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sunnie-angel · 25 days ago

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The War Years

conrad oxford x reader summary: war has broken out and though love might be the last thing on your mind, it still finds its way in through the cracks. a complete (mostly) canon compliant rewrite of the king's man (no knowledge of the movie is necessary to read) tags: period misogyny, grief, minor injury, off screen death, unresolved sexual tension rating: mature | wc: 9.9k a/n: did i say this was meant to be three parts? because it's definitely not going to be lol, otherwise these chapters would be spiraling into something truly unreadable. come scream at me in the comments? @batchilla has once again been a lifesaver of a beta on this and all mistakes are mine. part 1| series masterlist | ao3

The war doesn't change anything at first. Well, it sends the social season to an abrupt and early end, but most people are so caught up in the uncertainty of what comes next that there aren't very many complaints. Certainly you aren't complaining about the end to the mounting pressure behind every look in your direction as time marches on without some kind of indication of your future plans.

It's a cold comfort though. Your mother slathers jam onto her toast, pointedly ignoring your father's snide comments on her figure, as she informs you of the slight reprieve to any matrimonial plans.

"Of course darling, it's disappointing to end the season without a match but with the war going on, it really would be unseemly to try and pin down a proposal from the Oxford boy. Really, we should wait until it can be a moment of victory for you."

The red jam gushes out from under her pearly white teeth.

You take to sitting with George after breakfast to read the pilfered papers from your father over his shoulder. It's humbling, again, how much you don't know. These people that you could pick out by face and relate their whole family tree simply by name and title, you've almost no idea how they fit into the political and governmental fracas playing out on the world's largest stage. Sometimes Conrad will join the two of you as well, no longer under such tight watch with his father always up in London with the rest of the House of Lords. He adds his own anecdotes, little pieces of information he's ferreted away from dining at his father's table and the friends that often find themselves there. It stings to know that you are still left behind, left out of rooms even when they do their best to include you.

George nearly has a conniption when Conrad refers to Lord Kitchener as 'Kitch'. There's tea spewed all down his front and you've only narrowly managed to twitch your skirts out of the way to avoid the spray.

"What do you mean 'Kitch' came for supper the other day?" George croaks, mopping at his front with a handkerchief you had handed over with a roll of your eyes.

"Well that's what Father always calls him and I've known him most of my life so really, it should be Uncle Kitch but he's always said it makes him feel quite old to be called that."

"You don't think that the current Secretary of State for War being both a close family friend and regularly attending dinner with you might have been important to mention earlier?" you chide him, refilling George's cup as the glassy-eyed expression on his face indicates a strong need for fortification.

"…It hadn't occurred to me?" he says sheepishly.

"Are you sure it's this man?" George says in a mocking tone, holding up the front page of the newspaper featuring a very large drawing of Lord Kitchener calling for military volunteers. "Hadn't it occurred to you that it might just be someone with the same name?"

"Georgie," Conrad says very seriously, "Promise me that you'll never go into the theatre. You'll never survive all the tomatoes thrown at your head for being an awful comedian." He softens as George huffs in protest. "If you really don't believe me, come to luncheon then. Kitch is supposed to be visiting with Father, I'm sure cook can manage one more."

"Only one?" you interrupt, George's effusive thanks with an arched brow, the clink of your cup in your saucer startlingly loud.

"I didn't— Well your parents haven't been letting you out much, I didn't think they'd allow it." Conrad tries to explain away his blunder.

The thing is, he's not wrong. Ever since the announcement, your parents have kept you — but not George — close to home, as if the Germans would storm the isle at any moment. Even if they did, it's not like the walls of an old house would stop them, you'd tried to reason, but no one would hear anymore on the matter. It just that the assumption of it all smarts fiercely. George, so easily able to go wherever he pleased, to join Conrad behind doors that will always close in your face. It would have been nice to have the invitation extended, that's all, even if you would have had to turn it down regardless.

