extremely low wages. Like, so low they couldn't afford housing anywhere. So the factory owners would ✨selflessly✨ give up their backyards and build housing for their workers.

Can we just take a moment to think about how absurd this is? Like. Imagine taking pity on your employees for being poor. My brother in Christ, WHO DO YOU THINK IS MAKING THEM POOR?

Anyway, this new type of housing is called an Island. Its name comes from the fact that it's an "island" of low-income housing in a semi-rich neighbourhood.

Basically, an Island is a long exterior corridor with tiny houses on one or two sides and communal bathrooms at the end. Here's a picture:

The way this worked is that the owners of the big, street-front house would open a passage on the ground floor that could be fully closed wuth a gate. This kept the Islands invisible and, thus, out of the city hall's jurisdiction, since they can only legislate on what is visible from street level.

Here's an irl picture of an Island today:

Btw they tried solving this problem bt building houses from scratch but they realuzed that workers' wages were so low that just adding plumbing would make a house unaffordable. Yeah...

Porto currently stands as the European city with the most recent outbreak of the Bubonic Plague, in 1899. This is because Islands had such poor hygenic conditions that it re-kindled the Black Plague epidemic. Just so you can kinda picture what level of "horrible" this whole thing is.

Here's a quote by David Moreira da Silva about the Islands that I translated from French:

"Housing, essential organ of the city, offers us in Porto obe of the most miserable and tragic displays and one of the grave causes that greatly contribute to the huge mortality that is constant. We say, justly, that Porto as a city is the vastest cemetery in Europe."

(Parallel to this there was also the "Sleep Business", which consisted of renting places to sleep. The main two were sub-renting, in which you rented a place to sleep and paid by the hour, and the Rope, in which you rented a piece of rope to lean on while sleeping. Thought it might be interesting to add.)

I'm not mentioning as we go because it'd be exhausting, but backlash was VERY strong every step of the way. Doctors were warning against living conditions in the Islands and city hall was trying to pass laws banning these types of buildings by extending their jurisdiction deeper into the city's plots of land. But they were unsuccessful.

They tried to propose a rehabilitation of the Islands in the early 20th century but their inhabitants basically responded with "Please tear our houses down and make us new ones somewhere else. The Islands are unsalvageable".

The whole factory work-life thing ended with the fascist dictatorship, which reorganized the city centre, but there's still plenty of people living in Islands today.

To this day, the Islands stand as a warning of what rampant capitalism does to people when left unchecked. But that doesn't stop tone-deaf bourgeois pricks from romanticizing them.

This has been a rant. I hope you enjoyed it <3

[gaiaexploreslife]

as an undecided major, I have a love-hate relationship with college rn

[littlemyinvadeshighbury]

How do I tell my professors I love learning I hate doing 40p of reading per class to only talk about the first paragraph quickest route no freeways

[oetscop]

standing in the kitchen doing daily training stuff with my dog thinking about how in iron age egypt someone probably specialized in training working dogs and we'll never know what they did or what their names were. but we know in places with large amounts of livestock bones theres also countless dog bones.

[prehistorictriforce]

i am going to drop out of college i swear to FUCKIGJGN god… i’ll do it… don’t test me… however the fuck many more years of this shit NO!! i can’t do it bros!!!

[crowfeathers]

first exam done now i just have to last minute study for a final quiz :)

[cyberpsych0sis]

Been loving Assassin’s Creed Origins so far :o)

[silentspaces]

I'm currently watching a video about how a species of ant fully domesticated a species of fungi. Like, that fungi cannot live on its own and was bred to the point where it can't intermingle with other fungi species. Once again my mind boggles with yet another realization that humans aren't that unique from animals in most regards.

I knew about leaf cutter ants and how they grew fungi but this video is going into the history and extent of this relationship. Anyway everyone please watch PBS' show Eons

[wanders-in-stars]

oh no no no i'm screwed

i realised that since tamar is an average uneducated commoner from cyrodiil, she probably doesn't speak/understand nordic, or at least not well

then i was like, okay but maybe if she lived close to the border she might?

well anyways fast forward a bit and now i'm knee deep in researching the linguistic anthropology of tamriel, and decided that tamar canonically knows at least 5 different varients of Cyrodilic, has lived in at least 4 different regions, and can partially understand Nordic but it's with guesswork involved, like with speakers of modern romance languages trying to communicate with one another

i'm just like

LINGUISTICS

[canis-lunaris]

Traditional Hungarian (Matyó) folk attire

[eurekavalley]

/reader fics are interesting in that the whole genre seems like a conscious decision to drop some of the "literary" conventions of fanfic. A lot of /reader content seems like 1) characters that would have been called Mary Sue 15 years ago, now without the pretense that author is trying to create a character with the same weight as the canon characters or that adheres to the same narrative logic. (Maybe there is influence from narrative contemporary video games here too?) Or 2) content embracing p*rn as a reason for being - which to be fair a lot of non-/reader fic also does. But it's interesting that its popularity seems to be growing with cross-fandom platforms that have tagging, where people can search based on not just the fandom or the pairing but also other tropes and kinks. Fandom can be a place where you find niche content and audiences, but with /reader fic the depersonalization is a feature when it comes to the attention economy of it all.

