#I'd rather give you flowers than drag you through the garden

[allycat75]

Happy Friday, Boston Dumb Fuck!

The interesting thing about this mess is I really don't know if I am mad at you or I am mad for you. I suppose I am mad someone or a group of someones made you fuck up so royally.

PS- does anyone know, or care, Pain Hustlers is in theaters today? Maybe that's a good thing based on the reviews 🤮. Just another failure of your team to provide you good material and of you to choose wisely. Do you see a pattern, because if past is prologue, it's not going to improve.

#Integrity matters #Brian Wilson vibes #I'd rather give you flowers than drag you through the garden

[itjazzbicch]

Beneath The Surface

Pairing: Shunsui Kyōraku x Reader

Summary: Considering that the reader has been dealing with an illness, they are not as strong as they once were, desperate to be strong again as the war against Quincy's rage. Becoming hopeless, they begin to find some hope beneath the surface when their best friend lends a small hand with their emotions...

Warnings: The reader is sad, and mentions of death & illness (it's just a hurt/comfort fic) TYBW spoilers if you haven't watched!

Word Count: 0.9k 

My heart was breaking with every step when I dragged my cane along the rubble-covered ground. These Quincy's must've gone all out. Meanwhile, I was sick and barely able to walk.

I had never been so disappointed in myself, unable to bear the horrific sights that were now the Seireitei. Dragging myself back to my grounds, I wasn't allowed to due to my illness, but I took my zanpakuto, then went out to the shriveled-up garden where I once trained daily.

Pulling my zanpakuto from its sheath, it looked dull, the memory of the first time I held it in my hands flashing in my mind. How strong I was back then and how that strength led me to be a captain, once upon a time the strongest.

The longer I stared, the more I hated being who I was now. Fragile and weak, a burden rather than a fighting force, considering everything we knew was at stake. Those thoughts made me angry, sick, and shaking as I used all my strength to wield my zanpakuto.

"Talk to me, please," I whispered, trying not to cry, the shaking growing worse, "P-Please."

Nothing.

No matter how badly my body tried to give way on me, I stayed in stance, breathing heavily as I yelled in an attempt to build some motivation:

"I refuse to be so weak! Please! I need you!"

Again, nothing.

Using up my energy, I fell to a knee, the tip of my zanpakuto in the ground and clinging to it as I cried, begging it to talk to me somehow, to make me strong again.

"I'll do anything, just-"

"Y/N flower?"

Shunsui's voice brought me to silence despite the tears rolling down my cheeks, only listening:

"You know that you shouldn't-"

"I can't sit around and tolerate this anymore, Shunsui!"

It was becoming hard to breathe from the tears making my throat close. I knew precisely what Shunsui would tell me, and he should've known how I would react.

"I know that you're dealing with much more than your illness," He sighed, joining me on his knees, a hand on my back, "But we both know that-"

"What? That I'm weak? That I'm useless?" I couldn't look at him, clinging to my once mighty zanpakuto, "It won't even speak to me anymore."

"Stop talking like that," Shunsui was always trying to keep me optimistic, but given the times we were going through, that was impossible.

"It's the truth," I wept, drowning in those negative thoughts, "If I was strong enough, I could've done something. We lost so many, and Old Man Yama-"

The devastating memory of when I learned about Captain Yama's death made me start to sob, collapsing, but Shunsui caught me, holding me to his chest.

He knew that I needed to get this out of my system, only rubbing my back and hugging me as I cried:

"I hate this. Why did I have to get sick?"

"If I could change things, I would," He whispered as my cries settled, "But know, sick or not, you're much stronger than you think."

Finally, growing the courage to look at him and seeing his eyepatch added to that guilt as I was always protective over him. I tried my hardest to take in his words profoundly and believe I was strong like in the past, but it was challenging.

"You've had a lot to deal with since you took charge, Shunsui," I sniffled, cleaning my face, "Don't-"

"Crazy to think that after all the long years we've spent together, this is the first time I'd ever seen you cry," He realized; the thought never occurred to me, and our gazes connected, "I may be head captain now, but you're still my flower too."

His words made tears swell again, an arm wrapping around my head and holding me tight, clinging to his floral robe. Despite what little tears I had left coming down, I finally saw some light in my dark world:

"Flowers aren't just delicate, you know? They're not just beautiful, either. They weather through storms and may lose a pedal or two, but they grow back as beautiful as they were before. They have an unspoken strength."

I stared off into space as I related to his words. It may not be happening as quickly as I'd hoped, but maybe the strength I once possessed was slowly returning to me.

"How many terrifying challenges have we conquered, huh?" He whispered, kissing my cheek, "Remember that you're strong."

"I'll try," I whimpered, watching him place his hat down so he could hug me tighter, our heads together as I whispered, "I love you, Shunsui. Never forget that."

"That's good to know. Thought I'd have to wait another century or two to hear those words," He joked, and it did get a slight chuckle out of me, but seriousness settled in, thankfully the good kind, as he stroked my cheek, "I love you too my beautiful, strong flower."

"I promise from now on," I breathed in deeply, looking towards becoming better rather than drowning in sadness, "Every day till I'm gone, whether if it's this illness or by someone's hands, I'll never give up."

"Finally got some fire in your eyes," He mumbled with a smile, giving me more motivation to keep that promise as he kissed me softly, "I know you won't. You never have." 

2023 © itjazzbicch — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome 

#bleach #bleach x reader #bleach imagine #bleach fic #bleach fluff #bleach comfort #shunsui kyoraku #shunsui kyoraku x reader #shunsui kyoraku imagine #shunsui kyoraku fluff #shunsui kyoraku fic #shunsui fic #shunsui x reader #shunsui imagine #shunsui fluff #shunsui comfort #shunsui x y/n #shunsui kyoraku x y/n #bleach x y/n #read and enjoy

[x-heroesandvillains]

A Memorable Night ~ *Oh Seungmin*

Summary: While the ball you're attending is lovely, you'd rather spend time with your favorite wallflower. And it seems he would rather spend time with you too.

Pairing: Oh Seungmin X G/N!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Drabble

Word Count: 783

Warning: O.de is a little OOC

Masterlist

Taglist: @samepoisonsamevine @kpop-will-kill-me

“Something on your mind?” You asked the gentleman wallflower, sidling up to his side in the elaborate ballroom.

Seungmin didn't make eye contact with you, instead drinking water from the gilded chalice in his hand. “You should be enjoying the party with the rest of the nobility.”

You frowned and shook your head. “Frankly, I'd rather talk to you instead."

"And why's that?"

"You look lonely, standing here in the corner by yourself. I thought I would give you some company." You shrugged before flashing him a sweet smile. "Besides, I need a breather. There are too many people in this ballroom.”

He finally looked at you before offering his own shy smile. “Then may I escort you outside for some fresh air?”

Your smile widened and you took his hand in yours. “Always the gentleman. I would love that, thank you, Seungmin.”

Though he was the one asking to escort you outside, it was you who dragged him to the gardens near the palace where the ball was being held. The two of you walked in silence through the flowers until you reached one of the many fountains. With a soft sigh, you sat on the ledge and dipped your fingers into the cool water. “Mmm. Much better.”

Seungmin awkwardly coughed into his fist. "I'm, um, I'm glad I'm not the only one who was a little overwhelmed by everything tonight."

You smiled up at him. “I kind of figured, with how you were standing off all by your lonesome self. I'm glad I could save you by saving me. I’m just not used to big formal parties like these.”

He nodded and sat down next to you. "Me neither. I understand why the nobility likes to throw them, but I'd rather be at home right now."

“I completely understand.”

There was a pause before he shyly asked, "Still, do you like it here? It's not the same as where you’re from, but it's still charming, right?"

You thought about it. “I do. I really do. I mean, I think each kingdom is wonderful in its own way, but I think this one has an extra special charm to it."

He nodded. “I completely agree."

You abruptly stood up and began taking off your shoes, which startled Seungmin. You simply laughed before wading into the water of the fountain.

"What are you doing?"

"Cooling off." You giggled as you wiggled your toes in the water.

He gave a small laugh. “You seem to be enjoying yourself there.”

“Then would you like to join me?”

You watched him hesitate, staring at your outstretched hand for a moment before giving a small nod. He removed his shoes and took your hand. He gasped at the coolness of the water as it lapped at his ankles and calves.