You smile through pursed lips and narrowed eyes. "Ah, but you'll be telling me all about it after, won't you boys?"

They nod and hasten to reassure you that yes, of course they'll tell you everything, but it isn't enough to extinguish that growing distance. You can see it even if they can't, faces forward towards the future while you're helpless to do anything but stare at their backs disappearing into the distance. They don't see it yet but that gap is widening. You can't close your eyes anymore.

"Did you know?" Conrad nearly growls out, startling you from the book you'd been absorbed in. Its the closest to truly furious with you that you've ever seen. Primly you place your bookmark in between the correct pages and put it down in your lap.

"Did I know what?"

"Did you know that George was planning to corner Kitch so he could volunteer?" He advances on and involuntarily you press back into the chair's high back.

"George doesn't have any interest in killing," you say dismissively. The sitting room door silently swings open. "Tell him George, it's all some sort of misunderstanding."

"It's not," is what he says instead.

Conrad whirls around to face him, hands clenching into fists. The book falls out of your lap, the bookmark falling out as it hits the floor. You don't notice.

"Why?" you manage to whisper, voice tissue paper thin.

George's face crumples and he strides forward to kneel in front of your chair, clasping your trembling hands in his own.

"They need more people," he says gently.

"Yes but why does it have to be you?" you insist, fighting back tears.

"It's a choice," he pauses to inhale sharply. "It's a choice that I'm making, for myself. I'll go to the recruiting station two parishes over and once I've passed the medical, Lord Kitchener has personally assured me a spot with the Royal Engineers, and gone to great lengths to secure my commission." He gives you a watery smile. "No killing, see?"

"Mother and Father will never let you," you try and persuade him.

"I'm 19 years old now," George says evenly. "Old enough that the army will take me without anyone else's permission but my own." He pauses to make sure he has your full attention. "I'm going."

Your lips start to wobble and you try to pull away, to cover your face with your hands before either of them can see the tears fall, but George won't let you.

"Don't you see? This is my only chance to have anything resembling a career." He parrots your father's pompous tone. "Gentlemen do not have trades, especially not first sons." Weakly you laugh, but the motion frees the tears from your eyes to run hot down your cheeks. "Besides, everyone says this should all be over soon in a few months, a year at most. Let me go have my wild heroics and when this mess sorts itself out, I'll come back and we'll sort the rest of our futures out."

"Do you swear it? That you'll come home and you won't do anything stupid?" you beg him seriously.

"I'll swear it on anything you like," he tells you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"I think—" you gasp out a shuddering breath, "I think I'd like to be alone now."

Weakly, George smiles up at you again, squeezing your hands one more time before letting them go. He heads for the door, then pauses when Conrad doesn't immediately follow him.

"Oxford…" George prompts him but he doesn't move, instead just stares at you for a moment. Without warning he strides forward, folding his handkerchief into your hands, before beating George out the door.

"Wait!" George calls after Conrad. For a moment, he is very, very tempted to keep right on walking until he's left the house. Just for a moment, before he slows and allows George to catch up to him.

"I'm sorry for the deception," George apologizes once again, catching his breath.

"That's not what—," Conrad cuts himself off as a maid walks down the hall. He opens the nearest door and pulls George in after him. "It's not that that I'm upset about." Conrad takes a deep breath and sighs, unable to look at George. "I'm jealous of you, and I'm angry that you didn't wait for me. I— I understand why you didn't, why you couldn't, but you didn't even tell me. I would have helped you if I knew."

"I couldn't risk it, not until I'd found out if it was possible." George lays a hand on Conrad's shoulder. "I should have trusted you, and I'm sorry that I didn't."

Conrad sucks in a breath. "I forgive you."

"Can I be extraordinarily selfish and trust you with something even more important?" George asks, voice scraped raw with honesty.

"Anything," Conrad reassures him, turning to face George.