[sweet-as-kiwis]

I have severely underestimated how long four hours is

[cinematicbookworm]

I look at my course work and I briefly wiry I’ll be over worked while also working a full time job but then I start actually watching and reading the material and I am reminded why I’m taking these courses which is that I enjoy these subjects and so while it’s work it’s not uncomfortable work

[ghouljams]

moooooore Professor Ghost!!!! Pleaaaaaase

Ghost has many problems, he's not social, he doesn't like most of his department, but most recently(most importantly) he is being plagued by an anthropology professor who seems to have no idea what she's doing(she does).

Love makes, or attempts to make, eye contact with Ghost while flipping through slides of penis sculptures and graffiti while she lectures about genitalia and historic significance. Ghost pointedly does not look at her. He's not a man that could ever be considered shy but this chick is intense, she's actually insane.

"What do you think Professor Riley?" She asks, loud enough to turn every eye in the lecture hall his way, "Are we as obsessed with dicks as the Greeks?"

"Maybe you are," He grumbles to himself, holding up the most recent philosophical text he'd pulled for her, "Just dropping off." Really he'd care less about her if she didn't look so damn genuine in her excitement to receive more books from him. She came to his office hours yesterday and actually had questions about morality and ethics. Of course she also sat on the edge of his desk and crowded his work space, and he'd stared at her thighs for a minute too long before she'd asked if she was bothering him. (He kicked her out after that)

Maybe some of her insanity is rubbing off on him, he's getting delusions of wedding bells, imagining white dresses and writing vows in the margins of his notebooks. Christ he doesn't even talk to this woman. Flirting he can do, but she is showing genuine interest in his interest and that is much harder to deal with. Not to mention they're always being watched and Ghost doesn't want to have to deal with someone reporting him for harassing the anthro department's darling if she's just messing with him.

The real problem is when she marches into his class to ask about a paper one of her students submitted, looking frustrated and not even bothering to flirt. Just shows him the paper, asks a few questions and leans close while Ghost explains which philosophical school the student is drawing from. His hand settled on the small of her back to give her room to watch where he's marking. "There's the problem," He tells her, too focused on his work to truly appreciate the way she's pressed against him, "They're mixing Simone de Beauvoir's notions on sexuality with Freud."

Love makes a face, "I hate Freud."

Ghost hums and marks the paper, "Everyone does." He jots down a few notes in the margins and pushes the paper back to her without thinking, "Should be alright now, run along love." Turns back to class and doesn't realize that she's still standing there staring at him, smiling wide and cuddled close. He rubs his thumb against her back instinctively before he realizes where his hand is and takes a step away from her. "You can go," He reminds her, not looking at her.

"Kay," She purrs, gathering her student's paper and tossing a "bye Simon," over her shoulder. Again he wonders if she has some sort of ownership to his name that he wasn't aware of, the shiver hearing it sends down his spine is alien to him.

Both of their classes are buzzing trying to figure out what's going on between the two of them. People have photos of Love pressed against Ghost's side, him leaning into her to speak low, red circles around the hand on her back. Ghost absolutely does not think about helping her grade essays the rest of the day, doesn't think about how warm she'd been or how soft, doesn't think about what it would be like to discuss human nature with her. He absolutely doesn't look over the notes she'd slipped into the books she'd returned and think about her words like they might be his new gospel.

[zafirosreverie]

Their reaction to you asking them out (BSD)

a/n: Lovecraft's mentioned in three of these other than his simply because I LOVE him. Sorry not sorry.

Doppo Kunikida:

"T-tell Dazai this joke isn't funny."

You blinked in confusion, before realization hit you. You didn't need Ranpo's mind to know that the blonde in front of you had a soft spot for you, it had been that way since you entered the ADA, and for you it was an immediate crush.

But neither of you had acted on it, keeping your interactions purely professional at first and then simply being friends. The complete opposite of Dazai. After rejecting his proposal of a double suicide with a simple laugh, the brunette decided that you were his friend and that was it, you had nothing to say about it, not that you cared much.

Since you had no ability, you simply worked as a secretary at the agency, but that didn't stop Dazai from dragging you into his chaos. When he wasn't bothering Kunikida, or traumatizing Atsushi, the waste of bandages was stuck to you, trying to coax you into doing something diabolically chaotic, simply because he was bored.

You usually ended up taking most of the blame, since Fukuzawa and Kunikida were softer on you anyway, but at the end of the day, Dazai was a good friend. He had given you the courage you needed to finally confess to Kunikida, after teasing you of course.

Honestly, you believed that if the blonde rejected you it would be because you hardly fit into at least five of his ideals, you didn't expect him to be jealous of his partner.

"It wasn't a joke" you said softly "but we can talk about this at lunch."

Kunikida looked at you surprised, his green eyes shining with distrust but with a hint of hope as well. You smiled at him and quickly walked back to your desk, not caring about the evident blush on your face.

For lunch, he would take you to a restaurant further away from the agency building and you could finally talk. You would show him that you were worth more than the ink in his notebook and even though he didn't think you would last long together, in time he couldn't imagine a life without you.

H.P. Lovecraft:

You sighed internally but tried to keep a kind smile on your face, although you honestly didn't know how much you could fool an ancient god with that. You mentally cursed Mark and John for convincing you this was a good idea, but you cursed yourself more for thinking Lovecraft would actually agree to go on a date.

"Explain to me?" he asked after a minute of just looking at you with those piercing but empty eyes.

"Uh?!" You stammered, jumping a little “D-don't you know what a date is?”

"No, I know that" he replied "I have been here since before humanity, I have seen you develop, break down, and rise again, and although I am never near you unless summoned, I know enough to know how those types of relationships work"

“Oh” you whispered.

