#those are all unfortunately true LMAO | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

satocidal · 9 months

Text

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ Unfortunately, Yours

↳ Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Episode 1:-

↳ ||Masterlist||Taglist Form||next chapter(two)||

Synopsis: It is when the birth right is snatched from your hands that your eyes truly ever open—especially when it’s always been there, right in your grasp. The Throne was yours, that was the truth promised and yet- yet your fate lay sealed with a certain Gojo. With an arranged marriage set in plan, alongs sets the plan of murder—within a wife who wants the throne and a husband who wants nothing but power, but suffers with them the present and the future of other two—especially when the lies of the past start surfacing.

— Word count: 3.9k

— A/n: ahhhh I have so many nerves lmao because this is the first chapter and I don’t wanna ruin it at all lol. And I wanna keep everything so subtle yk? But hope you guys like this!

— Warnings: Asshole Satoru; Asshole reader; mentions of adultery; slight objectification(?); Fem Bodied! Reader; usage of feminine terms; author thinks she can write💀 ps: I’ve never seen Christian weddings (or whatever I’ve written idk lol) so bare with me; typos

Hands that were trained, calloused once with bruises, prepared to be painted with blood now sat idle—a diamond ring in the finger.

Fate- the red string- two ends.

About 8 billion people walked the surface of earth—it was said, heard, stated, passed—The Greek god Zeus split each one of us into halves, punished to roam the earth and find our other half—the soulmate. Fatalism stated that everything was predestined- so it must be true, the concept of it.

Marriage—sacred, pure.

The day was clear as ever in your eyes—your father had entered the room, a solemn look on his face, a ring in hand; the entire month you had watched as the Gojos became a usual Tomorrow; you had watched as your sisters giggled at the premonition of your marriage; you had watched as the tables shifted and you had watched, and watched and watched.

Eyes numb, heart aching and mind a mess, you watched for that was all you could do now.

It was rushed, the whole process of it—a month ago your wedding planned and a month later you were gone. You didn’t want the wedding, you were sure Satoru Gojo didn’t either—“He’s so in love with you,” from your cousins deluded you—“I’m so lucky to have you,” from his mother.

Mind filled with thoughts of a man you’d only meet at the night of your wedding.

No amount of convincing could’ve been for you to utter a yes—but a definitive “You will do it,” from your father did wonders.

“You’ll be alright,” a whisper—your mother’s, soft, harsh.

“You have to be alright,” a demand—your father’s, careful, adamant.

“Promise me you’ll be alright,” a thought—your sister’s, empty, or so you dared to think.

And that was true, in a lonesome bind, you thought a lot.

You thought when your sister braided your hair, pretty, elegant—nothing you’d ever found yourself to be defined as.

You thought while your mother and grandmother, aunts and maids—they giggled, old wives’ tales falling off chastised lips like honey.

You thought when you found your father’s eyes hiding—nervous, you’d noted but you only thought.

And you thought still when the morning arrived, you sister kneeling beside you—eyes focused, narrowed, fingers working fast to smoothen the white.

Perfect the white.

Perfect your impure white—the dirty kind.

And finally, alone with your sister, you spoke.

“You must be glad,”

A silence met you, heavy.

“Don’t be shy about it, not anymore,”

A sigh— she got up slow, eyes focused still on your white gown—“you look gorgeous,” a mumble you heard.

You found yourself staring at her curls—when did she curl those you wondered, but then she’d answer that you didn’t care and perhaps, you didn’t.

Not usually.

“We’re sisters Aki,” you pestered, “you can tell me ya know?” You winked—a smirk, a tease—all to prove your point.

“The wedding is to begin in an hour now then, be prepared,”

“Don’t change topics. Tell me you’re happy about it, about all this,”

Another sigh—a glare and a huff, “Has father stuffed lies so deep your throat that you’re begging to hear them now?”

Again, silence.

Father—

Your eye twitched—nose puffed and eyes flared at your form in the mirror—you did you look gorgeous, or at least, different. A good different, arguably.

“Alright,” she mumbled quietly then, “c’mere—” her hands beckoned you close, her own navy blue contrasting to your pure white—ironic, you mused.

“What,” face scrunched, you let out—causing your sister to chuckle, “At least smile at your own wedding y/n,”

A scoff—“I’ll cry if I damn want to—and no, not for the dramatics,” a chuckle, this time, mutual.

“I’ll miss you,” you heard her whisper against you, entrapped in an embrace you stood, stiff—your eyes lay blank.

“Was it…my—”

“It’s not to chastise you,”

“It’s no less than that,”

“Endure it,”

A tear, quick, rolled down your cheek—wiped off all too quickly by your own sister—for you were to look perfect tonight.

Perfect for your perfect husband.

“Find your happiness there,” she whispered against your shoulder—you sobbed, “Why is he sending me away?”

Cruel. Cruel. Cruel.

“He sent us all away- even mother,” her hands patted your back- the touch felt foreign—“Not me,” your voice rasped, “I was different, I was better, I was the best he had,” her hands tensed around you—“I don’t know,” she confessed, “but promise me, you’ll be happy there,”

You nodded- empty.

“He’s going to be a fool in love,” her voice adorned, his mother- sharp- “So fortunate to get someone like you in my house, such a sweet pretty thing you are,” you smiled in accordance- hands clenched.

It was for her sake, you believed, the Gojo family worked in her shadow— a finger lifted meant everyone had to stand, a finger pressed and silence—in some way or the other, she stood to be your admiration. To hold power was to be nothing however to call power, now that, you admired.

It was in the way she was subtle but oh so glorified—Kana Gojo, perhaps the only woman or human you’d dared to look upto.

You smiled as she’d walked you around—parading shops through shops, looking for what she deemed the perfect dress—perfect, she wanted it to be—perfect not for her son but perfect in every sense of it.

A gift placed in your hand- bribe—“Aren’t you the sweetest Hm?” A smile, vaunted- his father, a careful spendthrift in every sense of the word.

You smiled, nodded and chuckled—“only learned from the best,” your eyes zoom over to your mother—never learned anything from her, you didn’t, and yet—formalities and a certain charm, you graced them evidently.

The head of the house, at least on paper—he didn’t hold much prowess with the profits but then, Gojos barely needed any more profit for the empire was built well and well enough to not crash. He did, however, hold his hands high and wide—welcoming, warm; everything his wife was not.

Not yin to her yang but the epitomised silver to her gold — Ginji Gojo, perhaps the only man to accustom himself to his wife, the only man you never truly could understand, along his son, of course.

You grinned as he lead you, hand held in his own—eyes searching for the perfect diamond to adorn not your finger but your marriage.

Shy glances and shyer hello-s he muttered, it was cute—you supposed, in the way a letter found is way in your hands—“Read it when you’re alone please,”—his cousin brother, innocent.

‘Hello,’ it began—cut off—‘Dear Y/n,’—cut off—‘assume I said something cool,’ you chuckled, the rest, a memory nestled deep in your mind.

He was young, 9–someone you hoped to inspire—Megumi—he didn’t know much, or anything at all, a subtle age of nine after all. But he knew enough.

Not enough to strike competition but smart enough to be called his successor; he was a smart kid you’d mused, a polite greet everytime you two met, a sweeter letter handed everytime.

Twice he cut off the beginning every time and deliberate you’d found it be—cuter still. And he lead you still, hand holding onto yours as he helped you decide on the flavour of the cake.

The girl, you watched from the corner of your eyes, chuckled, a hand reaching out to slap her father’s hand away—he chuckled, smiled, conversed—something and everything you never had.

A tear rolled down your cheek, salty—“Crying already?” The voice was gruff, your father’s.

“Father,” you muttered, hands reaching upto wipe the tear away quick—“Don’t,” he muttered, “Tears are useful.”

You could only nod.

The man stood beside you, taller by a decent inch or two—hands stuffed in his pocket and a bow tie tight around his neck; the man was slender— a ghost of the figure he used to be, could’ve been. A potential wasted, he called himself—a potential wasted, you too.

You watched him as he moved around you, hefty eyes felt heavy, scanning your form—“You look fine,” a compliment he’d deem it—perhaps it was, “Didn’t know white was your colour.”

It wasn’t.

Did he know anything about you? At all? No.

“Suppose it is, today onwards,” he smiled, you frowned, “That’s my girl.”

Another tear rolled quick, then another and they kept rolling, you stood blank.