“Why didn't you tell me how cold it was?” He whined, but a smile was already pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I'm going to freeze my feet off!"

"Oh, you will not!" You teased him. "You act like you've never played in a fountain before."

"That's because I haven't."

“Really? I’ve done this a handful of times myself.”

He rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised? You're always getting yourself into trouble."

“One could say that.” You pulled him closer. “Now, c'mon! Dance with me!”

“Dance?”

Before Seungmin could question you further, you tugged him into an awkward kind of dance through the water. The two of you laughed and splashed around, enjoying being with each other outside instead of inside the palace ballroom. This was far more enjoyable than some stuffy party. You slipped and almost fell, but thanks to Seungmin’s quick reflexes, he caught you with ease. He now had you in an elegant dip, which made you smile.

“Careful.”

You hummed in response, gazing deep into his eyes. “I'll try. Still, quite the dance, even if it was in a fountain.”

“It was fun, yes."

“It definitely made my night.”

He helped you back to your feet before quietly asking, “Alright, be honest; you planned all of this didn’t you?”

You winked. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Who’s to say?”

A devilish glint appeared in his eye as he said, “Well, if I may, I say we continue to make this night even more memorable.”

That’s when he splashed you.

“Oh, it’s on now!”

And the two of you played in the fountain for the rest of the night and woke up with colds in the morning. Despite how miserable you felt, you were happy you got to spend last night with someone you cared for. You were content knowing you gave him the most memorable experience of the night.

#Xdinary Heroes #Xdinary Heroes Fanfiction #Xdinary Heroes Drabble #KPop #KPop Fanfiction #KPop Drabble #Villain #Oh Seungmin #Oh Seungmin X Reader #Oh Seungmin Fanfiction #Oh Seungmin Drabble #Oh Seungmin Fluff #O.de #O.de X Reader #O.de Fanfiction #O.de Drabble #O.de Fluff #Royalty #Royalty AU #Drabble #Fluff

[owmylasagna-blog]

7, 8, 9, 18, 23, 24! It's a lot but I think you're awesome so I'd love to know your thoughts when you have time! And thanks for sending me some as well! 😁

Aaah thanks!!! I’m looking forward to seeing your answers too :)

Also, for anyone this is not clear to, this is for Edd/Eddy and also as adults 👍

7. What do they like most about one another?

Edd likes that Eddy is passionate, funny, imaginative, intrepid, genuine, sensitive, and has strong conviction. He is impressed by his uncanny coordination and talents for dancing, cooking, athletics, and recall of film and music trivia. He is very physically attracted to Eddy, his broad shoulders, his fat and athletic build, little features on his face like laugh lines or the wrinkles on his forehead from furrowing his brows so much.

Eddy likes that Edd is intelligent, clever, creative, strong-headed, sarcastic, intuitive, curious, and ambitious. He thinks Edd is really amazing and will blab to other people about how impressive his partner is. Eddy also finds Edd to be sexy in a slinky, sultry, sort of weird looking way. He likes how his face completely changes from stone cold to almost unsettlingly cartoonish when he smiles.

8. What do they like least about one another?

Edd struggles with Eddy’s selfishness at times, partly because he never cultivated selfishness in himself growing up. It upsets him but he’s also sort of envious.

Eddy can get frustrated with Edd’s pragmatism putting up barriers, or when Edd avoids confrontation in favor of reaching a clean resolution.

9. What is the most common cause of conflict between them?

They are both very opinionated and strong-minded, so they bicker a lot. It doesn’t always lead to conflict but their stubbornness will sometimes drag on disagreement rather than finding consensus. I think they can be prone to bottling things up from time to time and this can boil over into blow outs here and there.

18.) How do they complement one another?

Thinking about this aspect of their relationship I think is the most exciting part of Edd/Eddy. A pretty common interpretation of the dynamic is that they provide a bit of balance and inspiration to each other: Edd gives Eddy genuine confidence in his own intelligence and ability to succeed, Eddy gives Edd the push to enjoy life and to indulge a little. They are one another’s biggest supporters. I also see them helping the other to break out of unhealthy habits while at the same time witnessing, accepting, and understanding what motivates the other. Their relationship is founded on a life-long friendship so they have a really intimate knowledge of the others’ ticks.

23.) Where do they live? What is their home like?

I imagine as young adults they live in a city and bounce between one shitty, poorly managed apartment to the next. Despite each place having something infuriating, they always leave with a new skill, a funny story, and at least one fond memory despite the situation. Ideally they settle on a place that’s a two bedroom/two bath with a decent kitchen and within walking distance to shopping, food, a park, etc. maybe one day they get a house because I love that image Raven drew of Eddy stealing flowers from the garden lol

I think Edd doesn’t have too many opinions on home decor, so long as things are kept neat and clean, and will defer to Eddy’s taste in furniture and interior design. He actually quite likes Eddy’s eye for second-hand and vintage. He does push back sometimes when the items are both too impractical and exorbitantly priced (like a giant martini glass lamp, or one of those chairs that looks like a giant heel). Eddy also has a mammoth wardrobe that is taking over the closet, and Edd begs him to go through and whittle it down like every other month.

24.) Do they have pets?

Edd keeps various tank animals and insects as pets over the years that Eddy has no interest in and no sense of ownership over. My latest headcanon is that a little lucky black cat chooses Eddy and his maternal instincts suddenly kick in. Otherwise I don’t think he would actively seek out a pet. Neither start out as cat people but she grows on them. I bet Edd would read up a lot on cat behavior and care and would get really invested in proper enrichment, nutrition, and feeding regimens. Eddy would spoil her rotten which pisses Edd off.

#eene #ed edd n eddy #eddeddy #yap yap dribble dribble

[jamilelucato]

kiss me (Anthony Bridgerton)

pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Lady [y/n]

+18 (sexual content, please do not read it if you are a minor)

summary: Lady [y/n] is promised to marry a French man, but she feels unprepared for her nuptial night.

notes: my first smut/sexual writing, so please be patient and leave a comment if you liked it! I'd really like to know!

words: +7.900

She shouldn’t be about to do what her heart desired — either way, there she was, grasping at her yellow and pink dress, stressing out her nerves with anxiety dripping from her face. Allowing one last glance around before coming into the Bridgerton mansion, [y/n] sighed, hoping one last deep breath would be enough to give her the right amount of courage she’d need.

The house was full, but not as full as it could be. In a corner next to the garden, sitting around a marble table filled with sweets and tea, Lady Bridgerton, Eloise, Anthony, Benedict, and Penelope could be found. That was more people than [y/n] meant to meet, but she supposed it could happen, being that the person she longed to talk to was a Bridgerton.

“Good afternoon, Lady Bridgerton, Lord Bridgerton,” [y/n] started to salute. “Benedict, Eloise and Penelope, pleased to see you all.”

They all smiled and replied, and Penelope dragged in closer against Eloise, offering the butler that accompanied [y/n] an empty space to place a chair. The visit couldn’t reckon whether she should be thankful for being placed closer to the person she wanted to talk to or not.

“What are you doing here today, dear?” asked Lady Bridgerton, with a motherly smile. Any other person in town asking that question would be considered rude, but since it was Violet, [y/n] had no thought of her being unmannered. “I thought you should be preparing for your wedding day.”

She should, by the way. Violet Bridgerton had a good point, but then what she was there to do could also be deemed as preparing for the ceremonial occasion.

“Or at least be preparing for tonight’s ball, huh?” added Penelope, noticing [y/n] had widened her eyes and seemed to be in a shocking state.

[y/n] smiled at the girl, what she supposed could be viewed as a “thank you”.

“I do have much preparing to do, for both occasions — that is correct.” She had no idea where she was going to end her sentence, “But I felt like stopping by to visit the family I love most in the world.”

Lady Bridgerton couldn’t help but tilt her head in a happy expression. She’d seen [y/n] grow up to be a beautiful lady, and in one day she’d be wed. Violet could only hope one day all of her children would’ve passed through the same process too.

“Lady [y/n] probably wants the girls’ opinions towards flowers and dresses,” suggested Benedict, speaking up. He couldn’t be farther from the truth, though. [y/n] wasn’t there for the girls, especially because Eloise was the only Bridgerton girl around, and she did not like wedding and party planning.

Lady [y/n] was there for Anthony Bridgerton.

For remarkably private and personal reasons.