You weren't really expecting a philosophy or anthropology lesson, you just wanted a yes or no (preferably the former), but realistically, when, since meeting him, have you been able to have a simple, easy conversation with Lovecraft?

"Then what?-" you started, but he interrupted you, still staring at you.

"Why would you want to form that kind of human bond with someone who...isn't?"

You blinked and, for the first time since you started this awkward conversation, looked at him. His face showed no emotion, as always, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that hadn't been there before, as if he really wanted to understand what was going on in your mind.

For some reason, the minuscule possibility of being a mystery to a man whose mere existence was the biggest mystery of all, made you feel important, like the entire universe was watching only you.

"I don't know" you shrugged "maybe it's your way of treating me a little warmer than you treat others, or maybe it's because my eyes can't see anyone else as soon as you walk into a room… Maybe I'm just crazy, who knows?"

"Why would you want to join your being to an evil eldritch god?"

“I don’t think you’re evil” you refuted.

"Then you don't understand me" he said.

"No, but I've never said I do" you agreed "but…if you really are older than humanity…shouldn't you be immune to the criteria of good or evil?"

Lovecraft looked at you with, what by his standards, must have been a ghost of amazement. He didn't respond, but the gleam in his eyes intensified and it only took you a few moments to register that his normally cold and indifferent aura seemed warmer and… joyful?

"You're not an ordinary human" he finally said "You're not afraid of the dark"

"I never have been" you smiled "Hawthorne says that will condemn my soul to hell…nice guy right?"

"Your soul already belongs to the abyss"

You looked at him curiously and swore the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. You weren't sure if that was a yes or no to a date, but the moment he took your hand, you decided it really didn't matter.

Edgar Allan Poe:

Why? Was it a joke? Were there hidden cameras capturing his humiliation? No, you weren't like that…but you spent a lot of time with Mark, maybe he had convinced you…No, he liked to make fun of Hawthorne, not him. So it didn't make sense, why would you ask him something like that? Why would you want to stain yourself with the same madness, anxiety and loneliness that accompanied him everywhere? Why would you want to subject yourself to such torture? Not even he could beat his own demons, why would you want to see them yourself? Why would you, of all people, ask him out on a date?

Those were the questions that ran a thousand miles an hour through Poe's mind as he looked at you silently, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Karl had long since moved onto your shoulders, sensing the imminent defeat of his owner.

"…Edgar?" You asked softly, worried.

It was a good thing you were in his study, because the moment you touched him, the writer fell back as if he were a statue, making you jump and scream a little before running to his side.

"I think I broke him" you said to Karl, as you fanned the man on the floor.

"I'm fine" Poe grunted, sitting up.

It seemed like the hit was what he needed to get his mind working again. He hadn't really expected your confession, much less for you to ask him out, damn it, he hadn't even hoped that you might like him like he liked you. But there you were, looking really worried about him (and damn cute, but that was another story), and he owed you an answer.

"I-I'm sorry" he stuttered "You took me by surprise"

"I noticed" you laughed softly, awakening butterflies in his stomach "I didn't mean to"

"N-no, it's okay, just…I didn't think you saw me like that"

"Really?" You blinked “I thought it was obvious. Even Lovecraft noticed”

"He did?!"

You nodded. It was true, the entire Guild knew about your feelings for Poe, some had even bet how long it would take him to realize it or if you would have to tell him yourself (you could already hear Margaret complaining about having to pay Nathaniel and John), even the eldritch horror had noticed it and he was asleep 18 of the 24 hours of the day. It seemed like everyone knew except Poe.

"I understand if you don't want to" you said "don't feel obligated to-"

"No!" he interrupted you, making you both jump at his sudden shout "sorry… I do want to, it's just… it's hard for me to think that anyone would want to spend their time with me willingly" he admitted awkwardly.

You looked at him for a moment, not understanding how he could not see how cute, not to mention how incredibly interesting, he was. You smiled at him and held his hand tenderly, waiting for him to make eye contact with you.

"Don't worry" you told him "I do"

Nathaniel Hawthorne:

"I miss her"

Herman looked curiously at Hawthorne for a moment before following the man's line of sight. You were sitting, talking calmly with Steinbeck about the small garden you had decided to start a few days ago, and although the blonde was more than happy to give you tips and advice, it was obvious that your attention was more on the tired sea god at your side. It was no secret to anyone that Lovecraft was one of your favorite beings.

"And why don't you tell her?" the older man turned his attention to the minister next to him.

"Its not that easy"

Melville looked at him a moment longer before looking back at you. He was a wise man, and he has known Nathaniel for years, even before the latter joined the Guild. He knew the man's faith, his ideals and moral compass, he knew that he could be stubborn and immovable in his convictions and that few things mattered more to him than his religion. After Mitchell's failed attempts at a romance with him and his relentless way of ignoring Twain's jokes, it had become clear to everyone that Hawthorne was a man of god, that his devotion was to him, and no one else. Most simply opted to leave him alone when he wasn't needed for some mission and he had been fine with that. Until he met you.

Of all the new Guild members, you were by far Melville's favorite. You were kind, happy, calm, willing to learn and rarely caused problems. You were often the first to offer help to whoever needed it, and although you possessed a dangerous ability, you had complete control over it, so no one was worried about you hurting them. You were practically an angel, and it was obvious that you were quickly earning a place in everyone's hearts. Nowadays it was common to see Poe leaving his room more often thanks to you, or how Louisa laughed more, how Fitzgerald praised you even for the smallest things, and Herman himself loved the peaceful afternoons with you in his office. You were even replacing John as Lovecraft's favorite human. But it was obvious that the person you had most under your spell was Hawthorne.