“No,” you scowled defiantly—his hands working quick—scowl, mirroring yours as he wiped the tears—“When I said tears, I didn’t mean these many. You cannot possibly be this dramatic.”

An empty grin.

“Dramatic?” Voice pitched, brows raised, heart shattering you stared at him—“I am being dramatic?” Loud enough you were to have people raise the awareness that the bride was moody- or so they’d gossip and so you’d let them.

His eyes narrowed—a sign, quite usually telling you to quieten down—not today, “Why are you doing this?” You finally asked, shoulders relieved, heart heavier still—afraid the answer might me the truth you’ve fed yourself.

“Is this some- some-” you paused, a breath caught, eyes cast down—“punishment? Did I do something wrong?”

And in that moment, perhaps you were nothing more than a little girl—perhaps in that moment you wanted nothing more than your father’s reassurance—perhaps things could’ve been better.

But they weren’t—glory of fate itself.

“Don’t create a fucking scene,”

Had hearts really been made of glass, your father would’ve heard yours break—not once but a million times in that second. Again and again and again.

A noise—static.

“Yes sir,” you muttered, eyes dancing along his hands—you shuddered—he twisted his own.

His hands were soft as they held yours, he lead you slow, your father did.

The white veil that you’d spent hours to decide upon, the one you would never care about—it swept beside you, gasps escaping the lips of many as you walked out.

And there, there your eyes met his.

Poised he stood, white hair slicked back—nothing like those superficial memories his mother had told about, nothing like the tabloids you’d seen. This man, the one on your altar—that was Satoru Gojo.

Not the Toru’ you’d heard of, not the Heir of Gojos you’d kept your eyes upon, not the stubborn and hardheaded Satoru-san his maids had warned you about, not anything you’d known.

This was Satoru Gojo, your husband to be.

You hadn’t assumed your wedding to be a fairytale—in all honesty, you hadn’t assumed anything at all.

A prison you’d deemed it on the first day and perhaps that was all it was—but something, just something in you cried all too much when Satoru didn’t slip so much as a smile towards you.

Don’t get me wrong, he’d grinned and smirked all night- teased by his friends—congratulated by everyone—he did show joy, in some meaning of the word.

Not to you- but I suppose a win that was too—after all, a marriage is built on the truths right?

Eyes moist, a tear he did let go off—superficial it was, you knew it, but a hero Satoru Gojo would be deemed the next day in the magazines his family would pay good money to.

Yours was never meant to be that perfect wedding, not at the core of it—you knew that from day one of the sequenced wedding but then—just something, someone in you cried a little too. Just someone broke inside when you realised it wouldn’t be your husband who cried the moment he set his eyes on his bride—it wouldn’t be you telling those cute stories about your wedding day.

It wouldn’t be you—it was normal you’d heard, for grooms to be overwhelmed in there weddings- the thought of spending a forever with his bride, the supposed memories flooding their mind—but it wouldn’t be for you. He stood there with hands behind him, eyes awaiting you presence still.

A smile he held—empty as you joined him—eyes were very telling you r father had preached, never once had you found him to be wrong.

His hands felt cold as you held them—cold like your father’s, colder still somehow was his presence. And your realised, heart — to what you had thought to be a void — breaking as you realised that the marriage was a cage to him as much as you. Neither happy—he wasn’t happy with your presence.

Pathetic. But again, did it truly matter?

The wedding had begun— officiated, soon your “I do”s would slip, the wedding couldn’t be stopped now, not ever.

And in that moment your eyes flickered to your own mother—she stood regal.

Embroidery she’d fought into you, cooking and baking, sewing a skill she’d made you own too—pity she couldn’t teach you controlling your emotions—pity your father was your influence.

Your eyes managed to flicker onto him—saintly, your brain mused—your heart couldn’t help but agree. And those saintly features held an ugly heart you told yourself, solace to a lonesome mind.

“Satoru, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Y/N, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?”

When he took a moment to answer with a blank gaze, you could feel tiny pricks being sent straight to your heart. Just a mere glance at his stolid mien was enough for you to believe that he was going to call off the wedding and run away—mayhaps you wanted that, mayhaps, you didn’t.

What else could you expect?

He clearly didn’t want this, understandable was the fact. It wouldn’t surprise you if he took a step back and announced that he couldn’t go on in making an oath to offer the rest of his life with you. That he would rather get out of this hell hole and be somewhere else than to proclaim a love that was being forced out of him.

“I do,” he professed, despite the inner turmoil that plagued his head.

You sighed—soft.

“Y/n, do you promise to love, honour and cherish and protect Satoru, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?”

Your eyes were quick—a glance here and there and everywhere—the pause was heavy; you watched your father’s nod of encouragement—your mother’s sharp eyes—his mother’s smile, fake- his father’s sip of champagne—your sister’s eyes’ were hazy; his best friend tipsy.

You couldn’t say no—“I do,”

“Bride and Groom, you have heard the words of love and marriage, have exchanged your vows and made your promises, and celebrated your union with the giving and receiving of rings. It is at this time that I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant declared, “you may now kiss the bride.”

Your eyes widened behind your veil- your first- the breath hitched as Satoru removed your veil—crystal seemed his eyes, crystal clear was his distaste. He was tall—comical in fact—you tip toed slight, he leaned in a bit—the kiss was warm, chill, foreign. His hand rested upon your cheek, a stroke—a pull, brief.

Your eyes watched as he pulled away, a new smile on his lips—an actor he could’ve proven to be.

A million thoughts clouded you and him—known to only the two of you—marriage worked quick in that sense you supposed, mother and you sister weer perhaps right. But when all was said and done—the marriage was officiated.

And your eyes met then—a thought passed between you and your husband—stuck together—Unfortunately, Yours.

Hair slicked, ivory, elegant.

For a man who was yours even when he wasn’t—you supposed he was good.

Gojo Satoru swept across the room—a smile on his face, gentle; gentler was the rhythm he walked at. Here and there, he conversed, after all, a man of his charm he was- taking after none but his father.

Idle gossip danced along his ears while he giggled with women—politics fell off his lips as he sipped on the champagne—he teased and played with children too, laughing and joking with them—Gojo Satoru smiled to all but his wife-to-be. She sat there, quiet, unmoving, unrelenting—she lay still.

“It’s the fifth time you’ve stared at her in the last 3 minutes,” a glass in hand—a black suit adorned, Suguru waltzed beside him—a sly grin on his face, “I know you’re married but that’s really desperate, even for you,”

“Shut up,” Satoru muttered, grinning wide at the new set of guests—hand motioning the waiters to attended to it.

Suguru chuckled again, “Your dad really didn’t help out today either huh?”

“Old geezer’s getting drunk,” voice, plain—monotonous, hands clenched at his sides —begging to run through his hair—to ruin it all.

“How was she?”

“Boring,”

Suguru’s eyes zoomed on to the specific waitress—limping—he sighed, “Your mother was worried sick and you’re having affairs already?,” he began, hands reaching up to fix the shirt, “And today is your wedding today—have some etiquette,”

Eyes rolled—the same dialogue slipped off his mouth—“You’re becoming my mother—and she isn’t random; as is I’ll get her fired now,” he grinned this time around, “but not anymore, I’ve already got another woman to fuck around with,” a hand—sharp—landed on his head.

“Respect her,” the raven haired boy muttered, eyes focused and cast down, “She’s your wife today onwards—not just some woman you can fuck whenever you want,”

Satoru scowled, hands rubbing the back of his head, the spot where Suguru struck, “That’s all she means,”

“Don’t tempt me to make her a widow before she’s even married Satoru,” a grin, a huge one Suguru masked—words deadly balanced.

“Treat her well Satoru,”

“You marry her then,”

“Suck it up and smile,”

“Fuck you,”

“I will,”—a grin, a chuckle and that was that. A hand patted Satoru on the back—“Treat her well,” Suguru muttered again, both their eyes cast onto you—where a smile rested on both their lips, only one was genuine. Your eyes found tracing their oath to their spot too, black and white—they seemed a beautiful set—your eyes cast to your own gown and your sister’s. White and navy blue—all the same.

A couple and another, a pair of four.

Suguru let his eyes cast down to his watch—about time for the dance—“Satoru,” his voice was smooth, “it’s time for your dance,”

He hummed—“Her father, or I suppose mine too now—he wanted her first dance,” Suguru raised his brows, “and you let him? What happened ‘I don’t share’” A small smirk played on the younger male’s lips.