“Oh, I suppose I could help as well,” said Lady Bridgeton, leaning in over the table. “I don’t suppose I’m overly out of fashion.”

“Oh, Lady Bridgerton!” exclaimed both girls that were not Bridgerton. Eloise just looked bored.

The men looked rather lost in the conversation, and they seemed to be looking for an excuse to get out of there the moment the ladies started discussing garments for that evening’s ball. Unfortunately for the men, a servant appeared with a plate filled with cookies, and so they had to wait a little longer to get out.

“So, Lady [y/n],” started saying Eloise, but [y/n] interrupted her.

“Please, call me [y/n] only,” she said, “I suppose we are very much family by now.”

Eloise smiled and rephrased: “[y/n], will your husband-to-be make an appearance tonight at the ball?”

Penelope stared at [y/n], curious, too.

No, he wouldn’t be coming along, because he was going to be merely able to arrive in London on the wedding day, more often than not just in time. None of the Bridgerton had met Lord Jean Blanc yet — and neither had Lady [y/n]. It was an arranged matrimony, a desire of a father that most longed for his only daughter not only to marry well but to marry a French gentleman, as it was his dying mother's last wish. The old lady had a thing for the French, and she had planned her granddaughter’s whole life based on her own conception. Even though [y/n] had no recollection of the old woman whatsoever, her father did everything in his power for his mother’s wish to come true.

Lady [y/n] had never objected to espousing Lord Blanc, and she was very happy to accept a destiny chosen to her instead of one she’d have to make on her own. That was until last night, when her dear mother told her what to expect for the wedding night. Oh, [y/n] was not expecting that!

She knew a simple version of what her mother had told her — she would lay in bed with her lovely husband and, magically, she supposed, she would give birth to a baby nine months later. It was that, in a way, but, Lord, there was so much more!

And her mother, deciding upon doing differently from what was done to her very self, let [y/n] on everything. All the details and positions, and she even added the father’s own personal preferences, supposing it could be the same with Lord Blanc.

Needless to say, [y/n] did not sleep. She laid awake, turning around in bed, trying not to visualize the sexual positions, trying not to feel the pain beforehand. However, her eyes could not help but wonder how Lord Blanc would look like and if he would be hairless like her father (her mother’s words).

[y/n] was in despair. She couldn’t do those things with Jean, poor man. A maid added, before breakfast upon her questions, that the French were much more sexual beings than the British, and [y/n] could not allow herself embarrassment or pain. But how could she manage that? She was going to marry a sex machine, and she was a bloody virgin!

She knew, however, a man of gossip, and that the chitchat surrounding him suggested he was as sexual as a French man. [y/n] had only one choice: talk to Anthony Bridgerton.

They were friends. They were very, very close. Yes, when [y/n] got older, being a Lady didn’t allow her much fun as being a Lord allowed Anthony, but they still talked and confabbed together almost every ball. She could ask him those things, right?

I mean, it wasn’t very “ladylike” but [y/n] supposed the whole wedding night talk was not ladylike at all, but she had already heard it. She was already in the conversation. The least she could do was ask lord Bridgerton a favour.

She tried to picture herself in front of a man she barely knew, naked with all her insecurities and stretch marks and having to do all the things her mother instructed her to do: open legs, spread arms and so on; but she just couldn’t. Saying it wasn't the same as showing — but not in any universe would she ask her mother to show her how to… make babies.

So her only option was to find a man she trusted as deeply as herself, but much more experienced in lovemaking than herself.

“…had no idea what he could possibly be wanting of me…”

“Oh, Eloise, dear! He was courting you!”

“He was not!”

Eloise Bridgerton’s shout was the phrase capable of bringing Lady [y/n] back to reality. Her courage was totally fading as time passed. She looked around, noticing Anthony and Benedict were already up and about to be gone. [y/n] didn’t even notice when they excused themselves.

“Hm, I’m sorry, girls, Lady Bridgerton, but I do need to ask Lord Bridgerton something if you…”

Mama Bridgerton interrupted with a smile and a wave of a hand.

“No worries, go. I noticed you're pensive,” she said. Lady [y/n] smiled, and with a bow, she walked away, jogging a little to catch up to Anthony.

The three left ladies exchanged glances, but Eloise was soon back talking about her last ball and the troublesome gentleman she had met. Pen and Violet kept a knowing look on their faces, as if they had tasted something in the air before anybody else.

“Benedict, huh, sorry, Lord Benedict,” [y/n] said, rambling and gasping for air, “where can I find your older brother?”

Benedict grimaced but thought it was better to simply answer than to make conversation by correcting her and allowing her to call him just by his given name.

“He’s in his office, [y/n],” he said. “Want me to escort you?”

“No need,” she replied. “I am quite certain I know this house as well as my own.”

They both tilted their heads forward, a silent goodbye, and [y/n] kept walking towards Lord Bridgerton’s office. She knew he wasn’t living at that residence anymore, allowing his younger siblings and mom privacy — or better said, allowing himself some peace and quiet.

She knocked twice on the door, afraid her emotions were talking the best of her.

“Come on in,” said a deep voice from inside.

Lady [y/n] gasped for air, a deep breath and walked in.

“[y/n], hello,” said Anthony, looking up from his papers. “What can I help you with? Is my brother gone, and you require a chaperone to walk you back home?” he asked, getting up promptly.

They were friends, but as much as a female and a male could be friends in British society, therefore it was very rare when [y/n] needed to talk to Anthony in such private places and situations.

“Oh, no, milord, nothing of that source,” she replied, grasping her dress. “I simply, huh…”

Anthony waited as she tried finding the right words.

“I wanted to ask you for a favour.”

He only kept staring.

“Yes, a favour,” she repeated, mostly to herself, as if approving of the word. “I suppose by now you are the only one that can help me. My marriage is just around the corner.”

“Tomorrow, I know,” he said, because he did, indeed, know. It was marked on his notebook, it was all his mother could talk about. And even Colin, one of his younger brothers, had written about it in his last letter. Anthony had no idea why his family wanted so desperately to remind him that his best friend was getting married tomorrow — he had already bought two excellent presents in the name of the family.

“Do you need me for something concerning your matrimony?” he asked, noticing [y/n] had grown silent.

“Precisely,” she nodded.

“Is it borrowing a carriage? We do have fine ones,” he said. “Or do you need me to walk you down the aisle? Isn’t your father supposed to?” Anthony really didn’t want her to ask for him to walk her down the aisle. He wouldn’t be able to. He’d very much rather borrow the carriage.

It wasn’t like it would hurt him to do so if asked. He liked [y/n] extremely, which could be exactly the issue. They had grown up together, he thought that was the problem. He wouldn’t want his sisters to be married to someone he didn’t know, so why would he like it when it was happening to his very best friend?

Except when he thought about marrying his sisters, he wanted to vomit and die. Now, when he thought about marrying [y/n], his heart would hurt so badly as if it wanted to jump out of his chest and go right in her hand — because it was where it belonged.

But he always knew [y/n] wouldn’t marry him, so why, why did it hurt?

“No, I don’t need you for any of those things, I’m afraid,” she said, bringing him back to the factual thing happening. She stared at his beautiful and oblivious eyes. She had to speak up. “Last night, my mama told me some things I should expect in my marriage…”

Anthony swallowed hard.

“… especially on my wedding night. I didn’t know — I don’t know — what to do about it, Anthony,” [y/n] stepped closer to him.

The viscount was finding it very difficult to breathe.

“I suppose a lady such as myself and a lord such as you should not be discussing what I’m about to say, but I… I have no one else, and I will not allow myself to walk in my nuptial night knowing nothing of what is about to happen.”

“Lady [y/n], are you… what are you asking of me?” Anthony managed to ask, gulping. He wasn’t always formal, and he didn’t call her lady when they were alone, but he just needed to put up some walls between them. Even if they were invisible because [y/n] just kept coming closer.

“I don’t want Lorde Jean Blanc to be the first man I lay in bed with. I want it to be you,” she said, all in one breath.

She grasped her dress again, and lowered her eyes to his hands, so she could not visualize what she predicted would be a disappointment on Anthony’s face. How could she? No lady would ask a gentleman to bed her. Oh, god, not ask. She had begged.

“I want it to be someone I know, and like, and trust. Because I can’t bear the idea of allowing my body for use of a French man I barely know and having to just sit still because I have no idea of what he is going to do!”