"Look after my sister, will you? I know she'd be the last person to say she needs looking after—" the two share a commiserating look"—but I worry for her. It's selfish to leave now, I know, but its my only chance. You were there for her when I was away at school—"

"I don't know that I'd describe it like that," Conrad interrupts, heat creeping up his neck.

"However you'd describe it then, you made sure she wasn't alone. All I am asking is for you to do that again."

"I'm almost offended you thought you needed to ask," Conrad tells him, though there's a hint of a smile behind it. "I would have looked out for her anyway. She's my dearest friend."

"Thank you," says George, shoulders slumping in relief. "You don't know how much that means to me, truly. Shall we go find something stronger to toast to good friends then?"

"Lead on then, but let's avoid your parents. I shouldn't like to be here when they find out your plans for the next few months." George grimaces at the reminder, then pauses with his hand on the doorknob.

"Oh and Conrad, if it matters, you have my blessing," he says rather seriously.

"Blessing for what?" Conrad asks blithely.

"I pray to God one day you figure it out," George sighs, hanging his head in defeat.

Predictably, your parents do not take the news of George's plans well. By any measure. Your simply pick at your food, grateful not to be at the tender mercies of their concern.

Your mother simply sobs wordlessly into her napkin, too hysterical to even form words. Her reaction is not one you judge harshly. Had you not done the same, the moment the boys had left the room?

"Well it's all well and good to want to serve your king and country," your father blusters, fat moustache bristling and spittle flying, " but you're needed here! At home! Working for the betterment of this family!"

You wince at every word, cowering before his fury, but George takes it all rather calmly. He crouches next to your mother to comfort her, and merely sighs when she simply wails and turns away from his touch.

"You'll simply have to tell them you won't be going!" shouts your father.

"It's too late now," George says to the room at large. "I've already signed up—" liar "— would you rather I be shot for desertion before my first day on the Front?"

"I— no— wha…" your father turns a series of increasingly impossible colours in his anger.

"I did you the courtesy of informing you well before I'm sent away to training. Besides, everyone says that it'll all blow over in a few months anyway. I'll probably be back before Easter."

George looks rather splendid in his full dress uniform, collar starched and hat perched just so on his forehead. He looks grown up, a man taking up the space that your brother should occupy, posing for his picture before heading off to war. The flash powder of the photographer's light burns the afterimage of his smiling face into your retinas.

Your own smile is stiff as you pose behind your mother, your father's hands resting one on your shoulder and the other on George's, proprietary. The harsh flash of the light blinds you again momentarily, and you blink away the blindness to Conrad's eager face hovering just behind the photographer.

"Now, how about one of just the young ones, eh?" the grizzled photographer says, poking his head out from the under the camera's cloth covering.

"Oh I don't—" Conrad tries to demure but George isn't having any of it.

"Do stop stalling and come here!" George calls, shaking off Father's grumbling.

"Now, if the gentleman in uniform would sit in the chair, and the young lady and gentleman could stand just—" the surprisingly spry old man gently pushes you closer to Conrad. "—there. Perfect!"

He steps back and signals his countdown. For the rest of your life you can never quite remember what it was that Conrad said, but the results are forever preserved. George, nearly bent double in laughter, and you, face upturned and an adoring look in your eyes as you too begin to laugh.

It's George's last full day before he leaves on the morrow, an early train heading to Southampton and none of you have the heart to bring it to an end. Leaving your parents behind at the photographer's studio, the three of you make your way to the local tea room and the private room you'd booked in advance through the clever suggestion of Celeste. Just being able to spend a few — all too few — hours without the watchful prying eyes of strangers, or worse, people you know, is a rare miracle. By some unspoken agreement, none of you bring up tomorrow, or what will happen after that. Instead, the three of you reminisce.

"George, did Conrad ever tell you about the time…."

"She's a dirty rotten liar and a cheat at cards!"

"…..well at Eton—"

"oh at my fancy posh school…."

"Oh! Do you remember when.."

"—I told you that in confidence!"