“I don’t share what’s mine—not all that-” another strike, harder.

Inhale, exhale- again.

You hands shook, and ears ringed—you were married. The statement related in your mind for the 5th time since.

Married. Tied down.

“Entertain me with the first dance m’lady?” Your eyes narrowed—sharp—“Father?”

Beside you stood you father indeed, an aura different—an aura that had become his past.

He smiled, kind—your confusion only grew—“It’s time sweetheart,” Your teeth clenched; sweetheart?

You nodded still—be his good girl—his hand held yours; yours, his.

The music was slow- none that you recognised, you needn’t, you’d want to forget the moment already. The applause for you was blurry, everything around you was too. Eyes didn’t bother running off to your mother, nor your husband—they never did around your father.

And in the moment, you could’ve sworn to the vain memory you held—your father seemed like the man you once knew; seemed like the one who had abandoned you. Rage seized a decent part of your mind—desperation to hold onto him took charge of the other.

He held you close- an embrace not felt in forever, “You’ll be fine baby,” he mumbled into your ear—“don’t say that,” you were quick to add.

“Don’t be like this,” you added next, his heart broke, yours already was.

He knew however, what you meant- not a single objection he raised, guilt all too evident on the face that held its own wisdom. Evident however, only to those who knew him and pity lay such, he never let you.

“Just entertain me here,” you finally spoke—a minute left of your song—“why did you agree to this? We’re not- we’re not in need of money, we’ve the perfect military- you’ve raised me enough for me to take over at any given instance then why—why them?”

His gaze should’ve hardened—you expected it; it softened.

“I apologise.”

You nodded yet again- an answer unkempt.

Satoru’s hand felt the same it had the altar, soft, scented- something you perhaps wanted to hated.

He spun you around—a man of honour your mother would call him, you beckoned yourself to him—a lady of grace his mother would call you.

People danced all around you, your eyes found their way onto your sister, smiling and giggling—suitors all around her, you smiled.

Eyes couldn’t help but falter at Suguru Geto- Satoru’s best friend, you’d learned—his presence too. In a shy corner he stood- girls around him, you wouldn’t blame them—he sought that attention after all, evident.

“You like this song?” Your eyes snapped onto Satoru—“Pardon?”

“This song, do you like it?” Your eyes gazed everyone—all the while, his, you.

“I’ve…never heard it before—”

“—well I particularly hate it,” your brows raised—“Oh alright,” you nodded, “I’ll make sure to not add it to the playlist ‘Wedding 2.0’,”

Smiles you both held- not for each other, formal entirely—“Hilarious,” he muttered, “Makes two of us,” you snapped back.

A momentary silence fell and you couldn’t yourself—“Don’t try to play the husband here, you don’t accept me and I don’t accept you which is all but fine by me but I don’t need you to make idle conversations.” Voice sharp- eyes more so.

He grinned—“Feisty Hm?” Your nose flared—“alright I’ll entertain you with the non-idle kind,” eyes looked down at you condescension, was it?

“Daddy raised you as his war general yeah?” Your jaw clenched, “what did they call you? His right arm? His best gem?”

“Domestic abuse,” you began slow, “is a very real concept Satoru,” you smiled dangerously sweet—“Pray tell, the way you speak may make you victim soon,”

He chuckled quietly, nothing humorous, “Daddy also taught you weaponry?”

“Don’t speak of him like that-respect him,” you warned, teeth gritted—both of yours eyes zooming onto him—Satoru smiled.

“Of course, nothing against my father-in-law,” another grin, “But I can say whatever to you right baby?”

You hated him.

Your eyes scanned his, his- yours.

A frown, a grin.

A cough sounded beside you just then—the man just as tall as your husband, just as, if not more so, elegant.

Your eyes met his—a pit, yours and his.

“M’lady,” he smiled smoothly- bending just enough to kiss your hand—eyes cast quick onto Satoru, “One dance with the lady of the night please?”

Never a question, only a statement.

“Yes please,” Satoru muttered all too quick- a sharp glance, yours and Suguru’s.

Before you knew it you were swept right away, Suguru danced faster—a style which complimented yours, Satoru? Quiet the very same as yours, clashing.

You smiled as he picked the momentum with you, a chuckle his too—“You look stunning tonight,”

A nervous smile you passed-“All the very same to you sir,” his eyes crept onto your skin quick—“Why, seems like it’s just the two War Generals appreciating each other,” he laughed.

You laughed along- your eyes pausing to scan the hilt of his dagger in the suit—“Talent sees talent, eh?”

Another laugh- empty. What had swept you off was pleasant, what danced with you was hollow.

“The wedding,” Suguru added—your ears perked.

“Yes?” You reflected instantly—“You helped in the management right?” He smiled—your eyes narrowed.

Bastard, you both mused.

You nodded politely, “Well a good wife has to take care of things yeah?”

He grinned, “Oh you’re all too good m’lady,” voice a whisper, “Seems to me you’ll give me a run for my life,”

You grinned back, “Bless my heart Suguru—never to my family.”

Eyes hollow, minds ran fast—‘Interesting’ you both wondered as Suguru handed you back to his best friend and your husband.

‘Interesting indeed’.

Reblogs and likes highly appreciated!

All of this work is original and entirely my own, please refrain from copying or reposting.

— Taglist: @rizzmin @4sat0ruu @lavendervogh @yooiimiya @gojoismybitch

241 notes · View notes

fabled-lady-twilla · 2 months

Text

Hi, I'm Twilla and I'm currently in the process of writing a ShigaDeku Dystopia/Soulmate AU fic that no one, and I mean literally NO ONE, asked for! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Why do I always join fandoms late and why do I always somehow end up loving/shipping the rarepairs in fandoms that barely anyone likes or wants to read about lmao? 🥺👉👈

I just finished reading the latest manga chapter, watched all six seasons, and binged all three movies. I am absolutely BURSTING with ideas of where I want this story to go. I want to at least post the first chapter by the time ShigaDeku Week 2024 is here next month. :)

In my fic timeline, the MHA canon story line doesn't happen until Class 1-A's third year, and since my story is set six years after their graduation, most of the main characters are in their mid to late twenties. My story starts after the Quirk Affliction, a strange illness that begins killing off Quirk-users all around to world, resulting in a massive a death toll that causes civilized society to collapse.

Anyways, here's the general synopsis:

The Final War was over before it had even begun. With the onset of the Quirk Affliction, a mysterious illness that disproportionately targeted the Quirks of heroes over the Quirks of villains, the world was left defenseless as it plunged into a new era of chaos and devastation.

It’s been six years since the onset of the Affliction and the death of All Might. Six years since the world’s heroes, and the society they desperately fought to protect, have crumbled into dust in Shigaraki Tomura’s hands.

From the ashes of this destruction, Japan’s new regime was born. The country was split into three territories, each with its own Grand Commander, united in nothing save for one singular rule: life for those who submit, and death for those who do not.

As Grand Commander of the largest and most plentiful of Japan’s territories, Shigaraki has lived the last six years reaping the fruits of his labors and taking pride in helping his Sensei accomplish his dream. But as of late, Tomura has been having strange dreams of his own: hazy memories of an abandoned park, of blooming wisteria trees, of laughter and freckles and forest green eyes.

Midoriya Izuku, now Quirkless due to the Affliction, has not stopped his pursuit of helping others, despite the world — and everything in it — turning itself upside down. Izuku dreams of a brighter future, and strangely enough, dreams of his long-lost childhood friend, Shimura Tenko.

The same Tenko that Izuku had unknowingly befriended as a young boy. The same Tenko who’d stopped him from jumping off the rooftop all those years ago. The same Tenko that, Izuku realized with horror, was now the monster known as Shigaraki Tomura.

Unfortunately, Izuku learns all too late that having a Soulbond with the King of Villains comes with a heavy cost. Shigaraki seems hell-bent on keeping Izuku as close to him as possible, believing Izuku to be his Soulmate, and thus, Shigaraki’s only true weakness, stirring up an ill-fated romance that neither has prepared themselves for.

As a new calamity encroaches upon them in the form of a mad man attempting to become a god, the heroes and villains must find a way to work together and solve the mystery of the Affliction before it destroys the world and everything they hold dear.

✨ P l e a s e ✨ let me know if you're interested in hearing about this by either, liking, reblogging, or sending me a PM. I'm working really hard to get the first chapter of this out by ShigaDeku Week 2024 in May!