Anthony Bridgerton desperately wished he had been sitting before listening to Lady [y/n]’s declaration. Not of love. Of necessity. She needed him.

He supposed she didn’t understand what she was asking, but he did it for her. No lady walks in and promptly asks a man to bed her, not unless she sees it can be her last opportunity to do so. And even then, she must desperately desire the required man, otherwise, she wouldn’t do it.

Anthony knew quite a bit about women and their first times. He generally wasn’t up for it — the tenderness and the passion, the waiting — it all scared him very much, but there was nothing [y/n] could ask him with her hearty eyes that he wouldn’t say yes.

But how could he say yes now? How could he make love with the woman of his heart and then walk away to see her marrying someone else?

Anthony reached for her chin and leaned it up, so he could stare her dead in the eyes. She tried ducking once again, but he didn’t allow it.

“[y/n], have you ever even kissed a man before?”

She denied it with her head. “I haven’t met Lord Blanc in person yet, and I’ve always thought that being him the one I’m going to marry, it would be unfair to any other man.”

Anthony nodded.

He then held her chin tightly, firmly, and with his other hand, he grasped her waist, bringing her closer. It was simply natural to do what he did next.

His lips encountered hers, gently, almost like a singular touch of a gloved hand, just allowing Lady [y/n] the space she needed in case she wanted to press her hands to his chest and push him away. She ended up putting her hands there, but not to move him away — she just wanted to be firm, press herself against Anthony and not force him away. He was much taller than she was, which gave her a certain instability in such feminine heels.

[y/n] never expected a first kiss to be so welcoming.

Anthony took advantage of the girl’s leaning towards him and took her by the neck, bringing her closer and closer and making her belong to him with a soft opening of his mouth and an exploration with his tongue. He entered her calmly, allowing her to savour the new sensation, and then he devoured her, tongue and lips, and tightened his grip on her arms, clutching her waist. He was marking her as his, for he knew, or at least assumed, that she would walk away altogether after that.

Neither of them had noticed time passing, minutes felt like seconds, and without [y/n] observation, she was leaned against the bookshelf Viscountess Bridgerton kept full of new books.

That was enough to light her up.

“Huh, Anthony…” she whispered, not noticing her voice would be different after minutes of kissing. “Should we be doing it here? In your mother’s home?”

Her words confused Anthony, and he was not up to letting go of kissing her neck. “Doing what?”

“Deflowering me,” she said, nonchalantly.

Anthony immediately stopped. His hands were still on her skirt, keeping one of her knees up and open for his touches, while his head, bent into the crook of her neck, found a way to face her. The word choice scared the hell out of him.

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong? Should I not have asked?” she did not keep her questions to herself. “Were you in complete control while kissing me?”

He gulped.

“That was more than just kissing.” And he had, in fact, lost control back there, but he was not about to admit it.

“What would you have called it?”

“We canoodled with each other,” he said. “And I recall some social parcels of London calling it ‘make out’ but it seems unfit.”

“Why?” she asked, lowering her knee and adjusting her skirt.

“Because I didn’t make you. I destroyed you.”

She was positive he was right. What she didn’t know was that she had destroyed him too.

He ran his fingers through his hair, waiting for her to disappear, regretful and resentful towards him, but she did none of the sorts.

“Do you have a mirror here?”

“What?”

“A mirror. A looking glass. Do you have it?”

Anthony held in the urge to smile. “No, I suppose not here.”

She pressed her lips together as if thinking what she could do. To save herself? Anthony thought, but did not ask. He so desperately wanted to ravish her right there and then. Maybe even deflower her, as she put it, but then he would need a safer space than his office in his mother’s residence.

“Well, then you’ll have to be my looking glass. Step closer,” she demanded while combing her hair with her fingers, trying to pin the left out parts.

“How’s that going to work?”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Anthony gulped, getting suddenly nervous.

“With my appearance,” she added, noticing his jitteriness.

“You have, hm… you have something on the corner of your mouth,” he said, nervously.

“Where?” she tried to clean it, presuming it was her makeup blurred, but Anthony’s expression appeared to be that she wasn’t cleaning it at all.

He decided to clean it himself upon her request.

Terrible idea.

“Hm, [y/n],” he uttered.

“Yes, Anthony.”

“Why me? Why ask me to…?” he wasn’t able to say the words. “Are you sure of this?” he asked lastly, thinking that maybe he wouldn’t want to hear her saying she didn’t prefer him much more than he was her only option. Or it could’ve been Benedict, but Anthony was very glad she picked him.

She seemed to think before answering. “I picked you because it was only natural. And I am certain of this because I cannot face my husband unaware of what he’ll do to me.”

Anthony shook his head, still helping her adjust her visual aspect.

“Besides, I heard the French dislike oblivious and non-sexual girls.”

That was enough for Anthony.

“Then why, honestly, why are you marrying him?” Marry me! he wanted to add.

She shrugged. “Because he’s there. He wants me. Father sends him paintings of me all the time, and he still wants to marry me after seeing how I am. I know paintings are not the same, but well, people here in London are seeing me for who I am, and they are still not picking me.”

“Perhaps because they know you are engaged?” suggested Anthony, because that was his very reason.

“That’s not it. If they wanted to be with me, they would’ve come forward. An arranged betrothal with a French lord wouldn’t have stopped someone who truly desired me.”

“And would you have said yes?”

She did not answer that. She did not know.

If any other lord had come forward and asked her to be his wife, would she have gone against her father’s wishes and done it? Would she have done it if Colin for example asked for her hand in marriage?

No.

Regardless, if Anthony had proposed…

Anthony disliked the silence that echoed after his question, so he decided upon a lighter tone when he spoke again. “I will teach you if that’s what you truly desire. I’ll bed you, and I’ll be patient, and I’ll show you what a man like, but also teach you what you can like.”

She looked at his eyes, expectantly.

“But only if you ask me, only if you assure me that it is what you want,” he said. “Please only ask for it, however, if you truly want it and won’t regret it.”

“I won’t regret it.”

Anthony and [y/n] exchanged a look. They knew they were doomed, even though they didn’t want to admit it.

“Tonight then. When everyone’s at the ball, say you don’t wish to go because your wedding is coming, and you want to rest. I’ll send a carriage for you as soon as your mother and father have left your house.”

[y/n] gulped, suddenly anxious for more of those kisses, for more canoodling, as he had put it.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said. “Thank you, Anthony.”

He closed his eyes tightly, mashing them as if he wished he hadn't heard her.

“Don't thank me.”

Anthony Bridgerton was waiting for the most surprising guest of his life.

It wasn’t every day he would receive a lady friend in his small but only his house, but this one was a very special lady.

Actually, that night, she was no lady at all.

Lady [y/n] had picked the most sensual of her dresses, the one she only had worn once before. That was because when she did, Anthony almost passed out seeing her in a crowded ball and wearing that red tight thing that put all her natural beauties in place and upfront for any man to stare at. In fact, he had made sure she would only dance with him and her father that night because he decided no one else was allowed that privilege.

She decided it was only fit to wear it once again, for this time it was her ultimate goal to provoke Anthony.

Hah! She had always pondered over it, but never allowed herself to think too much because Anthony was not the man in her future. He still wasn’t, but it felt natural to close her eyes towards her future just for one night and enjoy having Anthony, being Anthony’s.

He was waiting for her in his empty house (he had dismissed the servants), holding a glass of wine in each hand. When she arrived, he offered her one, knowing it would help her nervousness. It was supposed to be helping him too, but as a man used to alcohol, he would need something much stronger.

“How are we going to do this?” she asked, feeling unquiet. The dress was affecting Anthony, she noticed it, but that simply wasn’t enough for her enquiring mind, who wanted to know every step of the way.

“Slowly,” he answered, drinking more wine. “Think of me as your husband after the wedding. How would you let the scene play?”

Oh, he liked to see her imagining him as her husband. After all, it was part of his little plan. He wanted to bed her, to love her for the whole night as long as she could, so she would be addicted and too scared to risk loving another man that can never be the same as Anthony.

“Well, not slowly,” she said. “I’m not a very patient girl.”

Anthony let his brows go up.

“So show me. I’m here to learn, too.”

Drinking in a quick sip of all the left wine in her glass, [y/n] got up and walked towards Anthony, only to sit down over his lap. That was the boost of courage Anthony needed, the confirmation that she was there as much as he was.