"Well you should have—"

It's only when Conrad uncharacteristically offers the last scone to George that the bubble bursts, the weight of the future too heavy for the past to sustain.

The autumn sun is just starting it's early descent over the tops of trees just beginning to turn fiery colours, painting the stone cottages of the village every shade of warm hue. Slowly, reluctantly, the three of you walk in vague direction of your home, feet dragging. Light shines oddly out of a window, drawing your attention.

"I'll be right back!" you call over your shoulder, before darting into the shop, the boys jogging to catch up with you.

The man that's run the sweets shop as long as you can remember, Mr. McClintock, is happy to keep the shop open a few extra minutes at the sight of George's uniform.

"Go give 'em hell for us! Show them what us Brits are made of," he says excitedly before trying to wave off your money.

Standing in front of the store, you press your purchase into George's hands, paper bag crinkling.

"Pear drops," you tell him as he opens the bag. "Your favourite."

"What!" Conrad exclaims, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the shop door's lintel. "I thought it was rhubarb custards." He offers his own paper bag to George looking so forlorn that you and your brother look at each other and burst into laughter.

"Rhubarb custards were my favourite, right until the moment I discovered pear drops," George consoles him, popping one into his mouth. "I shall enjoy both of them immensely, never you worry."

Considerably cheered, Conrad offers you his arm and you take it. Slowly, though not as tragically as before, you set off once more in the direction of your home. As you walk, a curious weight pulls at your pocket. Reach your hand in slowly, your fingers meet the same waxed paper you'd just passed over to your brother. Letting go of Conrad's arm for a moment, you unearth your prize to discover small bag of barley sugars, one you had no hand in purchasing. Whipping your head around, you squint at Conrad suspiciously only to have him smile back without a trace of guile.

The first letter you receive from George is full of blacked out redactions. It comes with the morning post only two weeks after his tear stained departure. The next letter comes only a few days later with his sheepish apologies for having contravened military secrecy in so many and creative ways that his first letter was rendered illegible (his commanding officer had read him the riot act apparently before instructing him on how to actually write this current letter). Celeste gasps with laughter along with you when you read the message aloud in the privacy of the library.

George has been set to work somewhere in Belgium, expanding a hospital and keeping the ambulance trucks running. He's made a friend, a thought that fills you with a measure of relief you hadn't expected to feel at the news. Private Hart is, apparently, a cheerful fellow until it comes to all matters gastronomic at which point, George confides, he turns into the kind of total snob even Father would be taken aback by. But not to worry! he continues, the food may be rather plain but it's hearty enough to keep a person going in even the worst of the weather lovely Belgium has to offer. You resolve to send him some more sweets and whatever else Cook thinks will survive the Channel crossing long enough to reach him.

You're not sure why, exactly, but you're surprised to discover that Conrad is receiving letters from George too. The two are friends, you grudgingly admit, and they had kept up an informal correspondence during George's Eton years so it's not to be totally unexpected. Still, it annoys you that though you're more than willing to share all of George's letters with him, Conrad sometimes withholds letters from you.

"They're private, see," is what his excuse is.

"Just read the parts you can share out loud to me," you beg him, ravenous for any more scraps of your brother you can find.

"They'd only be as redacted as his first letter then," Conrad tries to let you down gently but it does nothing to diminish the jealousy clawing a hold of you.

It had been just as much as a shock to Conrad when the first letter addressed to him from George had arrived on a silver tray carried by Shola. Actually reading the letter, the mystery had been solved quite easily. Of course George had wanted to make sure Conrad was honouring his promise to look out for you. Of course he wanted details on what Conrad thought of your emotional state, the frequency with which he saw you, if the generic rich American or anyone else had been snifffing around while George wasn't there to scare them into behaving properly. It's no hardship for Conrad to send George his honest thoughts (not well but holding up admirably, everyday or just about, no and if they had Conrad would have performed George's brotherly duties for him), almost freeing to put pen to paper and confess to someone else just as invested as your care as himself.