The usually serious man smiled as soon as he saw you, he talked to you about all kinds of things, often even forgetting his Bible and his talk about sins, he accompanied you everywhere if you asked and was always the first to welcome you when you arrived from a mission, always making sure you were okay. It was a lovely sight, and Herman appreciated your presence in the other man's life. But all that ended a few days ago, when he had broken your heart.

Melville was the only one who knew the story thoroughly, listening to what you were able to tell him between sobs and what Hawthorne himself had confirmed the next day when he confronted him about it. Apparently, he had rejected you without hesitation, and although he tried not to make drama about it, it was obvious that his words hadn't necessarily been soft, but rather dry and direct. You had smiled and accepted the answer, before quickly leaving, but Nathaniel had caught a glimpse of disappointment and sadness in your eyes, which had pierced his chest for some reason.

It took him a terrible sleepless night and a tough talk with Herman to realize that he had made a terrible mistake. He hadn't wanted to realize the true nature of his feelings for you, he hadn't wanted to face what that meant for his faith and ideals, but he gave up when he couldn't get you out of his head for days. At first, he was surprised by your ability to act in front of others as if nothing had happened, but in reality you no longer spoke to him, you no longer smiled at him, nor did you look for him, you had left him alone, and that, like he himself confessed to Melville, felt like the greatest penance for a mortal sin, the sin of having hurt an angel like you.

"I can't face those broken eyes, not again" Nathaniel whispered, not taking his eyes off you.

"You've already lost her" Herman sighed "what else do you have to risk?"

The minister didn't respond, watching as you softly laughed at Lovecraft, who had fallen asleep with his head in your lap. He knew that the other man was right, he had already lost you, there was nothing more he could risk, the only thing he had left was the hope that you would give him a second chance.

Herman Melville:

(shhh lemme be, we love Sea Santa Claus in this house)

"My child" he laughed softly "I'm sure Mark would be happy to date you."

You blinked in confusion, as your cheeks quickly heated up. In the man's defense, you really shouldn't have confessed your feelings to him… like that. Seriously, what did you expect by basically yelling at him that you loved him while you played chess in his office?

"I- I don't like Mark" you simply said "not that way"

"Oh… John's pretty nice too"

“Steinbeck scares me” you shivered

"Really?" Herman raised an eyebrow “You spend a lot of time with him”

Was that… jealousy you heard in his voice? A part of you clung to that thought, despite the very clear surprise, confusion, and rejection in his voice.

"I do it for Lovecraft" you admitted "I like him… Steinbeck gives me nightmares"

Herman looked at you for a moment before sighing and laughing softly. Really, he couldn't understand you, the idea that someone as young as you, with a whole life ahead, could have fallen in love with someone as old as him, was ridiculous. But if he had learned anything in the time he had known you, it was that when you wanted something, there was no human power to change your mind.

And if he was honest with himself, you had truly earned a permanent place in his rusty old heart. You were a happy and confident soul, kind and gentle, something rare in the current Guild. Apart from him and Lovecraft, you were the only one who saw Moby Dick as more than just a ship, you had brought warmth back to his chest, and he would do whatever it took to protect you.

“I guess Poe is out of question” he whispered in amusement, gently taking your hand across the table.

You quickly understood the joke and caught the glint of hope in his eyes, which made your heart race and a huge smile bloom on your face.

"Nope" you said "I already made up my mind"

Herman smiled at you and nodded, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it reverently. It would be awkward to explain this new step in your relationship to others, but it was worth it to see you smile.

"Besides, we all know that Poe belongs to Lovecraft. I'm not going to fight a sea god over him."

Louisa May Alcott:

"M-me? R-really?"

Louisa looked at you with wide eyes as you laughed softly and nodded, repeating your question for the third time, just to make sure she believed it.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?"

She felt her already red cheeks heat up even more and tried to hide her face in her hands. She was basically a tangled mess of nerves and little squeals.

Listen, she liked you too, ok? Louisa just wasn't someone who thought much about dates and partners and stuff, mostly because she had long ago accepted that no one would notice her that way, but deep down, she had to admit that her heart had always harbored a little bit of hope for romance. She just didn't expect that you, who had become Guild's golden girl thanks to your charisma and power, would be the one to be interested in her.

On one hand, she was afraid that this was doomed to be a failure, that the more you got to know her your interest in her would fade, but the braver little part of her told her that it might be worth it. After all, you had always been kind to her, you tried to include her in everything you could and it was not unusual for you to spend your afternoons reading silently next to her. You made her feel special, like no one had ever made her feel before. She supposed that, in a way, it had been impossible to stop her from falling in love with you.

"I-I…I'd love to!" She responded, a little louder than she would have liked.

But it didn't seem to bother you, you simply smiled wider at her and gently pulled her closer to you to hug her, giving her enough time to get away if she wanted to. Louisa hid her face in your shoulder and as she felt your hand rubbing gentle circles on her back, she was mentally grateful that someone was finally noticing her for who she was, not her power or position in the Guild.

Bram Stoker:

"Why?"

"Because now you have legs and I don't have to carry you on my back all the way?" you joked lightly, feeling a little silly under the vampire's piercing gaze.