Thank you so much for reading. 💚💚💚

65 notes · View notes

daemon-in-my-head · 2 months

Text

Past Life Dark Urge Asks - 9th Edition:

OK but how does Durge actually view relationships and romance?

What does their room look like? Describe it to me. Neat? Messy? Organised mess where everything has its place?

What's their favourite spot to hang out at after a long day of temple managing and murdering in Father's name? Is it by the altar, their desk, a certain someone's office or by the docks?

Gorion's Ward was a hero and a Bhaalspawn that defied Bhaal. But they're also a powerful person who rose far above many, as well as the reason Sarevok once returned. What does Durge think of them? Is he an idol or a villain to them? When did their view of them change or do they perhaps even feel pity for the sibling which had been led astray?

Durge loves efficient killing, but what was their one little indulgence whenever they did it? I don't mean getting loot, keeping trinkets. Did they perhaps draw out the hunt or play with the mouse unfortunate enough to fall into their trap?

There's this funny bit that Durge refused to clean themselves, but is it true for yours? Did they indeed always carry the scent of entrails or did they bathe regularly? After all, Bhaals Scion has a reputation to uphold.

Speaking of Water, Baldur's Gate is a Port City. What did Durge think of the sea? Did they long to sail or do they prefer solid ground beneath their feet? Did they feel any connection, or was it just a body of water, perfect to drown some innocent souls?

Durge is clearly a skilled master of their craft, but would they ever consider taking an apprentice? Perhaps they already did? Or would they absolutely detest those who yet lack skill and prefer they attain it on their own?

Orin makes for a great spy and even the Bhaalist Temple relies on intelligence to survive and operate more efficiently. Did Durge ever try to help out Orin in attempts to gather intel? What was it like? Did they charm their way into hearts and minds, or did they rely on the thing they did best, a skillful killing?

Bhaalspawn are pretty similar to Aasimar in every aspect, well except that Aasimar are children of celestials and good aligned powers while Bhaalspawn hail from the Lord of Murder. What did Durge think of their goody-two-shoes counterparts?

Bhaal is widely hated or feared, as are Bhaalspawn, but what does Durge think about that notion? Would they hunt down anyone who dares speak I'll of their father, or could they not care any less? Do they perhaps revel in that fear and hatred?

If Durge knew they'd lose all their memories in the future, what would they think? Would they weep for their treasured moments or perhaps even feel delighted about forgetting a dreaded past?

Name a personality trait of theirs which is, in theory, something great, but they've taken it to such extremes it became something negative.

How is Durge handling failure? Do they handle it at all or do they just refuse to acknowledge any?

Would Past Life Durge like for their life's story to be told and remembered? Why or why not? In what way would they have liked it to be remembered?

In general, how does your Durge cope with stress, life, and the things that happened? How did it affect them? Are there any lasting effects from an outburst once?

On a scale of 1 to 10, how easily does your Durge snap? 1 being the world could end, and they'd barely be mildly inconvenienced, and 10 being somebody looks funny in their direction, and the next minute, they're in a nasty brawl.

What is their favorite spell? It doesn't have to be one they themselves know or learned. Just a spell they think is neat, handy, cool, etc.

If there happened to be a street fair in the Gate, would they attend? Yes or no, who would they go with, what would it be like visiting one of those with them?

Bhaal was a netherese arcanist. Does Durge, considering they're made from Bhaals flesh, consider themselves to be netherese? Have they ever thought about these things or do they simply not care?

I totally forgot I had these I'm sorry lmao. They've been rotting away in my drafts the whole time.

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #durge #dark urge #bg3 durge #daemons ask game #dark urge ask game #durge ask game #bg3 ask game #ask game

82 notes · View notes

atlabeth · 2 years

Text

(not so) simple p1 - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

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

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

wc: 10k

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

“No.”

“Darling—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eloise, have you seen my quill?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eloise grinned. “Now that is a compliment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes suddenly widened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how long will that take?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded. “We shall.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dearest Reader,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could have refused,” you pointed out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two could certainly play at that game.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My lady, did you hear me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why did you choose me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you not acquainted with your manservants?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perhaps there is," he said.

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

bridgerton tags: @theonewithallthemilkshakes @milkiane

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

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

2K notes · View notes

ornii · 1 year

Note

Hi so i had this idea for a while. When your free can you do like a Jenna ortega x Male Reader where the reader is basically Michael Jackson?

Oh..The Wicked Games We Play

This got so much Darker than I wanted it to be, so I just sort of ran with it lmao. I was listening to Wicked Games by The Weeknd and it just sort of flows out. And I consider The Weeknd definitely on Par with MJ in this current music Landscape, so I’ll try and go for that.

Fame, Fortune, the lifestyle normal people dream for, is really a nightmare you eventually never wake up from. That was the case with you. The lavish cars, men and women screaming your name as you stood before them, like a god amongst men. You truly felt, untouchable. That’s how all those wiry fame feel, that they’re invincible, that human emotions don’t matter to them now, nothing matters. The stage was set for another concert, you had a final performance before the end of the tour, and like the scary perfectionist you are, you put 200% effort into all of it. Rehearsals, vocal performances, workouts, everything to push the human body to its limits. There was only one person that got inbetween all of this.

Jenna.

It wasn’t on purpose of course, it wasn’t her fault her natural beauty, amazingly perfekt personality and allure caught your eye so often, the way she watched so intently during your rehearsals, the concern she would show when you began to slow down, lose balance, look a bit, disheveled from lack of sleep. She loved you, but she was slowly starting to resent what you became and she hoped this tour will be the last for a while, with her workings schedule and the performances you put on on a weekly basis, it’s amazing you two have time for anything. While the premiere Wednesday was stellar, you unfortunately couldn’t make it due to being halfway across the country, but you watched, called, texted and constantly showed your support, regardless of presence or not.

But one thing, one small occurrence showed you an unfortunate side of popularity, watching the cameras flash of Jenna, and Percy, who played Xavier, the way he seemed so, calm around her, his natural they seemed together. While it irked you, you couldn’t be angry at costars being well, Co-Stars. Ready to put the subject down, you watched as his hand wrapped around her shoulder, her smile, his, and that gnawing feeling sank back into your heart, jealousy. And In that fit, you extend the tour another two weeks, and pushed yourself to take the world over, she’ll have to notice you then.

You stopped responding to her text so much, simple one worded answers, short calls, barely getting any sleep, work, work, work. Focus, confidence in yourself, that’s what you needed. And it all came to a final push during the last night of the tour, backstage you sat down in the room, trying to think straight as the sleep deprivation and exhaustion took its tole, looking in the mirror you saw the bags under your eyes, the weary look in them, and in the reflection of the mirror, you watched the door open, and Jenna was there, she looked worried, having to fly all the way out here, just for this.

“(Y/n).” She said in a slightly upset tone, she folded her arms as you kept staring at the mirror.

“Why haven’t you been talking to me?” She asks.

“I have—“ you attempt to reply, but she isn’t buying your obvious bullshit.

“Stop lying, you aren’t like this, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” She approaches your chair, and your anger slowly began to rise up, letting it boil.

“Why? Why don’t you just go talk to Percy, you two seem close.” You say, not out of Hate, but misguided feelings, She stood in her tracks and was in disbelief.

“That’s what this is about?” she said, and you stood up to turn around.

“What else would it be? Jenna I can barely get to hold you sometimes and he gets to put his fucking arm around you?”

“That’s, I don’t know why he did that, but you know we just work together. You know that’s true, why are you so angry?”

“You always told me that we try to keep it friendly with everyone we work with so shit like this doesn’t happen and the media doesn’t run with it!”

“What am I supposed to do? Shove him away? What do you want from me? You’re mad because I didn’t scream at him?!”

“Because I—“ you start, but stop and shake your head, you saw the hurt in her eyes, and it didn’t make you feel better as you thought it would.

“I love you… but I can’t be around you right now.” You said, and Jenna took a deep breath walked back to the door, you wanted to say something, anything, but nothing you said would fix this. The performance was less than ten minutes and you had all of this baggage, you took the rest to try and sort it all out, and began the performance. Darkness enveloped the stage, and red lights, like a highway began to go along the stage and one appeared before you in the middle, the crowd exploded with cheers and love, but it all felt so.. hallow. Because the one person you wanted there left in a fit of rage because of you, but as the veterans of music would tell you, the show must go on. The music bellows and you step out under the red in the classic Red Wine suit bladed, black slacks and button up shirt and gloves, with your eyes hidden behind the glasses, your voice took over the world at that moment, as Blinding Lights roared though the stadium.