George writes to you both as often as he has paper, though his letters often take weeks to arrive, sometimes coming out of order. He thanks you for the extra pear drops and requests some aniseed balls for Private Hart, now on friendly enough terms to be 'Henry', who's coming down with an awful cough. Enclosed with the requested treats, you send a letter reminding George that you aren't a mail order catalogue service, but if he should be allowed home for Christmas and the New Year, you'd happily provide him with enough sweets to get sick on.

Despite your grumbling, you send the sweets anyway, because you can't deny your brother anything, not for long. You try not to mention it in your letters, not wanting to make him feel too terrible about leaving, but the fear of George being away, and not just at school this time, eats away at you. Yes, you know that he's finally living out the closest thing to a dream he has, but did it have to be one that put him in such close proximity to danger? He sends you long, rambling messages about the fascinating new engine problems he's dealing with while waiting on the supplies to construct new buildings, little asides about the shenanigans he and Henry — now nicknamed Harry — get into when they're not on duty. Oh how you wrinkle your nose at the mention of lice and resolve to send him more socks if you can ever figure out a decent heel turn, very pointedly refusing to think about how his little asides translate into reality. The cold, the constant itching bug bites, freezing socks that never leave the dampness behind. It would be wrong to wrong to disturb him with your own nameless unease that trickles in, a leaking faucet to which you've find no solution, when George's enthusiasm is palpable in each pen stroke.

The one thing that seems to keep your unease at bay is Conrad. Lightness seem to seep back in when Conrad tries, very badly, to explain his latest lesson in Geography (he always seems to forget the existence of France) or offers to lend you whatever book he's just finished learning about. You laugh through his stuttering explanations of whatever new nonsense exercise Shola has designed to keep Conrad from going totally stir crazy and suitably impressed by both tales of Polly's deadliness with a weapon and her offer to extend her lessons to you as well. The sense of creeping dread, the swirl of unease that threatens to pull you under when you try to peer beyond the words on the page, recedes with distraction, and so Conrad, with the assistance of Celeste, Polly, and Shola, seek to fill your everyday with some form of it.

Really, they've done an admirable job of it, though it took great pains to convince your parents to let you leave the house even with two promised escorts. It comes as no surprise then that the true nature of the little 'outings' Conrad has arranged for you never makes it back to their ears. Shola has begun to teach you the basics of driving, a thrill that sometimes leaving you shaking even if you've never been allowed to leave the stable yard yet. George must be an old hat at this, you think, as you practice checking your mirrors before you turn. He's probably driven hundreds of trucks and cars by now. Polly — or rather Polly through Conrad — teaches you how to shoot a hunting gun.

"More practical for you than a pistol," she says brusquely. "And good practice for him to prove he still remembers how to handle one."

The gun is heavier than you expected in your hands, metal and wood smooth underneath the heavy cloth of your gloves. Conrad stands behind you, his arms reaching around to help take the weight of the gun until you can adjust your grip.

"Stance should be just a touch wider," he says in your ear and you have to suppress a shiver lest you lose your grip. Obligingly you shuffle your booted feet wider until you're rock steady, the relaxed stance of your body just brushing the front of his jacket.

"Index finger off the trigger and on the trigger guard, please. Make sure your grip isn't too tight on the stock. Now—" his hand curls around yours making sure the curve of your fingers is just right, the other arm caging you in as he helps support the barrel as you adjust to the heft of it. "—bring the butt to your shoulder. You want to look straight down the barrel now, see the sight at the end?" You nod, a single motion that makes you intimately aware of how close his face is to yours. His breath hangs in the air, a cool puff of smoke in the freezing winter air. "Imagine a line from your eye at this end, down to the sight at the other, use it to aim. Just—" he uses his hold on you to adjust the aim of the barrel, "—like that."