Bram just frowned and tilted his head in confusion. You had told him that you would like to go for a "drink" with him, or just "walk around the fair", mundane things, but little lady Aya had told him they were "dates".

It had taken the poor girl a couple of hours to bring him up to date on modern courtship customs, and even longer to convince him that it was fun and romantic. In his time, there was not much room for romance, marriages were arranged according to the political and economic advantages that the union could achieve and that was all. Much easier if he was honest.

But that wasn't what bothered him, it was the fact that apparently you, of all people, could have developed feelings for someone like him. Yes, you had helped him and Aya escape from Fukuchi and had remained loyal to the end, despite your lack of ability, but that was precisely why he couldn't understand your reasons.

A mere mortal who didn't know who they were talking to, he could understand, but you? You knew what he was, you knew the monster you were trying to court. Bram was no fool, and despite his lack of understanding of modern times and customs, he had never been one to deny his feelings (from that to him acting on them was another story, of course), and could easily admit to himself that he had developed a liking for you, especially after the whole vampire apocalypse.

But you? What could you want with one of the ten calamities of humanity? It just didn't make sense, no matter how much he thought about it.

"Uh-…Bram?" you asked softly

"Why?" he asked again

"…because I like you?" you said, giving up on your jokes and opting to be direct.

"Why would you?"

"I don't know" you shrugged "I just do."

"Why me?"

"Why not?"

Sigma:

"You're cruel"

You blinked before frowning in confusion. It wasn't exactly the answer you had been waiting for. When you decided it was time to ask Sigma on a date, you had prepared yourself for a no or a yes, what were you supposed to do with this answer?

"Excuse me?" you murmured

"YOU'RE CRUEL!" he shouted, looking at you with tears in his eyes.

Now you were worried. You tried to approach him, ask him what was wrong, and apologize if you had upset him with your question, but he just walked away abruptly and turned his back on you, furiously wiping the tears from his face.

"Sigma-"

"Why would you?" he whispered "Of all the pranks you could play, why such a cruel one?"

"What?-"

"You know how I feel about you" he continued, completely ignoring your worried look "I'm not even good at hiding it, but I thought you'd at least stop Gogol from using it against me…why would you? Why would you give me hope like this?"

His voice broke on the last sentence, just like your heart. You watched him fall to the ground, covering his face as his shoulders shook from silent sobs and your mind tried to catch up with everything. You couldn't really blame him for thinking this was a joke, after all, you were friends with Nikolai, his main tormentor.

Usually, you tried to stay neutral about the pranks the clown played on the poor boy, mainly because you knew that if you defended him, Nikolai would just make an even more evil prank. But you didn't expect him to actually think you would do something like that to him.

You felt guilty beyond words, and you promised yourself in that moment that you would do everything you could to repair a trust you didn't even know you had lost. It didn't matter if Gogol or Dostoyesvky got upset, you swore you weren't going to let them (or anyone) hurt him again.

"I swear on my life that this is not a joke" you said softly, sitting next to him "I'm so sorry if I ever gave you reason to believe that I would hurt you like this."

Sigma glanced at you, but he didn't respond. You took it as a small victory when you moved his hair back a little to caress his cheek and he didn't move away from it. It took you a while, but in the end, you managed to get him to look at you, still with tears in his eyes, but a glimmer of hope in them.

"I really like you" you said "and I promise I'll do everything I can to make you believe me."

He gasped when you leaned in to place a tender kiss on his cheek, and his entire face heated up as you held him close to your chest. You both knew that it would take you a while to convince him that you weren't really trying to use him, that you were sincere in your feelings, but at least, you were pointing in the right direction.

Nikolai Gogol:

"I knew you couldn't resist my charm"

You rolled your eyes as the clown laughed maniacally in front of you. Honestly, sometimes you questioned why you liked him, and if this had been a good idea. You knew he wouldn't let you live with this, he loved any excuse to boost his ego and tease you, but deep down you knew you wouldn't want him any other way, murder and obvious insanity aside.

"Oh, but darling, you didn't think it would be that easy did you?" he smirked at you and you could feel a shiver running down your spine "oh no, before you date me, you have to prove how much you love me!"

"Oh no" you shuddered "on second thought, let's stay friends."

"No, no, no" he said, grabbing your wrist before you could escape "you can't back out now!"

You looked at him for a moment before sighing and giving up. You knew that there was no human power that could stop him when he planned one of his "games" and that no matter what you did, you had already let the cat out, there was no way he would forget your confession, much less that you could get out of this.

“Okay” you sighed “what do you have on your mind?”

Nikolai simply smiled at you before using his power to transport you somewhere else.

In the end, you ended up spending hours solving puzzles and tests that, if you were honest, weren't even too difficult, at least not by what he was used to, but it was frustrating that every time you finished one, another immediately appeared, it seemed like a never-ending punishment. You assumed he wanted to test your willpower.

However, the reality was that Gogol wasn't even thinking about it, he was simply keeping you busy while he dealt with the sudden rush of complicated emotions, doubts, and fears that washed over him. It wasn't a secret to anyone who was observant (which meant it was only obvious to Fyodor) that the DOA clown had really taken a liking to you, which was why he teased you so much, as an attempt to keep your attention on him.

He never expected you to have feelings for him tho, much less ask him out on a date. A part of him was happy about it, but his mind was yelling at him that he shouldn't accept, that he shouldn't be tied to anyone. His entire life was supposed to have been dedicated to seeking his freedom, he couldn't risk that, not even for you. You really were a danger to him, and for once, he didn't know what to do with it.