“I've been tryna call, I've been on my own for long enough, Maybe you can show me how to love, maybe

“I'm going through withdrawals / You don't even have to do too much / You can turn me on with just a touch, baby!~

“I look around and / Sin City's cold and empty (oh!) / No one's around to judge me (oh!) I can't see clearly when you're gone!

“I said, ooh, I'm blinded by the lights / No, I can't sleep until I feel your touch / I said, ooh, I'm drowning in the night / Oh, when I'm like this, you're the one I trust

(Hey!, hey!, hey!)

Song after song, Wicked Games, StarBoy, Earned It, the crowd drinking in the roar of your voice, the sound, as the music downs out and it’s all black, you pull out your phone and make a single text to the DJ.

“Change of Plans, Die for you.” He says, and as the crowd prepares for the final song, you walk up to the mic stand and grab it, and nod. Your eyes look desperately out to the crowd, as if to yell for him but, no one can hear, and you look forward, only hoping she’s watching from somewhere.

“This is for you Jenna. Love you and, I’m sorry.” You utter in the mic, missions of “Awws” echo but you ignore them and continue as the song begins.

“I'm findin' ways to articulate the feelin' I'm goin' through, I just can't say I don't love you..

'Cause I love you, yeah

“It's hard for me to communicate the thoughts that I hold But tonight, I'm gon' let you know

Let me tell the truth Baby, let me tell the truth, yeah!~

“You know what I'm thinkin', see it in your eyes!You hate that you want me, hate it when you cry, You're scared to be lonely, 'specially in the night, I'm scared that I'll miss you, happens every time, I don't want this feelin', I can't afford love I try to find a reason to pull us apart

It ain't workin', 'cause you're perfect, and I know that you're worth it!

I can't walk away, oh!!~

Even though we're goin' through it And it makes you feel alone Just know that I would die for you! Baby, I would die for you, yeah!~

“The distance and the time between us It'll never change my mind 'Cause baby, I would die for you Baby, I would die for you, yeah!~

“I'm findin' ways to manipulate the feelin' you're goin' through, But, baby girl, I'm not blamin' you Just don't blame me, too, yeah 'Cause I can't take this pain forever And you won't find no one that's better 'Cause I'm right for you, babe I think I'm right for you, babe!~

“You know what I'm thinkin', see it in your eyes You hate that you want me, hate it when you cry It ain't workin', 'cause you're perfect, and I know that you're worth it! I can't walk away, oh!

“Even though we're goin' through it!And it makes you feel alone, Just know that I would die for you! Baby, I would die for you, yeah!~”

“The distance and the time between us It'll never change my mind ‘Cause baby, I would die for you, uh Baby, I would die for you, yeah

“I would die for you, I would lie for you, Keep it real with you, I would kill for you, My baby

I'm just sayin', yeah, I would die for you, I would lie for you, Keep it real with you, I would kill for you, My baby

“Na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na, ooooooooh~”

“Even though we're goin' through it!And it makes you feel alone Just know that I would die for you Baby, I would die for you, yeah

“The distance and the time between us It'll never change my mind 'Cause baby, I would die for you Baby, I would die for you, yeah…”

As the music drowns out, after spending so much energy, your legs began to gave out, the heat of the lights, the deafening crowd, it all was too much for your body, and you toppled down, the last thing you saw before the darkness were the red lights flashing black.

Your eyes began to flutter awake, resting on something, soft and warm, but it slowly began to return to focus as you saw Jenna, she looks down at you. You were backstage, resting on her legs on the couch.

“You’re a fucking idiot you know that?” She said, you opened your mouth to speak.

“Shut up, you haven’t eaten, slept? This is why I wanted you to stop, you can’t keep doing this.”

“Jenna—“

“No, save your strength, I get you were upset and I’m sorry.”

“I’m.. sorry too..” you murmur, and she kept that cute angry pout that she did on Wednesday, but it slowly crumbled down as she placed her hand on your chest. Feeling your heartbeat.

“Let’s just… take the month off, Wednesday stopped production and season two is a while away, and I think you’re doing touring.. right?”

“Well—“

“That was a rhetorical question.” She replied, annoyed, you take her advice and just go along with her, you raised your hand and placed it on hers, holding it. All that fake and fortune means nothing without the love of your life, her hand near your heart.

I Suppose fame and fortune have their Wicked Games to play on those who chads it.

#netflix #male reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x male reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x y/n

208 notes · View notes

sessakag · 1 month

Note

So I’m trying to get into sasunaruhina and I was wondering if you had any fic or blog recs? I’m primarily a Hinata and naruhina fan and often with the ship the vibes I get are sasunaru with Hinata on the side 😕. Since you’re also mainly a naruhina fan I thought you might have some suggestions.

I wouldn't say I'm a NaruHina fan, more of a NaruHina obsessed addict that lives and breathes NaruHina, lmao.

There aren't many true NaruHinaSasu fics I can in good conscience rec to you, (as in the endgame will be a throuple and there is equal love among all) because as you said, most are not really NaruHinaSasu fics, they're SasuNaru with Hinata on the side as garnish, if that, or SasuHina with Naruto as an optional side dish and I can't get down with any of those. Unfortunately there aren't enough fics to choose from in the first place as the NaruHinaSasu pairing is severely under-loved 😩it's something me, demonofthefridge and @opal-chan are trying to rectify though🤭As far as where to get started on this throuple, anything @opal-chan has written is a safe, true NaruHinaSasu throuple fic for sure. Stories written by me alone are also safe and will be equal affection when the throuple is established, and any angst or plot has been resolved. I have 4 upcoming NaruHinaSasu fics that will be posted soon. One of which will be ready by Wednesday of next week, so look out for those.

Now for a few recs! From Opal: Choices Follow Me

From Me: A Cure For Love Secrets of the Hidden Leaf You'll see another fic attached to me called A New Dream where I'm listed as co-writer with @mrs-messy, that one I'd say hold off on for right now. This is a re-write of a story @mrs-messy has already written out that wasn't a throuple. This second version is planned to be an equal throuple, but Mrs.Messy is more of a SasuNaru or SasuHina fan, so that plan may change depending on where she wants to take the endgame. This story was originally hers and I want her to be able to retain her creative liberties to take it where she needs to, so I can't mark that one as safe, so just a hold off on it until that one is a bit further into the trenches.

From Demonofthefridge: In Another Life

Just read this one today and it's quick, cute and I absolutely adore it. It gave me a NaruHinaSasu high school AU idea so there may be 5 throuple stories coming up: Reality Check

These I haven't had a chance to read since I spend most of my time writing, but they look promising and seem to be permanent throuple endgame. Can't vouch for them being safe though. The Beauty of Blue Bones All In The Eyes Butterfly Effect

Hope this helps! I'm getting ready to update A Cure For Love though, so feel free to start on that one sooner because it has definitely caught my eye and I'm already starting to obsess over it again, lol.

#ask #answer #naruhinasasu recs #we need more naruhinasasu!#starting to crave my throuple all over again!!#naruto uzumaki #hinata hyuga #sasuke uchiha #fanfiction #naruhina #sasuhina #narusasu

46 notes · View notes

nexility-sims · 6 months

Text

𝐍𝐎. 𝟗 (𝟐/𝟐) ❛ 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚 ❜ | NAKAWE PALACE, DEC. 1990

❧ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

❛ Leonor had been a silent observer of her parents’ marriage for as long as she could remember. Endlessly, like an infinite spool, it unraveled. That was how she understood it: her mother spun, but she never reached an end. Leonor hadn't wanted to cast her father as a villain, but she knew his fingers were the ones tugging and yanking and pulling the thread. Those parental arguments were integral to the soundscape of her childhood. She could close her eyes and hear their voices still locked in a discordant, overlapping loop—muffled, underwater. Of course, sometimes they did argue in the open. They all behaved in a choreographed fashion when that happened. The children shrunk and quieted; the parents grew loud and frenetic. The setting didn’t matter. Her parents could fight over breakfast, in the gardens, in cars and planes, on the telephone, as they arrived at events or departed them. They bickered in public on rare occasions. On the most infamous of such occasions, they shouted, shoved, slapped.