It would be nice, you think half-distractedly as you stare down your target at the other end of the snowy field, if he were to simply hold you like this without the gun in the way. His chin hooked over your shoulder as he holds you tight, cheeks flushed from the cold and affection. Conrad suddenly wraps his hand around your trigger hand, nudges your finger off the trigger guard and lays it gently on the trigger.

"Gentle squeeze now," he murmurs and your nerves are so completely torn to pieces by his proximity that what happens is most definitely not gentle.

The gun kicks back, hard, into your shoulder, knocking the breath from you. Even with your surefooted stance, you're sent rocking straight back into Conrad who lets out an undignified ooomph at the sudden contact. Had he not been there, you most certainly wouldn't have stayed on your feet. As it is, his grip on you only tightens and your whole body sings with a heady mix of adrenaline and something uniquely him.

"Forgot to warn her about the recoil, didn't you?" Polly calls out exasperatedly from behind the two of you. "Right, you might have hit your target but neither of you are firing a gun until I'm satisfied you've stopped faffing about."

Conrad receives your birthday gift for him, a basic book on first aid with the treatment of bruises specially bookmarked, with sheepish good cheer. Having learned his lesson, now whenever you're simply in close proximity to a gun, he dutifully reminds you to mind the recoil. Your answer — provided no one is looking — is to stick your tongue out at him.

Christmas is a subdued and sober affair, George's absence from the festivities keenly felt. No one at the house seems in the mood for holiday cheer, not with the war shaping up to wage on for longer than the general estimates. You've sent George as many sweets as could reasonably fit in a parcel, with some extra aniseed balls for Harry tucked in too. The annual gift exchange with Conrad had to wait until Celeste returned from visiting with her own family and was free to escort you.

"How do you think George is faring?" you ask him, popping another one of the barley sugars he'd gifted you. Already the paper bag is looking rather empty.

"I think he's having a far more cheerful holiday, if any of his stories with Private Hart are true," he replies, eyes crinkling up around the edges.

The letter regretfully relaying that there wasn't any leave to be had for the holidays and an earnest wish for Harry to get well soon so George wasn't stuck digging all the foundation posts of the new surgery arrives well into the new year and after the two letters detailing Harry's sudden decline and tragic death.

Some kind of pneumonia, writes George on tear stained pages. Took him over so completely by the end that his mind was half gone long before he was. Told me that the ward tent was covered in flowers, bluebells, the kind that grow near his hometown in Spring, swaying in the wind. The letter dissolves into a mess of splotchy ink, George's self censorship and tears mixing to create an undecipherable mess. I think I'd like to bring bluebells to his mother and sister, is the next legible line. Lay flowers down for him in the Spring, after the war is over.

It takes you three tries before you can craft a satisfactory letter, one that doesn't belie the sudden gaping terror opening up under your feet threatening to drag you under. Until now, it was easy to pretend that George was off on some grand adventure, like the ones Conrad was mad about, pirates and heroes, musketeers and distant lands. You could ignore the hard cold truth, the details his letters nimbly danced around in favour of a pretty picture. Harry, poor Harry, is the unwelcome reminder that death is a very real possibility in this grand endeavour. Silent and stalking the men stationed at the Front.

George must sense your fear anyway, because his next missive is full of reassurances of his good health, how the hard work has grown his shoulders so much he might start to pop uniform buttons and the mostly redacted latest intrigue about a car engine that has been giving him trouble for the past week. Even in the depths of his grief he tries to cheer you. George mentions Harry only once in passing, a line about being grateful to have been able to attend the funeral before his unit was moved out now that the hospital had been completed.