Ogai Mori:

tw: manipulation.

"Bold and brave" he smirked "I like that"

Are you okay? Is someone threatening you? To be fair, you really didn't know what you were getting into. You didn't know the true nature of the man in front of you, you simply knew him as the kind doctor you had met by accident on the street and who you sometimes ran into.

It was weird at first, but after the third time "casually" meeting each other, you just decided it was funny and started a friendship with him. Bad idea.

You had no idea of the danger you were in, you didn't know what he was capable of. Developing a crush on the Port mafia boss was probably one of the stupidest things you could do. But he had made you feel safe, appreciated, and it really wasn't long before he had you under his spell.

It wasn't really your fault though. Mori is a brilliant man and a skilled manipulator, he rarely took a step without thinking, and it definitely wasn't a coincidence that he found you. You had a powerful ability, one that would be a huge asset to the mafia or any organization that had you.

It had gone unnoticed for so long because, as you had confessed, you didn't really like using it, but it was only a matter of time before someone else found out, so he had made sure to get to you first.

Honestly, he didn't expect this turn of events. His plan was simple: lure you in with kindness, make you feel safe before showing his true colors and then offer to join the mafia, which was an understatement, he was more than ready to force you to join if you didn't accept of your own free will, he even had planned to use Elise (he knew you had a soft, motherly spot for children) to convince you.

The fact that you were offering yourself on a silver platter only made things easier for him. Besides, he wouldn't say no to other kinds of advantages and a pretty face. (He would never admit that in that time of "knowing you" he had developed a… liking for you)

[fairy-writes]

Would it be too much to ask for a William James Moriarty x Holmes sister reader? Like she's a travelling archaeologist/anthropologist who's a genius in the field and has found many artifacts and lost cities and can be a bit of an eccentric looney like her older brother Sherly but she's also incredibly kind to those in need and often donates her treasures to the less fortunate and even helps Sherly from time to time which is how he meets her and is impressed by her smarts and sarcastic wits. Also, a bit of a parkour junky likes to wear mens clothes tailored for her measurements and often wears her hair in loose buns or ponytails and loves riding horseback much to Mycroft's displeasure🤭

A BUSINESS PROPOSAL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

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Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): William James Moriarty x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Holmes!Reader, Mildly sexist behavior from Mycroft? It is the 1800s after all.

Notes: So this was super fun to write! 

Fun fact! I took an archaeology class for my associate’s degree in criminal justice and highly recommend taking one to anyone in college! 

I actually took several anthropology classes (intro to anthro, bio anthro, and archaeology). I even considered switching my major to anthropology at some point! (I switched it to English lol)

PART TWO HERE

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Otis whinnies, and you reach forward from your place in the saddle to pat his neck.

“Easy, Otie, almost there.” You whisper to him and gently nudge him to turn down the familiar road of Baker Street. You could spot your brother’s flat from where you were at, an unfamiliar carriage parked in front. You frown briefly and then shrug. Sherlock could have whoever he liked over. 

But… he did promise to take you out on the town in celebration of your latest discovery. Did he forget?

No… He wasn’t the type to forget something like that. You had been exchanging letters for weeks about your coming home. 

A tall man was at the front of the carriage, tending to the horses. He had spiked black hair and a glove on one hand. He looks at you with skeptical eyes as you draw near and dismount your horse. The Cleveland Bay snorts, ruffling your hair as you smooth your hand up his snout and between his eyes. Then, you promptly tied his reins to the post outside 221B Baker Street and went up to the front door. 

The door knocker was more worn than you last remembered, with the shiny brass turning a glimmering gold color from all the hands touching it. You rap the door once, twice, then a third time, and wait, stuffing your hands in your trouser pockets. 

A young man opens the door, sandy blond hair combed neatly and brown eyes alight with curiosity. A grin breaks your face, and you step forward into his arms as he realizes just who is at the door.

“My dear John!” You shriek, and he chuckles, lifting you off your feet and spinning once in a circle before setting you down. 

“I thought you weren’t due back for another two weeks!” He replies excitedly, and you laugh gleefully. 

“We finished early! Anyhow, how’s Mary? Sherlock said you two were expecting!” You say and slap his shoulder good-naturedly. He ducks his head, a pink flush on his cheeks as he nods.

“She’s home at the mo. But yes, we’re expecting. The midwife thinks it’ll be a girl based on how she’s carrying.” He said, and before you could say any more, there was a noise at the top of the stairs. 

You turn, and your grin widens even more until your cheeks hurt. 

“Sherly!” You crow, and he bounds down the stairs to sweep you up in a bear hug. His boisterous laugh made your heart sing, and you buried your nose in his hair. He smelled like cigarette smoke and whiskey. He must have been on a case. He squeezes you tight and sets you down. 

“I thought you were coming back in two weeks!” He exclaims, and you roll your eyes,

“So John said, I told you we finished early!” You tease, and it is then that you notice that there is someone else in the flat. 

He was tall, probably around your brother’s height. He had blond hair and deep scarlet eyes that studied you with interest. He was dressed in a brown suit with a crimson tie. A lord. That much is obvious.

Sherlock notices that you notice his friend and gestures to the man at the top of the stairs. 

“This is Liam! A mathematics professor at Durham University and a friend of mine who helps me on my cases.” He says proudly as “Liam” descends the stairs and approaches you. 