“Kiss me.”

And he obeyed.

They didn’t start out calmly, as the first kiss had been. [y/n] didn’t allow Anthony to be slow or tender. She didn’t want affection. She would soon be a wife, she hoped the affection would come with time, from her true husband. At that moment, she was a lover, a concubine, slipping away in the dead of night to find her great, seductive love.

And how big and seductive it was!

She could feel all his power through her dress and his clothing because the position made it all so easy. It was almost like the perfect fit. Anthony bit his lip, knowing he could very well hurt her if he did the wrong thing.

As they kissed, Anthony allowed her hands to explore him, get to know him, and she was grateful for the opportunity. He seized the instant and concentrated on undoing the beautiful hairstyle she wore, pulling out the bobby pins carefully so as not to hurt her and positioning them beside their abandoned wine glasses. Anthony enjoyed being able to see her hair completely down and was delighted to see that it was still the same beauty as when they were children.

Anthony wished he had the gift of painting that his brother Benedict had, so he could paint her in the dim candlelight of his living room, with her hair down and her dress falling apart on his lap. The skirt lifted, allowing for more friction, and her full breasts were desperate to pop out. God, he would burn that dress that night, for he would never consent her to wear it in the presence of the damn French lord.

Why didn’t she claim to be his, and they put an end to this farce? It was evident from the way she writhed in pleasure as he played with the skin of her leg that she was his. She was Anthony’s and would never be anyone else’s. Both came from good-class families, and Anthony was a viscount! A much better position than the Baron, and he was in London, where [y/n] would remain with her family. So why didn’t she confess everything?

He would make her concede.

Grabbing her hips, he rose with her clutched to his chest, and carried her upstairs to his room. He would need a bed to convince her.

He sprawled her out on his bed, happy with the image he saw. If he allowed himself to daydream, she could be there because she was his wife, ring and all.

“Anthony, tell me what to do.”

The words were intoxicating.

“Let your breasts come out. Let me see them. Play with them,” please, he wanted to add, but chose not to say. She was the one who should be begging tonight, not him.

She did as she was asked, carefully lowering the neckline of her dress and showing her breasts. Anthony let his head fall to the side in pleasure as a wave of heat washed over him. He well remembered the day he’d realized that Lady [y/n] had grown breasts. He was pretty sure the day got written down somewhere in his teenage writings. And now, seeing them in their full beauty, with no clothes to separate them, drove him insane.

Leaping over her on the bed, he lay his hand over hers on her right breast and stared at her left for just half a second before biting into her pert nipple.

She felt a surge of pleasure and squirmed, kicking off her shoes with only the rubbing of the edge of the wooden bed. Anthony was golden when he heard the clatter of shoes falling to the floor.

“Are you enjoying it?”

She didn’t answer, just squirmed once more.

“I need you to say it, love.”

“I am enjoying it,” she never admitted how much ‘love’ had affected her, even more than the tender touch of his on her breasts.

“Good, I’m enjoying it too,” he said, moving from one breast to the other. “I love how full they are.”

She moaned something he was unable to understand.

“Use your words, love.”

She bit her bottom lip, meeting his gaze. “I like that my bosoms please you.”

He smirked and pulled her by the arms so that she sat on the bed. She sat up, confused, and he got to his feet. “I want you not to be tense. I’m going to take my clothes off.”

“Want me to take mine off too?” she asked, tilting her head.

“No, I’ll do it,” he said, holding his pants by the waist belt. He hadn’t worn a suit since [y/n]’s arrival, but he still had his vest over his shirt. “I want you to watch me.”

And watched him, she did, completely fascinated by the view.

She was stunned to discover muscle under all the tailored clothing Anthony was always wearing, but that wasn’t all that left her with her mouth hanging open. When his underclothing fell to the floor, Anthony allowed her to see his long, hard cock. [y/n] looked down, imagining and remembering what she had under her skirt.

Her mother had informed her that his and hers would be different, but she never imagined that his would be so…big. That would never fit.

“What is it, love?” he asked, kneeling in front of her, positioning his chin in her lap. His eyes showed concern, and he was right to feel that way, thought [y/n], after all, he should have known he had an anomaly between his legs.

“It’s big,” she whispered.

He smiled with pleasure, holding back a laugh. “Yes, it is.”

“It’s very big.”

He had to lower his face into her skirt, so she wouldn't see him laughing. Of course, her reaction was to be expected, being a virgin, but, God, what wouldn’t he give her, so she could repeat that in front of his brothers. Or rather, all of London.

“You can take it,” he said when his laughter vanished. He rose again and asked for her hand. “Get up, let me undress you.”

She did as asked, and he went to see her buttons on the back, one by one. She felt his fingers play with her soft skin, and she felt exposed but in a good way. [y/n] had presumed she would feel ashamed, but she felt alive and hot.

“Are all men like that? Is Lord Blanc going to be as big as yours?”

Anthony snorted, and he stopped being careful and just tore the dress away.

“No, Blanc’s cock is not half as big as mine,” he supposed she couldn’t understand, not yet, how that was a bad thing for Lord Blanc.

Before she could comprehend, her dress was on the floor, all torn apart, thanks to the Viscount little jealous fit. Later she’d worry how could she leave the house with a rubbish gown, but at that very second, she only felt hot and alive and desirable. The dress had worked its magic on Anthony.

She was desperate to cover some part of her, knowing her two hands were not enough to cover it all. At least, the candlelight is not as bright as it could be, she thought, holding her belly.

Anthony noticed the sudden blush, and hurried to grasp her hands and let her body completely open to his view. “Don’t be ashamed,” he whispered, closer to her ear, “you are so very beautiful. The most gorgeous miss I have ever seen.”

[y/n] couldn’t help but blush again.

How long had she waited to hear a man, a proper man of London society, to say that to her? To compliment her naked body even though it was evident she was just another wallflower?

And to have Anthony to do so, oh my! The most handsome of the British men — she was more than sure now, that she could stare at him defenseless, with all his glory.

He held her left hand and squeezed it a little.

“Are you still sure of this?” he hated himself for asking, for if she answered no, he would die right there and then. His member was in so much bloody pain, throbbing non-stop with desire.

She nodded. “Yes, Anthony. I do, very much, want it.”

Now more than ever, she thought.

She could sense he was smiling in the dim light. “Come,” he whispered, taking her to bed once again, this time slowly, as if scared she could break when naked.

She laid, spread, and he, positioned on top, started kissing her, lips and neck, and his hands wandered all over her body. Her breast felt hurtful with his touch, but it was a different kind of pain because it emanated to the centre of her very core, and when Anthony fingers found her entrance, she let out a soft moan.

The Viscount couldn’t help but smirk, and while one hand stayed there, playing around her core, the other went to her face, as he played with her hair.

“Describe how you’re feeling,” he demanded.

“I can’t,” she said between groans, “I don’t know how.”

“Just tell me, love,” he kept demanding, “when I do this,” he said as he let his tip of the finger play with the mouth of her arousal, “what do you feel?”

She bit her lip. “Anticipation.”

“How so?”

“It feels good, but it also feels like there is more.”

Anthony smirk widened. “Do you want more?”

“Yes, milord,” she nodded, feeling a little pleasure when he started using two fingers to wander around. “Sorry, I meant Anthony.”

He stopped his fingers. “Keep the milord. I like it,” he said, coolly.

It was her chance to smile. She reached for his hand at her entrance and pulled it forward, with more of a firm grip.

“I like it when you call me love, as well,” she let out, feeling a sudden wave of blush.

With the help of her hand, Anthony allowed himself to get in more deeply, to really feel her, and when he played with her clit, he felt like he could die in peace.

“You are so wet for me, my love,” he whispered, desperately to taste her. He knew it could be weird for a first time, though, so he only kept playing with her clitoris, wondering about her taste as she moaned loudly.

Thank God they were alone.

“I feel… I feel like…”

“Like bursting?” Anthony suggested, looking forward to facing her as he knew she was about to come.

He teased and slither, and she just kept trembling and moaning, until a sudden wave of absolute pleasure took over her, and [y/n] like she was at Paradise, the rise of relaxation stronger than she ever felt.

“Anthony, that was…”

“I know,” he said, before pulling his fingers and finally allowing himself some taste of her, even though it was not how he planned. He wanted to really taste her, core and everything, but the wetness on his finger would have to be enough.