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

❧ can you believe it ????? that's a wrap on episode one !!!!! come sunday, we're moving on to episode two .... of twenty, lmao. sure this is very unfortunate and sad but i think it's also very fun and cool that leonor broke up with her boyfriend in this room then had a romantic evening with her other boyfriend in this room many years later

The causes for arguments varied, but Leonor suspected an underlying flaw: they were meant to be apart but couldn’t escape each other. Her mother had ritualized throwing away her ring. She would rip it from her finger and send it clattering. A new fight began, invariably, because she made a show of it. Still, it would come back. ‘ It’s a piece of you, ’ Rodrigo would say, somehow earnest in his self-satisfaction. ‘ It has a piece of your spirit. It will return to you like your animal. ’ Safya had not been a true believer all of the time, but that resonated with her as it did with Leonor, ever an eavesdropper. Marriage was sacred and, anyway, they shared blood. Safya’s spirit was in the ring she wore, and it would—like any animistic entity, a dog or a monkey or a vulture—find her wherever she went. And, even if the ring lost its power, their children never would.

Her father accepted desultory exiles away from the estate when the ring went away and yet, within a fortnight, with the children who bore their blood as witnesses, it returned. They reconciled. Her mother had her own saying during those reunions: ' I loved you once. I'll love you again. I'll always love you. '

On the night Safya died, Rodrigo called his daughter on a police telephone. He wept as he spoke. Leonor would have demanded to come to the marina, but he asked it of her first. It was his devastation that greeted her upon arrival. Standing in the doorway of the car, he shielded her from the flashbulbs. They walked with arms interlocked toward the silent crowd at the harbor’s edge. At the time, Leonor had been in a daze as she heard his voice in her ear. It occurred to her later that he had been murmuring, broken and desperate, ‘ I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Nora. I’m sorry. I’m sorry— ’

TRANSCRIPT:

[L] There you are.

[A] I came as fast as I could.

[L] I want to talk, but I’m not sure what to say. [A] Nerves? We don’t have to talk.

[L] No, we do. Before the funeral. [A] Sure.

[L] I’m grateful for you. Really, I am. You’ve been so kind.

[A] You don’t have to thank me. I love you. [L] Don’t tell me that. [A] What? It’s true. I— [L] Can I continue?

[L] Last night, this morning, whenever it was, I was thinking about my parents—about what I would have changed in mama’s life.

[L] Please don’t.

[L] Thinking about them made me think about us. I decided that I don’t want there to be an “us” anymore. [A] I don’t understand. What does that mean?

[L] We have to break up. I need to be alone. [A] What? Why? [L] Please don’t make me repeat it. [A] Leonor, this doesn’t make any— [L] {tearfully} Please.

[A] Okay. [L] You’ll go? [A] I won’t argue with you. Certainly not today.

[A] And, I won’t attend. If you want to talk later— [L] I don’t think I will, but thank you. [A] I’ll pray for you. For her.

{Footsteps receding}

{Leonor sobs}

#ts4 story #sims story #sims 4 story #ts4 royalty #sims 4 royalty #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 royal family #royal sims #simblr #ts4 legacy #1992.story.post #1992.a1 #1992.ep01

58 notes · View notes

holygrailimagines · 2 years

Text

Coach’s Daughter

Summary: Reader is a coach’s daughter.

Author’s Note: I gave Diego a random ass number lmao. Also, no hate to no sabo kids. Also, maybe a multipart series?

Your dad was a very valuable man in the football community, especially Mexico. Football and Mexico ran in his veins like crazy. His passion was unlike any other, which is why the Mexican Selection team needed him. Everyone was sure he would guide Mexico into a new season of triumph and success.

Unfortunately for you, that meant you had to leave everything you knew in America and move to Mexico. Sure, you had a lot of love for Mexico. After all, it was quite literally your mother’s and father’s land. But, America was your home, you had been here for two decades. All your friends and family were here, so you weren’t super excited to leave everything behind just so your dad could teach a bunch of men how to play football.

Your father sensed your sadness and decided the best way to make it up to you was to bring you to work with him. Maybe his love and passion would rub off on you and you would finally understand that this was a good thing.

“Hijita, por favor, I don’t want you to be sad anymore.” Your dad begged as he kept his eyes on the road. You sighed, staring out the passenger side window. You two were on your way to the team’s practice.

“I know papa, but you know I don’t even like football.” It was true, you weren’t interested at all. He sighed at your response as he parked the car.

“Okay but, please just be nice to my players. And don’t worry about speaking Spanish, they all understand English.” You nodded as you both exited the car and headed to the trunk. Your father passed you a few orange cones and he slung a mesh bag of dozens of soccer balls behind his back and you both made your way to the open field.

In the distance you saw a group of men and when they noticed your dad, they instantly cheered and ran up to greet him. They hugged him and shook his hand before turning their attention to you. Nothing is as uncomfortable as millions of eyes staring at you, especially when those eyes belong to the most gorgeous men you’ve ever seen.

“Amigos, esta es mi hija, (Y/N).” Your father said in Spanish, introducing you.

“Mucho gusto, déjame ayudarte con esos conos.” A man with curly hair and gloves said, reaching out his hand. You noticed the number 13 on his uniform. (translation: nice to meet you, let me help you with those cones)

“Umm. Hello?” You said in an unsure manner, reaching out to shake his hand. If you were being completely honest, your spanish was horrid. You hated to admit it but you were a bit whitewashed. The man looked at you with furrowed eyebrows but smiled a little.

“¿Que, no español?” He chuckled, sending a look towards your father. Your father sighed, as if he was disappointed at your lack of bilingual skills. (What, no spanish?)

“Yes, about that. My daughter has spent all her life in America so please try to speak to her in English,” Your dad announced to the team as he placed both of his hands on your shoulder.

“Hopefully this time in Mexico will do some good for her Spanish, right?” He asked, looking down at you, shaking you slightly as you nodded in agreement. God this was so awkward.

Every football player took turns shaking your hand and greeted you in English. Well almost every football player except number 18. He shook your hand and proudly greeted you in spanish. He was absolutely beautiful. His caramel skin and hazel eyes left you red and flabbergasted.

The whole time you sat on the bench watching the team, you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. When practice was over, you said your goodbyes to the team and began walking to the car with your dad.

“¡Espera, tus conos!” You heard a voice yell behind you. Your dad chuckled as number 18 handed you the orange cones you accidentally left behind. (Wait, your cones!)

“Gracias, Dieguito.” Your dad thanked him, Diego smiled at him and then at you. He flashed his perfect teeth, and you couldn’t help but blush.

“Si, gracias,” you said, trying your best not to present your American accent.

He smirked and before jogging back to his teammates he said, “You’re welcome, American girl.”

I literally wrote this in like an hour because I was so desperate for any writing posts with football players. Lord knows how feral this world cup is making me.

#diego lainez #diego lainez x reader #worldcup2022 #seleccion mexicana #diego lainez imagine

487 notes · View notes

madame-fear · 1 year

Note

Después de lo que subiste hoy, me animé a mandar algo yo lmao.

I had a dream with Jacaerys x Twin sister which was quite funny in my opinion.

Remember when Jacaerys asks Rhaenyra if he's Harwin Strong's bastard? WELL, in my dream, twin sister has a crush on Sir Harwin, and she doesn't know that's her dad. And Jace suffered inside. Could you write something about that, please?

YESSS OFC

Being Jace's little twin sister and seeing Ser Harwin spending the most of his time near your family made you and your siblings grow close to him. Though, out of your three brothers — Jace, Luke, and Joffrey —, you were the one that was constantly most spoiled by him, mainly because you are the only little girl.

He would always refer to you as 'his little princess', would always defend you from your uncles, playfully ruffles your hair, and twirls you around playfully when you show him off a new dress of yours. All of this, plus seeing how loving and fiercely protective he is over your family, made you grow a crush on Ser Harwin, much to Jace's dismay, who's recently began having an intense puppy crush on you.

Though when Jace began having a crush on you, while you began crushing on the Ser, none of you suspected a thing — yet — about him being your real father. So, seeing you giggling and kicking your feet while blushing at the sight of Harwin training or simply complimenting you in a sweet manner like he always did, made Jace suffer internally and just get badly jealous.

At some point, Jace would even try to impress you by trying to become better at swordtraining and beat Harwin successfully — unfortunately failing, because he's still a little one —, and occasionally referring to you, his sweet twin sis, as his most beloved princess, and would always do something to make you smile — or see a glint of joy in your eyes — such as gifting you roses from the gardens, randomly giving you a big smooch on your cheek, proudly showing and giving you dragoneggs, or giving you a big hug and defending you from your uncles all the time. Though you love your twin brother endlessly and he never fails to make you feel loved and special, you can't help but continue crushing on Ser Harwin.