You stick out a hand and introduce yourself. His hand is smooth like you expected, as opposed to your calloused one. You had bandages littering your fingertips from blisters from shovels and tools. 

“William James Moriarty. I’ve heard stories about you.” His British lilt is proper and endearing. You feel your heart flutter and your ears burn. But you smile warmly nonetheless and give his hand a firm shake.

“As much as I’d like to say the same, Sherly has yet to tell me about you in his letters.” You direct the last sentence to your older brother in the same teasing tone as before. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes and punches your shoulder lightly while William watches on in amusement. 

“I got distracted!” Sherlock complains, and you break out into giggles. 

“I would love to hear some stories if you’re up to it.” William cut in gently before you, and Sherlock could start bickering. You brighten. A chance to tell stories of your work and not have someone get bored? It sounded like heaven!

That was how you got to where you were at the current moment. 

You were seated next to Sherlock at the Moriarty dining table, regaling them with a story of the most current dig you had been on.

“—and Egypt was absolutely smashing! It was so beautiful!” You say, waving your hands excitedly as you describe the tomb that had been uncovered. It had taken weeks to uncover everything, almost months. But oh so worth it. 

“Might I ask what you did with all the artifacts you found?” William inquires, and you hum as you sip at your wine. 

“Donated it all back to the locals. It’s the least I can do. Plenty of archaeologists steal their finds and bring them back to England to show in museums. I try and do the opposite.” You say and were pleased to see William nod in approval. 

At least someone shared your sentiment. 

You got a letter to your very old and very dusty flat a week after your return to England, summoning you to your eldest brother’s estate. You had been dusting and cleaning your furniture when the postman knocked on your door. You frown, brushing your pants on the seat of your trousers, and answer the door. 

The letter was short. 

Dearest sister, 

I have received news of your return to Egypt. I would like to have your company at the family estate for dinner to discuss business and your adventures. 

With best regards, 

Mycroft Holmes

A summons to the Holmes family estate that your oldest brother had inherited after your parents retired to the country. You look at the ceiling and groan, eliciting a funny look from the postman. 

This was going to be fun.

As soon as Otis realizes where you are, he tosses his head and tries to turn around. You tug the reins so he faces the right direction and nudge him into a walk down the road.

“Otie, I don’t want to do this either. But I’d rather not have Mikey send special forces after us or something.” You say to Otis, and when you reach the stables, Mycroft’s hired stable hand takes your beloved horse’s reins. “Take good care of him!” You nearly reprimand the stable hand who agrees and welcomes you back with ease. 

The maids welcome you in excitedly when you rap on the massive double doors, and you are ushered upstairs into the dining room. 

Mycroft was seated at the head of the table, where your father would be if he were here, and he stood to greet you. He offers a handshake, but you simply smile warmly and hug him tightly. He may have grated on your nerves, but he was still your brother. Mycroft stiffens and pats your shoulders awkwardly when you step back.

“As awkward as always, I see Mikey.” You said and took a seat at the table next to him like you did when you were kids. He clears his throat and calls for the kitchen staff to bring in the food. 

It wasn’t much, considering there were only two of you. But it was as extravagant as Mycroft always demanded it to be. 

“Would you like to change into dinner attire before we eat, sister dearest?” Mycroft says suddenly, just as you are about to dig into the delicious roast prepared by the staff of the household. You put your fork down and scowl.

“Don’t start with this, Mikey. You know I hate dresses.” You snap, and he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push the issue. 

At least… he doesn’t until you are done with your meal and in his study, talking about your travels to Egypt. 

You down the rest of your whiskey and set the glass whiskey tumbler on the table between you two. 

“More whiskey?” He offers, and you shake your head.

“I want to be able to ride home after this.” You say and hold in a yawn. The excellent food combined with the fireplace blazing with a crackling fire is lulling you to sleep. 

Suddenly, Mycroft stands and walks in front of the fire, setting his own glass down on the mantle and turning to face you. 

“Might we talk some business?” He inquires, and immediately, your mood sours. 

So this was his end goal? Get you sleepy and drunk so you couldn’t ride home and were subject to his pleadings?

“I don’t want to hear it, Mikey.” You say and stand, holding onto the back of the wingback chair for a moment as the dizziness sets in. 

He scowls, 

“You are of perfect age. The season is just starting. You could still join in and find a potential suitor!” He tries, and you scrub at your face.

“I already told you I wasn’t interested in courting! I’m interested in—”

“Your work, I know. But what happens when the digs dry up and there’s nothing else for you to do? What will you do when you get too old for this?!” He snaps, and you whirl, steadying yourself with the chair as your anger flares. 

“It won’t dry up! There are thousands of years of history still to be discovered! Hundreds of thousands of cities and archaeological finds!” Your voice rises to a shout, and you hear distant footsteps as maids scurry away from you and your brother’s anger. 

This goes on for several minutes until Mycroft a bomb on you. 

“Mother and Father have decided. If you don’t find someone to court, they will no longer fund your excavations, and you’ll be stuck here with me.” 

You freeze, hands wound tightly in your hair, and argument dying on your tongue. 

“B—But that would mean—” Mycroft cuts you off gently and approaches, putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“You’d be stuck here until you find a husband—no more digs. No more artifacts. Not until you do as they and I ask.” Tears well up in your eyes, and you shrug off his hands violently and flee. 