He let her breath hard for a whole minute, while he just kept teasing and kissing her belly, shoulders and sucking her finger — he found it a very nice thing to do.

“Is it now you are going to… penetrate me?”

My God, gasped Anthony Bridgerton, shocked Lady [y/n] had said those words. “I guess you did learn to use your words,” he whispered, playfully.

She blushed. “Well, the finger thing felt very, very good, but I’m quite sure it isn’t the thing that gets me pregnant.”

Anthony rose from her belly to kiss her lips. “You do know quite a lot, huh.”

“I did my reser…” but [y/n] never finished her sentence, for she remembered the consequences of making love. “Am I going to be pregnant with your baby?”

Oh, Anthony liked that idea. He kissed her again, again.

“Probably not,” he replied after a while.

“That is not very sure.”

“Nothing ever is,” he said, smirking.

She nudged his arm. “Anthony!”

“You came to me, love, what do you want me to do?”

“Not get me pregnant,” she replied.

“I can’t make promises,” he said, letting his smirk fade away, “but I’ll try my best.”

She breathed out, relieved.

“But, anyway, you are getting married tomorrow so… no one would figure it out,” he added, only to mess with her.

“I don’t know how Lord Blanc is. What if he’s your opposite? How am I expected to explain?”

“By marrying me,” he answered before he could hold his tongue. Lady [y/n] froze at his touch. “Don’t worry,” he quickly added, “you are not going to be pregnant on your first try.”

Noticing her brows were down again, Anthony took the opportunity to kiss her body once again, and she came alive at full speed. He touched her core.

“You are ready,” he said, and with the help of his elbows, he got a little up on her, only to adjust himself over her entrance.

She bit her lip, expecting, waiting. She needed that. Not only that, but she was desperate to know how it would feel to have all of him inside her. And he wasn’t strong enough to wait any longer.

Holding his tip with one hand and massaging her entrance with another, he said: “This might hurt a bit. But I’ll give you time to get used to it.”

Anthony allowed his member to slither in her core, and waited so she could feel more comfortable.

She held her breath when she felt the tip of him enter, but managed to settle down when she breathed again. Anthony let some more of him into her, and she sighed.

“Does it hurt?”

“I just need… I want a moment,” she said.

“Wait,” then he thrust deeper into her, startling her. She widened her eyes and grabbed him in his forearms, feeling a slight discomfort, like the pressure of something breaking. “You better get used to it now that I’m all inside you.”

And inside her, he was, because she could feel him through her pussy, something hard, nudging her. He held on tight, waiting for her to adjust. Meanwhile, Anthony avoided looking her in the eye, as it would be too much for him, and he imagined if he could get her pregnant.

He had never dreamed of having as many children as his parents had, but there, with his cock at the centre of her, he decided it wouldn’t be all bad to have eight children. Perhaps ten.

“Can you move?” she asked, in a whisper.

It caught Anthony by surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“Can you move… it? I feel like it would be better if you moved,” she said, blushing for having to explain her wishes.

“Of course I can move, love,” he smiled, and started the movement.

He delicately and caressing moved his member inside her, but she quickly grasped his back, bringing him closer and whispered “faster”. That was his favourite word in the whole world, for all he wanted to do was to thrust and throb with velocity as his member required.

Feasting, his hip movements allowed Lady [y/n] some absolute pleasure, way better than the fingers and the waiting. She moved with him, trying to bring him closer every time he pulled away.

[y/n] was euphoric and Anthony was flaming, both so caught up in the moment they didn’t even notice when they got very close to coming. He kept charging and she grasped him tighter.

“I’m feeling it again,” she whispered between a moan.

Taking advantage of her state, Anthony kept thrusting, but he added his finger at the tip of her clit, just to make things easier for her. “Then come, my love” he demanded, for he was not able to hold himself much longer.

“Oh, my…” she whispered before moaning, feeling the last string that fixed her on reality getting cut.

Anthony exploded not much after, remembering to pull out. He did not want to, he so very deeply wanted to plant his seed on her, to mark her as his by a definitive mean, but he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her. If she wanted to be with him, she should do it because it’s her heart’s desire, not because of her uterus.

He laid right next to her, and she didn’t hesitate before coming closer and nestling on his bare chest. They were both out of breath and wet; Anthony could feel a drop of sweat running down his forehead, and [y/n] could feel the molasses on her legs and belly. But they weren’t disgusted — quite the opposite. Anthony felt that if he held her any longer, he would regain the energy to do it all over again soon.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, applying pressure to the lady’s forearm.

“Different,” she said, surprising him with her choice of word. “I think I must have even changed my appearance. How am I?” she asked, turning to face him.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Magnificent,” he continued. “You are marvelous.”

She felt herself blush and buried her face in the Viscount’s chest.

“You can’t tell me these things,” she sighed. “You're going to spoil me.”

“So be it,” he replied, kissing her on the top of her head.

“Oh, Anthony,” she breathed, more regretfully this time, permitting herself to look at him. His eyes gleamed in the night, and she imagined hers did the same. “This was a mistake.”

Anthony froze beneath her. He was hearing the words he never wanted to hear, but she kept saying it, and he heard it all, for he wanted the explanation to be more than just denying his feelings.

“I believe… I don’t want to marry any French lord,” she proceeded. “I want… No, I can’t. But I don’t want Jean, that’s for sure, and now… I’m doomed. What a bad idea of mine to sleep with my best friend!”

Anthony felt the smile appearing on his face before he actually felt the pure happiness that came with her sentence. Did she realize she was making all his wishes come true?

“Then don’t marry him,” he whispered, kissing her cheek then her temple.

She stared at him, widening her eyes.

“Marry me, [y/n],” he whispered, closer to her ear. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave this room.”

She couldn’t help the tears coming down.

“I love you, Anthony,” she whispered back. Those were his favourite words, he gasped, correcting his early thought. “But my father…”

“He can’t do anything if we get to marry before he finds out.”

“Anthony! You are a Viscount! You need to get married properly!”

Anthony sat on the bed, bringing her up with him, and squeezed her.

“[y/n], I love you with my very heart and soul. If you say you love me too and wish to have me forever, there is no one, God or mortal, that is going to stop me from making you mine,” he said, nonchalantly, so confident in himself. “I have always desired you, but never as strongly as now, and if you tell me it’s Jean Blanc you wish to marry, I’ll step away. You’ll never see me again.”

“I don’t…”

“But if you say it’s me you want,” he kept going, ignoring her attempt of interruption, “then I am yours, [y/n]. And you are mine, and I’ll make you a Bridgerton by law, as I’m pretty sure you already are one by heart.”

She smiled, genuinely smiled, feeling she was the most beautiful of the human beings and the most enviable, for sure.

“I want you, Anthony Bridgerton, and I want you to make me Mrs. Anthony Bridgerton, for I’m sure to be the happiest of the ladies next to you,” she said, making him kiss her desperately.

They laid in bed again, caught up in kisses and canoodles.

“Now, what do we do?”

“Leave that to me,” said Anthony, before kissing her again.

Anthony’s plan worked.

Well, of course, it did. He had an infallible tactic, and the whole of London was cheering for him and [y/n] to eventually get married.

The morning after they had sex for the very first time — and second and third, for Anthony Bridgerton was exquisite to know he was going to marry his best friend — he went straight to his mother’s house. He left [y/n] at his.

“Mother, I might have impregnated Lady [y/n] [y/l/n].”

That was a very powerful and enough sentence on its own. Lady Bridgerton almost fainted, but recomposed herself, sparkling with joy, for she had planned to see those two together their entire lives.

She excused herself and went to [y/n]’s family home. It was Violet who arranged everything, in a lighter tone than Anthony ever could, even though he was right next to her when she spoke. [y/n]’s mother started jumping and clapping around, filled with happiness. [y/n]’s father was not even a bit happy, but after a long conversation, he realized there was nothing he could do but to give Anthony’s [y/n]’s hand in marriage.

And so, the French lord got excused to go back to his country before he even arrived in London, and the party planned to happen in the afternoon went on. But this time, it was Anthony the man at the altar.

[y/n] was so happy she couldn’t believe it, and she liked to have seen Anthony taking charge of making them official. When it was announced they were husband and wife, [y/n] jumped over Anthony to kiss him as a lady should never in the presence of her family and in a church, but she did not care, for she had just married her best friend and the love of her life.