When Jace — and you, yourself — began having some suspictions about the Ser being your true father, that didn't stop him from having an inner competition with him to merely impress you, and have all your attention focused on him. Which just continues to desperate Jace and make him suffer even more no matter all the efforts he does to place your focus on him.

Even though that was supposed to be a little puppy crush Jace felt on you, through the years and as you grew up together even more closer, those feelings never truly washed away — they remained stuck with him, and they even became more intense. His jealousy continued growing over every single boy that laid their eyes on you, and Jace wouldn't even try to hide it, at some point. And, even, he'd occasionally just pull you away from every boy that approaches you, trying to ''establish his dominance'', in a way.

espero que esto haya sido lo que te imaginabas, amor mio! <33

♡ taglist : ♡

@damatheirin @jacesvelaryons @tickle-euphoria @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @sanguinesaint-kaleidoscopeeyes

#prince jacaerys x reader #jacaerys strong x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x sister!reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #harwin strong x reader

231 notes · View notes

bronx-bomber87 · 7 months

Text

Happy Wednesday lovely readers :) I love any episode with Lucy/Tamara in it. Add in Tim? Makes an amazing thing even more so. I love this one for delving into Tamara’s past a bit, how Tim helps Lucy without a thought, and the bond between Lucy and Tamara. Such good one let’s get going.

4x11 End Game

We begin our episode with Tamara and Lucy. It’s clear Lucy has been up all night researching. Tamara asks why? Lucy tells her legal research. That kid Tyler she cited out last episode ended up stealing from a liquor store. He felt stressed to pay back the dealer he lost product for. Unfortunately he gave the store owner a heart attack. Luckily the owner is out and ok.

She’s been up all night trying to finds ways for the state to show him leniency since the owner is fine. I love both of them calling Chris the ‘clown’ from the DA’s office. Might be my new name for him. Chris the clown. It’s fitting. They have a lovely moment as Tamara refills her coffee and brings it to her. Saying this kid is lucky to have her backing him.

That she knows she was. Best thing she ever did was steal Lucy’s car. I mean it’s true haha I love Tamara being more open with Lucy. Showing how grateful she is that Lucy took a chance on her like she did. Tamara saying crime pays actually. In this case it does tbh. Heh Lucy says she’s cute when she walks away. It’s such an adorable mom/daughter open for them.

We see Mr. Clown shortly after Lucy arrives at the station. She is gloating that the store owner survived. Chris agrees with her that he’s happy she survived. Lucy questioning how true that is. She tries to get him to charge Tyler as a minor but Chris refuses of course. Schmuck. Lucy starts to tell him studies and he’s so condescending to her. Saying not to quote studies at him. I hate it so much. I dislike him greatly...

Tells her he will only charge him as a minor as long as he’s a CI for his crew. This is where Lucy really goes off on him. Both barrels and pulls no punches whatsoever. Chris is finding this amusing and I want to clock him. Calling her dramatic too. You don’t know her like that ya clown. So rude to say. Tim coming into the convo asking if everything is ok? I love that. Protective Husband is in the building.

The way she spins around to face Tim is hilarious. His face and posture LOL Lucy saying she can’t believe the nerve of him calling her dramatic. She sees his reaction and tells him don’t start. Haha Eric is the king of facial expressions. He doesn’t disappoint in the least here. His face conveying ‘ I didn’t say anything…’ Even though his body language is saying everything. Laughing so hard at his reaction.

Such a hubby move here. Doesn't say anything but she knows what that reaction means. HIs silence saying more than he ever could. He’s smart enough to know when not to engage her in a fight. Be more married you two please. Lucy is in full wifey mode here and my heart is so happy. Also my god the forearms/biceps. Phew lord. Love to have those wrapped around me like a blanket. There is just so much to love about this mini moment.

It’s the next part where we hit peak married vibes. Tim knowing her so damn well. Pinpointing why she is so friggin keyed up. Asking exactly how many cups of coffee she’s had this morning? God these two know each other so damn well. Lucy doesn’t lie and says she’s just going to apologize right now LMAO

Knowing how she’s going to be the rest of the shift for him. It’s so funny. I love her self awareness knowing she’s gonna be extra cause she’s hopped up on caffeine. Good thing Tim is actually is so very fond of it even though he’s exasperated at the same time hehe. She’s so cute I cannot.

Tim’s reaction to her reply is the best part. No one does the eye roll better than our guy. It’s so funny. It makes me laugh every single time. Lucy knows what she’s done and is just owning up it to ahha I love these two idiots so very much. Her saying it’s going to be a long day for him. Oh he’s well aware of that one my dear. I love them so much makes my heart hurt haha

Tim and Lucy are called to Lopez’s homicide. It’s a 18 year old girl killed and dumped. Tim is confused why Angela needed a sergeant. She tells them she didn’t. Just Lucy. Asking if she knows her? Lucy tells her no. Angela hands her the phone and says Tamara does. Pic of her and this girl as her Lock Screen. Hence them being looped in.

Cut to them retuning to her apartment. The marriage theme continues in this episode. Except it goes from sassy poking fun husband and wife. To very sweet and supportive husband for his wife. Being a sweet mom and dad tag team for Tamara in this moment. Which I adore so much.

Lucy is feeling lost and not sure how to handle this. You can tell as she enters the apt. She’s honest with Tim. Replies 'I don't know.' When he asks how she wants to handle it? Lucy tells him she’s done death notices before. But never for someone she cared about. Handling it as a cop vs as a roommate are different approaches. I love how Tim is watching her as she talks out her thoughts. Not judging her but wanting to support her. Knowing this is part of her process.

She is torn and Tim decides for her. Telling her just to be a friend and he’s got the cop part for her. I love this sfm. Letting her be the soft empathetic friend in this moment. That if she needed someone firmer or more business like to tap him in. Tim knows she wants to be the caring and soft one in this moment. Because he knows her so well. Wants to relieve her of the burden of being a cop right now. To let her just be the caring friend and if she needs a cop he will handle that portion for her.

It seems like such a small gesture that comes across as so much more. You can see Lucy visibly relax when he tells her this. Thanks him for this kindness. He has her back in more ways than one. I love their bond so much. Knowing exactly what the other needs in moments like this. He’s so soft for her I cannot handle it. Just being the best supportive work hubby he can be. Such growth makes my soul happy.

Gives Lucy a chance to relay the news to Tamara in the way she is most comfortable with. Solo in her room. It so sad to watch Tamara take in the news. Not believing Lucy at first or not wanting to really. Lucy confirming it by the phone that was found at the scene. Telling Tamara how sorry she was. I love Tim giving her this private moment alone with her. To be empathetic, caring and all the things she would need in this moment. Let her be Lucy her friend and roommate and not the cop.

Once they’re out of her room Tim is apart of the convo. Officially in cop mode now. Lucy asking if there was anyone her friend Becca was afraid of? Tamara says no but they hadn’t talked in 3 months. With school and her moving in they lost touch. Tim steps in and asks 'Any idea where she was crashing?' She tells them mostly the street, sometimes shelters, some families let you crash on the floor if they had room. Her last known suggestion is a darker one.

It's where we get a peak into Tamara’s past and it's grim. You can see it all over Lucy’s face as Tamara speaks. How her heart is breaking for her. Killing her to think she ever had to do ‘swiping’. Hitting her like a ton of bricks. You can see the pre-tears in her eyes from hearing all this. The protective mama in her wanting to hug and protect her. To never let her experience that ever again. Tamara can't even look at them while she explains it. Breaks my heart.

Tim can read Lucy like a book once they’re back in the shop. They’re talking about the men they found on Becca’s phone but her mind is elsewhere. He knows she’s upset and asks her if she’s okay? I’ll never be over this portion of his growth. Him actively engaging in personal stuff with her. Giving her his advice and caring. Being 100 percent genuine in all of it too. My damn heart. He’s also just so damn good with her. Just like she is for him. The shop where they supposedly leave their personal lives at the door is a rule that never really existed for them.

He provides such a comforting environment for her to share in here. I love him being the one to reach out for this. Lucy engaging right away with him. Voicing everything she was feeling about their convo with Tamara. How it worried her that Tamara knew right away about the swiping idea. Asking Tim’s opinion if he thinks she’s used it herself? If she gave that impression to him?