Your boots pound against the hardwood floors, and you run outside where it has started pouring rain. Instantly, your clothes are soaked as you make it to the stables, dress Otis in his saddle and bridle, and swiftly mount his back. He tears out of the stables at a thundering gallop, and the stable hand barely dives out of the way to save himself from being trampled. 

Otis’s hooves dash against the cobblestone roads. You cling to his reins and hunch over his back as tears stream down your face and sobs wrack your body. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Taking away your funding? 

No one wanted to fund a woman on an archaeological dig! 

Much less one as young as yourself! 

You were screwed! Doomed to live as a housewife because that was society’s and your parent’s expectations of you!

Otis eventually comes to a halt, and you dismount, collapsing onto a bench, breathing hard as rain pours down your body. Your shirt sticks to your skin, and your trousers swim in water as you sit in a puddle on the bench. But you can’t bring it in you to care. 

A carriage rumbles to a stop before you, and you look up as the door opens. 

“Might I interest you in some shelter?” Comes a proper and endearing accent that you recognize. 

“William?” You sniffle, and he smiles, extending a hand. 

“If you’ll let him, Fred will handle your horse. How about you step inside the carriage, and we’ll take you back to the Moriarty estate.” He says over the rain. A young man with a blue scarf wrapped around his head gets off the front of the carriage and approaches. You hiccup and nod, handing Otis’s reins to the young man and accepting William’s hand into the carriage. He sheds his overcoat and offers it. 

It’s warm and heavy as you wrap it around your shoulders and sit down. Your boots squelch against the floor, and William knocks twice against the carriage's wall, and it starts moving once again. 

The Morairty estate is even grander than you remember, looming over you as the carriage stops by the front doors. You nearly slip in your haste to get inside and are taken up the stairs to one of the many bedrooms. 

“Draw a bath and get warm. I’ll have some clothes brought by. We can have a talk after you’ve collected yourself.” William says gently, and you nod, taking off his overcoat so he can have it back. He excuses himself, and you are left alone in the suite. 

The bath is nice and hot, and you let out a sigh as you shed your clothes into a pile on the floor and sink into the warm water. Your tears are drying, but your emotions are still raging like a rabid dog inside you.

How could they? 

Didn’t your family know archaeology was your passion? Your dream?! Of course, they did! You never shut up about it when you were but a little girl learning to play the piano! You babbled on and on about fossils and artifacts in between lessons until you were blue in the face!

It wasn’t long until you were done in the bath and dried off. As William had promised, some clothes were left on the bed. A button-down that looked like it might fit you, a pair of trousers that might be a bit too long, and a pair of undergarments. You tugged on the underwear and then the trousers, having to cuff them at the bottom so you didn’t trip. The shirt fit better than you thought so you pinned your hair out of your face and left the bedroom and down the hall. Hadn’t there been a sitting room just down the stairs? 

William was inside, stoking a fire with a poker, his back to you. He stood and turned when you rapped lightly on the entryway. His lips curled in a welcoming smile, and he gestured for you to take a seat. 

“Would you like some tea? I had Louis put the kettle on.” He said, and you nodded, sitting on the couch beside the fire.

“Thank you. For the clothes and… everything else.” You mumble, and he shakes his head,

“Don’t mention it. Sherlock mentioned you hated dresses.” He says and pours you a cup of tea.

It’s delicious. It warms you from the tips of your ears to the ends of your bare toes. You scuff them on the plush carpet as William sits across from you. His scarlet eyes are illuminated like glittering rubies in the oranges and yellows of the fire. They’re alive like a torch resides inside. 

“Now, might I ask why you were out in the rain?” William asks as soon as you’ve settled into your spot. You bite your lip and wonder if you can trust him with your problems. 

Sherlock trusted him well enough… 

Perhaps…

“I got into an argument with Mycroft. He said my parents will cut off my funding for excavations if I don’t find a proper husband.” You blurt, and he hums as he takes a sip from his cup. 

“I assume they’ve been funding your past archaeological escapades?” He says, and you nod.

“Correct. But that is going to change unless I get married.” You grumble, and he cocks his head to the side, setting his cup down on the tea table next to him and seemingly mulling something over. 

“This may be a bit forward, but I have a proposal. A business proposal, if you will.” He starts, and you narrow your eyes. A business proposal? You set your own cup down and cross one leg over the other. 

“Go on…” You say hesitantly, and he clasps his hands together as if working out a problem in his head. Sherlock did say he was a mathematics professor.

“I could marry you.” You inhale sharply and proceed to choke on your saliva. William half gets out of his chair to come to your aid when you finally get your coughing under control. 

“Why?!” You demand, and he shrugs, 

“I’ve done some research into you. You are spearheading the way in new archaeological techniques. You donate your finds back to the locals in need. And frankly, I find you fascinating. If we go ahead with this, you’ll have access to my brother Albert’s influence as well as the Moriarty name and fortune.” He says, and you sit back, stunned. 

“I could continue my work?” You say skeptically, and he nods. 

“Indeed. There’s no reason to stop you. I might ask for a lecture or two from you at Durham University. But that’s it. So…” He extends a hand for you to shake. “Have we reached an accord?”

You are speechless as possibilities run rampant through your brain. You’d be free from your parent’s influence as well as pleasing them. Though pleasing them was the last thing on your mind. Yes, you’d be married. But like William said… it was more of a business proposal…

You reach forward and shake his hand. His smile widens marginally as you speak,

“I accept your proposal.”