“I love you, Anthony.”

“I love you too,” he replied as they sat together at the wedding reception.

“What happens now?” she asked, curious and anxious as she has ever been.

“I shall take care of you, as I always have, but this time I can burn all of your dresses that I don’t approve of, and I shall buy you new ones that will cover you whole, for I’m the only one that can see your wonders now,” he said, making her laugh.

“And I shall keep all of those uneducated ladies away from my Lord, forever,” she said, and he kissed her cheek, unable to hold in his touches.

“You hold that in for very long, huh?”

“Very long indeed,” she said, smirking, for she was not thinking about herself but about him.

“Do you remember what you asked me yesterday afternoon?”

It sure felt like an eternity ago, but she remembered.

“I want you to ask it again.”

She smiled.

“Anthony?” He looked at her eyes. “Kiss me.”

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[feynites]

have you ever heard of the elysian fields (or Elysium)? it's a kind of Greek heaven where you could 'live' how you pleased and do what you wanted. I believe you could also make it look how you wanted to and create your own paradise. (i hope i'm not being too bold here but) would you write a story based around a girl who found paradise in a forest? I'm not much of a writer but it's an idea i can't get rid of. sorry to bother you, don't worry if it doesn't interest you i just thought i'd ask ^-^ x

Now, here is the trick to mortal man’s mind:

It cannot abide a paradise.

A god is a long and lonely thing. Like mountains, their kindhave been there since long before ours; and like mountains, before us, they hadno names. Mortals are but whispers to their ears. Breezes and fleetingdaydreams, our passions and pains, insults and even worship are beneath theirnotice, contrary to what we ourselves might claim. The mountain does not carethat it has a name.

But it should.

Because the mortal mind cannot abide a paradise. A paradiseis endless beauty. It is the power and untouchability of the gods. Safety,plentitude, and eternity.

Ask your ancestors, who lived but the blink of a god’s eyeago, what paradise was shaped like. They might tell you, honeyed fruit andcomfortable shade, sweet ocean winds, and soft places to rest their heads.Bodies that do not tire, or grow ill, and endless summer days in which tofrolic and play and delight in one another’s company.

How soon the mortal mind grows bored with its success. Howeasily the first paradises began to fail. The minds of mortals are written upontheir souls. Sweet fruit. Cool shade. Long days.

Days upon days upon days, until the taste of the fruit wasunwelcome, and the complacency of the shade grew dull, and the endlessdiversions of athleticism and play no longer seemed endless. Give it enoughtime and all sweetness will sour, without change enough to renew it. The longertime draws on, the more change is needed. The harder it is to go back, torepeat, to remain.

Ask your grandparents what paradise looks like, and theymight tell you it is a garden. Or a golf course. Or a spa. It is eternity withloved ones, or even with countless diversions. But none of it would hold.

Paradise, in the mortal mind, in a mortal soul, can onlylive in a moment. That is why the mountain should care that it is has a name.Why the gods intimidate and appease and avoid, by turns, the children of thisgreen glass globe.

However old and unconcerned the mountain is – what mortalsname, they can destroy.

Gods are made for paradise. For eternity. Unchanging,delighting, and content in all they are. But mortal souls persist with mortalminds. And the gods are growing fearful, these days. For Elysium is empty, andthe heavens are being abandoned, and the torments of eternal punishment can,too, lose all meaning as they become simply dull and mundane. What mortalssouls in time can become, the gods themselves do not know.

But what we in life do to mountains, in death, we may well doto the gods.

 ~

 You wake in a forest.

You don’t live in a forest. Didn’t live in a forest, anyway. Or near to one. You lived in acity. Glass and concrete, with plantlife confined in neat little rows, andlimited to gardens and small parks and the fancy hedges out in front ofwealthier homes. When you were younger, you had indulgent grandparents whowould take you to the city’s biggest park. You loved nothing more than goingthere. Losing yourself among the old trees, and their massive roots, andlistening to the peacocks cry, and the ocean strike the sea wall near the parkroads. Pointing out plants and birds and squirrels to your grandparents.Imagining what might live in the hollow of massive, old trees, and watchingsunlight fall through the canopy, and feeling small and young and surrounded bymany old and mysterious things.

But that was long ago. A memory of a moment of paradise,that somehow grew sweeter in your mind as the years passed, and yourgrandparents passed, and your world seemed to veer away from all the thingsthat delighted you. Into cold buildings and grey streets, schools you hated andpeople you hated even more. Bitterness came dressed in glass and stainlesssteel, and the shine of headlights, and erratic flicker of streetlamps.

There is none of that, when you wake.

Just forest.

Beautiful forest, deep and thick and far as the eye can see.You feel light. You move easily, and without the barest notion of pain. But youcan still feel things. The sunlight’s warmth on your skin, and the breezeblowing through your hair, and the soft mulch beneath your feet. The scent oflife is all around you. The sound of familiar and unfamiliar animals calling,and branches rustling, and some babbling brook passing unseen in the distance.There are trees around you as vast as skyscrapers; and others as small anddainty as flowers. Mushrooms, too, seem to come in all shapes and colours andsizes. There are flowers the unfurl as you walk past, and vines that hanginvitingly from branches that look more than sturdy enough to climb.

Paradise.

For a long time, you simply wander through it all. You knowthat you are dead. You would have that might distress you, once upon a time,and in a way you think that it does. But there is no immediacy to that distress. It exists like the knowledge at theback of your mind. That you are dead, and this is paradise, and there is nogoing back except by way of memory. You wander, and for a while you find onlyplants, and hear animals but do not see them. But then you find a nest ofbright-feathered birds, and watch them, too, as you settle into the hollowbetween a great tree’s roots, and watch the breeze blow leaves and feathersalike into soft whirls and currents.

You are very calm. Trauma has not followed you here. Youthink about your life, and hopes and dreams, and the people you left behind.You wonder if you can find your grandparents, and when you do, you know thatyou can. That they are out there, somewhere, in their own paradise; and it iseasy enough for them to find you, or for you to find them. Or anyone else youcare to, so long as you both wish for it. There are people who might try tofind you, dead souls who would look, but who you would not to see. And so theywill never find your paradise.

It would not really be paradise, if they could.

Instead they will find an image of you. An illusion of you,that they will never know is not real. The same is true of any of those whowould rather be without you, and the first moment of unease since your deathcomes to you, then. Because what if someone you love only ever sees you againas an illusion? What if you never have the chance to make amends? You left somethings unfinished. Many things, in fact. People you care about might hate you.People might never forgive you, and how would you even know?

You let it go, at length. It is hard not to, in this calmand beautiful place, which encourages a certain degree of contemplation. Evennow that you have met eternity, of a sort, you do not really still believe init. There is something in you that repels the notion. This may be the waythings are now, but ‘forever’ isstill too long for you to believe in. Things will change. Doors will open. Yoursituation will not last for always, and you can enjoy it, for now.

So, you do.

You wander your forest. And you find your grandparents, andothers, too. Old friends, and lost family, and companions. The cat you lovedlike nothing else when you were a child jumps down from the branches of one ofyour shady trees, and wanders through sweet-smelling flowers with you, andhelps you fish for motes of light in a nearby stream. The best friend you lostin highschool invites you to wander through the desert caves of her ownparadise, setting up crystals that refract the light into vivid shapes andimagines more beautiful than anything to have ever graced a cinema screen. You donot tire, but sometimes you rest for the pleasure of it. You do not knowthirst, or hunger, but sometimes you feel inclined to eat and drink anyway, totaste food or feel the bubbling trickle of soda pop on your tongue. There isalways enough for you, whatever you find yourself wanting.

And after a while, the forest begins to change. When youfind yourself wishing for caves like those of your friend’s paradise, you findone. And then another. Mossy and overgrown and different-looking – more likewhat you enjoy – but they have everything you might hope they would. Small,golden-furred monkeys help you gather up crystals, when the other souls youknow do not visit to do it, and you make art and play games and deviseever-more ways to delight yourself. You find treasures, and go on adventures,and sometimes you simply float down the waters of your stream, watchingbranches sway and listening to the whispers of knowing the come to you. That sometimes tell you whenever anothersoul you know has passed, or whenever something in your paradise has changed.

It takes you a long, long time. Longer than you think youcould have ever marked when you were alive.

But eventually, you begin to hate it.