Tim doesn’t answer so much as shoot a question back. Asking if she’s ever mentioned it to her before? You can hear the hurt in her voice. See the pain in her eyes as she speaks. Telling Tim as close as they are she won’t talk to her about her past. I can see why Lucy would be hurt by this. I can also see why Tamara doesn’t want to talk about it. She probably feels shameful about some of what she did to survive. I can only imagine what she had to do pre-Lucy.

Tim’s reply is perfection. What I love most about it is that it’s coming from experience. At least that’s how it’s coming off to me. We all know how hard it was for Lucy to crack the nut that is Tim. How she scratched and clawed for him to open up to her. Tim had a painful past and lot of reasons to be closed off. But that didn’t stop Lucy from pursuing that relationship with him. It was slow but so very worth it. Tim telling her not to take it personally.

That it might just be hard for to open up to her. It’s not Lucy it’s Tamara's own stuff preventing her from doing so. Just like it was for Tim. Lucy kept knocking at that door till Tim answered. Now look at him. He shares things with her. Deeply personal things. Is giving her advice on her own personal life. Look how far we’ve come. It’s these moments I love the most. The ones that show us how damn far Tim has come. How far they have come as a pairing.

It’s unreal to watch and so rewarding. It’s why the slow burn works so damn well for them. We get moments like this. Where Tim sees she is upset, reaches out, and even relieves her worries. Also once again using his past experience to help her out. Knowing it was hard for him to start to open up with her. That took time for him too. Applying that to his advice for Tamara not opening up just yet. You can see she feels lighter after their talk. Nodding her head agreeing with his advice. Relieving her of her worries for the time being at least. Tim being every bit the supportive husband here and I love it sfm. The emotional intimacy between these at this point is off the charts amazing. *sigh* I love them so much.

They return to the station to watch interrogation. Lopez has one of Becca’s clip talk guys in the box. Angela comes right at him. Doesn't waste time after he admits he knows her. Saying she knows he used clip talk for sex. In exchange she got warm bed and a meal out of it. He is instantly defensive. Thinking he’s been brought in for something she did or said. Is an ass outright calling her crazy cause she’s homeless and possibly on drugs.

Lopez cuts him right off saying she’s dead. Asking where he was last night? He stumbles and says he has nothing to do with it. That he did see her for few minutes but his GF was coming over. (Classy SOB..) Angela asks what she wanted? He says hot meal, shower, place to stay. But told her to go cause his GF was on the way. I love the way Tim leans forward as they get to heart of his story. He continues on saying Becca threatened to tell his GF if he didn’t give her money.

Telling Lopez all he had was a 20 dollar bill on him to give her. After she left he said he noticed Becca swiped his Cerus Watch. Which he paid 10K for. Lopez following up saying he couldn’t file a police report or it would expose his secret. Lopez cycles back to our couple. Lucy telling her she didn’t have a watch on her body. That she either sold it or whoever killed her took it and did. Tim says they'll ask Tamara where they think it would be pawned.

We find Tamara catching up with her old life. Visiting with friends she knew. My guess is she felt guilty about not talking to Becca all these months. Wanting to reconnect to help herself grieve. One of her friends telling her how proud Becca was of her. That she missed her but was so happy to see her move on. It’s then we see Tim and Lucy pull up. They all get nervous and Tamara tells them they’re cool.

Lucy is in mom mode asking how she is? Tamara tells her it’s a lot to be back here. She is trying to put up a brave front. Pretend she’s ok. So she avoids saying anymore by asking if they found anything? They update her on the watch Becca took. Asking her if she know where she would pawn it? Love Lucy seeing her hesitancy and reassuring her it’s ok. Also not wanting to leave her there. In full mom mode I adore it. Not wanting to leave her there but not having much of a choice atm.

They head to the pawn shop Tamara suggested. Tim doesn’t mess around or mince words with the owner. Saying they’re looking for a stolen Cerus watch. The owner gets defensive and says they just come into his shop accusing him of this? Lucy comes right at him too.

A tag team of confidence and unity. I love it. Her reply is feisty af. ‘Of purchasing stolen property from homeless teenagers? We are accusing you of exactly that.’ Get em Lucy! Gah love them being this bad ass united front. This guy goes off on a rant how he’s a lifeline for these kids. Lucy shows him the pic of Becca. Tells him this watch is what got her killed. He sighs and pulls it out to show them.

Saying it was brought in yesterday and shows them who brought it in. It wasn’t Becca….it was the kid Tamara was visiting. The look of realization washes over them. That beautiful silent communication of theirs kicking in. A shared look of worry washing over them. Tim asking isn’t that Tamara’s friend? The one they just left her with...

We cut back to Tamara talking to him. Asking if he’s ok? He say no. She starts to apologize she hasn’t been around. We see Tim and Lucy racing to get back to her. Such great cinematography in this scene. Declan starting his confession and it flits back to a worried Tim and Lucy. They're trying to get back to her as soon as they can. You can see the panic/urgency written across both of their faces.

Declan tells her how Becca was going to go back to school. Use the watch to get her started with it. She wanted to be more like Tamara. He starts to get emotional saying she was going to leave him too. You can see the shift in Tamara as she see’s where this is going. How he mentions he tried to sneak the watch out. That she caught him and he pushed her and didn’t mean for her to hit her head like she did. It’s then Lucy and Tim roll up like the BAMFS they are. Lucy all but jumping out of the shop to get to Tamara.

Tim cuffing him immediately. Once he's secure Lucy turns to her asking her if is she’s ok? Not expecting the response that she gets. Tamara finally putting down her walls and being honest. That she isn’t ok and runs to Lucy for comfort. I love this hug and Tamara finally turning to Lucy and being vulnerable. Lucy’s reaction is so sweet as she holds her tight. Such a nice moment for them. Adding to that growing familial bond between them.

The clown catches Lucy on her way out. I hate writing about him but I also don’t love writing about Ashley either. But they are apart of this season thus in my reviews when I have to. Lucy is straight with him. Says she isn’t in the mood for anymore bad news. He tells her he cut a good deal for Tyler. That he won’t have to be a CI. Just 6 months in Juvie. Probation till 18.

Clearly trying to impress her with this deal. Because let’s be honest if he had his way that kid would’ve been screwed. He did this to get on her good side. To me Chris was always kinda clueless but a little manipulative as well. I.e. This deal to impress her. Never liked him or thought he was good enough to be in her presence let alone date her.

This scene is a good bookend to how the episode began with Tamara’s gratefulness. Except this ending portion is a lot more sincere. No jokes involved. Makes me emotional as she thanks Lucy for everything she’s given her. Tamara thanks her for helping her leave it all behind as well. That if not for her she could've ended up just like Becca. Their scenes are always so good. Thanking Lucy for getting her friend justice.

Lucy not taking credit for that. Saying she did that for her. It’s true she guided them most of the investigation. Without her tips and such it would’ve taken them so much longer. I love Lucy telling her she doesn’t need to worry about what could’ve been without her. That’s she’s safe now ❤️ This next bit is so good. Lucy bringing up talking about her time on the street.

Tamara telling her not right now. Lucy bringing up she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t even have to with her. Just someday talking to someone would be good. So it doesn’t sneak up on her. Because it will. She is not wrong...It did for me. I took too long to talk to someone myself. I had a random run in with a sweet old lady who was a client of mine. She commented on my earrings. Asking where I got them? I said my mom with no real emotions attached to it. She looked me in the eye and said ‘Your mother must love you very much.’ I wanted to cry because I wasn't sure how true that was.

I swallowed my complicated emotions and my racing thoughts. I thanked her. But it triggered something in me when I got back to my car and I cried. Because it brought up all the emotions and feelings I hadn’t talked about with my mom. I texted my baby sister about it. She told me it was time to seek some therapeutic help. I did and it's helped so very much. So Lucy is so very right if you don’t talk about it. Suppress it for too long it sneaks up on you.

This is such solid advice once again from Lucy. Therapy and talking it out does wonders for the soul. Because if you don’t It’ll eat at you slowly. Take away from your present. Such a lovely way to end the episode for them both. I always love me some Tamara/ Lucy eps.

~~~

Side notes-Non Chenford

James and Nyla being cute af. I truly love them together. They work so well.

Also more cute James/ Wes moments about the pregnancy and such. I do love their bromance so.

54 notes · View notes