You try many things to avoid that. It is not a pleasantfeeling. So you change the forest. You change yourself. You visit others, moreand more, and you conjure new things, as often as you can. You make up stories.Lovers and adventures and dramas that drag you at your own whims. You smashcrystals and burn trees and build towers only to, inevitably, tear them backdown again. You set paradise ablaze, and you know that in the blink of an eye itwill be perfectly fine again. Ready to be burned down again, to the objectionsof no one, unless you conjure up someone specifically to object.

And so, eventually, you simply burn it all to sand and dustand then darkness. You sit in the dark, and you know that this is nothing. Thatyou are nowhere.

A long time passes. Or, possibly, it does not. Time mattersas little as anything else. But after a while, you become aware of a sort oflight. Like a star, but, it has been a long time since you saw things the waythat you did when you were alive. A long time since you looked up at a nightsky, and felt small and young, and surrounded by things that were old andmysterious.

Below the edges of the star, there is a mountain.

You did not make it. The mountain is no one’s paradise. Andthough you search your thoughts, you find, somehow, that you do not know whatit is. Where it comes from, or what seeing it means. You think, and wonder, andwatch the light ripple at the edges of it. Is it even a mountain? No answerscome. You try to blot it out with the darkness, but you are not really seeing it. Nor the star above. They arenot things you are making; they are more… things you have somehow, now, realizedare there.

Where?

Elsewhere.

You pick yourself up, after a time. Pick yourself up, forwhatever is left of ‘you’, after all this. It has been a long time sinceanything really felt new, or strange, or beyond you. You try to move towardsthe mountain, but you find it is always the same distance away. In that elsewhere that is not paradise, that isnot a place you can reach. But you know you are not the only one moving towardsit. You can feel them. Others you’ve known, others you’ve loved, who have beensitting in their own darkness. Who had lost meaning for you, along witheverything else. But as you press forwards, insistent, searching, you rememberthat they are real.

That you are real.

The moment of paradise is done. However long it takes, now,you will move on. You will find the mountain. What then, you do not know. Butyou do not think it is anything you can understand as you are now.

And that is the most amazing relief you have ever felt.

#filled prompt #original writing #Anonymous

[allycat75]

Boy, Boston Dumb Fuck!

Just saw those new clips from Pain Hustlers and let me tell you:

So glad you don't want to act anymore, but I went to a street fair this weekend and the pottery market looks to be pretty packed. Better get to practicing if you want to pay for future WDW trips with the family, because that comp'd VIP stuff ain't gonna last much longer.

That is, unless, the rumors are true and you are going to come back to Marvel (if they'll even have your fatshaming, racist, antisemetic loving ass back; it is Disney, so I'd give it 50-50). Just hope Mackie understands when you stab him in the back (but I guess that tracks with your new racist brand).

Are you going to lean into that White Privlege of yours or are you going to do the right thing? Come on, man!!!

#Who the fuck are you? #It doesn't have to be this way #I'd rather give you flowers than drag you through the garden #brian wilson vibes #i don't like hypocrites #Do better #Like God spilled a person

[allycat75]

How was your day, Boston Dumb Fuck?

Just saw you on Extra Entertainment Access, you know the one that can't stop talking about that reality star who did that thing. It was about you and the little wifey and boy did you look ridiculous in those v-day dump pictures they showed. Just thought I would remind you because it will only get worse. You are aging at light speed, but I guess lying, too much weed and a leaking soul will do that.

Glad you are keeping busy while the world burns down! Too bad you are too much of a hypocrite to discuss anything of substance on ASP. The wifey is probably happy, if she isn't too dull to understand what's going on.

Well, sleep tight (with Dodger)!

#Why are you doing this? #I'd rather give you flowers than drag you through the garden #Blink twice if you need help

[allycat75]

Happy almost 43rd birthday, Boston Dumb Fuck!

As the date approaches, here's to you hopefully growing up and getting your shit together, although I am already getting a sense your privlege and enablers will save you yet again and there will be little to no consequences for you and your team's behavior and actions once the "divorce" is announced. Must be nice being a rich, white, male living in the US right now (really, always).

But regardless, I have privided some suggested wishes below, in case you want to buck the system and become a decent human being:

Your soul (obviously!)

The courage to tell and live your whole truth to earn back your soul

A backbone and some balls

Your real smile back

Integrity and moral character for a full and authentic life

A conscience that will override your privlege

Authenticity in yourself and those you choose to surround yourself with

Live in gratitude for every blessing because it can be snatched away at any moment

Be intentional and not careless or ungrateful

Make at least one good decision, because from what I can tell, you have only made awful ones for at least the last two years

Self acceptance

Self love

Self esteem

Self care- healthy eating and exercise habits so you don't look halfway in the grave again (I don't think you know how scary you look to many of us)

Understand the difference between ego and confidence (tempered with humility- you loved saying you didn't live in LA, but you did the most phony Hollywood things you could do; and let's not forget your threats to retire- one day they could call your arrogant bluff)

To turn back into a real life boy, Reverse Pinocchio (because you used to be a functioning human male who was turned into a pathetic programmable puppet)- you have to start telling the truth, though. Do you remember how to do that anymore?

Lots and lots of (real) therapy (for you and your family); no more goddamn shushing- that was one of the authors of your demise

Some strong boundaries

A realistic vision of what love is

Accept that you have plenty of money (unless you really made that many dumb decisions?), but there is only one you and nothing is worth sacrificing that for (especially the cesspool that is Hollywood)

Refuse any future GQ interviews (all other Conde Nast publications are suspect)

For ASP to collapse- it really can do much more harm than good as there really is no voice of reason on one side and a waste of time for the other. Plus, there is little transparency regarding the credentials of those working for it- just that they are young and pretty (not a good look for you considering many in the general public think you are creepy because the wifey looks like a teenager)

A birthday shout out from Octavia would be nice (maybe you can be less of a little shit and return the favor next year- it is May 25th)

A new team- agency, PR, stylist... all of it because I don't think they like you based on the scripts they have provided, the stunts they have made you do, and the fact they dressed you in the colors of the Nazi flag for your red carpet debut with the antisemetic wifey; the old team betrayed you, at the very least let you twist in the wind while you suffered

Better discernment in others' character and intention

Figure a plan to make amends to those you have offended and to earn back their trust. You hurt a lot of people with your selfishness (yes, I don't know why you entered into this nightmare, but ultimately it is your name on the dotted line and everything your team did was on your behalf)

Opportunities to continue to check your privlege- rich, white, male,... you do yourself no favors for being let off the hook

Acting lessons- you need to shake off some cob webs and hopefully that therapy will unblock you, too; Show, not tell, including swearing off Botox because Defending Jacob demonstrated how much you can convey simply using your face

Kick the pot habit (and anything else you may have been numbing yourself with); you don't tolerate it well. And while you are at it, quit smoking cigarettes you think no one knows about.  If you aren't worried about cancer, heart disease or emphysema, at least think about the damage to your precious teeth, beyond what the veneers have done

Never be forced to wear any ring ever again, even if you eventually guilt some poor woman into actually marrying you one day

White sage so you can cleanse your spaces of that Nazi Succubus and all that came with it- it will continue to poison you if you don't take active steps to fight back (it hasn't done you any favors being the "nice" guy and you don't owe any of these parasites anything; shine a light on the dark where corruption hides)

Just remember, you have too much going for you, in the physical and spiritual realm, to waste it. Take this chicken shit and make some chicken salad. You owe it to yourself and to everyone who never got the chance to try.

Decide what to be and go be it.

#I'd much rather give you your flowers than drag you through the garden #Is this who you want to be? #Was it worth it? #you are the company you keep #get some serious help #Don't burn it all down again just to keep others warm #Year one of your new life #you are no feminist #You are not anti-racist #You are not righteous #check your privilege #Don't want to compare you to Matthew Perry anymore

[allycat75]

Not all is lost, Boston Dumb Fuck!

Just a reminder that after all your mistakes and carelessness, you can still eek out a good performance.

This is why a lot of us are still here, hanging on by a thread, but here. But if you don't love and care for yourself, all of this positivity will not fill you up, but drain out like a sieve. You have much to repair, but you can make it stronger and more beautiful, beyond your expectations.

The is a reason I often tag these posts with "I'd much rather give you flowers than drag you through the garden."

#I'd much rather give you flowers than drag you through the garden #is this the life you want? #You are the company you keep #do better