Private Henry Hart's death — a man you never met and would never know — casts a heavy shadow over you that even your brother's words cannot put to rest. There is no where to hide behind your ignorance now, not when the truth of the matter refuses to stay delegated to bedtime stories and party anecdotes. Fear's got you clasped firmly in her jaws. Your parents, recipients of far fewer letters from George than you, are still informed of this distant friend's death. Their mouths are set in identical pinched lines and the table is quiet, only punctuated by the scraping of utensils, for many meals after. Everything is dampened under the weight of that horrid, waiting dread. Even the sounds in the halls seem muffled, the woolly telephone conversations leaking from your Father's study are thin and one sided, your mother gliding into rooms with only the rustle of fabric to announce her. The sound of the clocks ticking ring out, loud as the bells in church. Even Celeste does not seem to know what to say to you, mouth opening and closing silently before being pressed into a thin line.

Conrad is the only one to brave the stupor that's fallen over the house, a curse that lays so thick even the dark fairy of Sleeping beauty would be proud of, and try to pull you from the clutches of your own swirling emotions. Rain or shine, he still attempts to draw you out, to distract you from the maze of your own mind and to beat back the shadows that have made their home in your house.

"I feel guilty," you interrupt Conrad, hands stained with ink from where's he's tried to plot on on a map all the possible locations George might be based on the heavily blacked out letters he's been sending.

"About Private Hart?" he asks, wiping his hands on a handkerchief and getting smeared inky fingerprints all over it. "I'm sure your brother knows that all of our thoughts are with him."

"About George," you tell him, getting out your own handkerchief and wetting it from the carafe on the table. You take his hand into your lap and dab at it with much more success, his palm and fingers not quite spotless but significantly less mottled.

"I know that he's suffering, in ways he won't breathe a word of in any of his letters," is what you break the silence with. It's taken you the many weeks since Harry's death to quietly work out the source of the fear that has dogged you since, that has made every letter a source of terror and celebration. "He's only God knows where out there—" you just your chin out towards the map, heavy with annotations, "—risking himself at every moment. I don't know how not to be afraid for him. I don't know if I'm allowed not to be."

It's that last confession, the one you're afraid will damn you, that releases the dam of everything you've tried so hard to suppress. Great wracking sobs shake your body though no tears fall, everything boiling over as your grip on his hands turns white knuckled. Carefully, he extricates his hands from your iron grip only to tuck you into his shoulder to shake and expel the Gordian knot of your emotions.

"He wouldn't blame you," he whispers into your hair. "George wouldn't blame you for living your life while he lives his. You hiccup and dig your fingers into the front of his sweater, burrowing into his warmth like it might save you from the roiling ice of your guilt. "You know, my father's grieved my mother every day since her passing. Sometimes I think he's mourning me before I've even gone too. I look at the life he's allowed himself to lead, and I wonder if this was what she wanted for him, for us. And then I look at you, at George, and I know that if she loved us even half as much as your brother loves you, he wouldn't want to freeze you in time this way."

Conrad doesn't say much after that, simply lets you cling to him until you can breathe, until the weight of a thousand elephants has climbed off your chest and from around your shoulders. Holds you for an eternity as everything, every emotion, every half remembered nightmare, drains out of you, the kind of harsh spring storm that leaves rocks stripped bare along the shore. Cleansed. Eventually, your breathing evens out, no longer the hiccuping gasps of a drowning girl but something more peaceful, more serene. Eyes slowly sliding shut, you fall into a daze, not of unease or fear, but of comfort. Something akin to sleep, that absolves you of all responsibilities now that you can breathe for the first time in months and worry that every inhale costs George one of his own.

Celeste, returning with the tea tray, attempts to barge in but Conrad's quiet, pleading look stays her wrath for a moment. Quietly she sets the tea tray down on the table, then settles down on the settee on your other side. She makes a 'come hither motion' with her arms, face set tightly against any protestations. As gently as though he were handling spun glass, he helps Celeste slowly shift your weight towards her, palm cradling the fragile cargo of your skull until your face lies nestled into the curve of Celeste's neck. You mumble, then go quiet, a warm, limp weight settled between the two of them. Satisfied that you'll be properly taken care of, Conrad tentatively stands, then goes to retrieve his suit jacket where it had been hung over the back of one of the library chairs.

"Wait!" comes the whispered command. Freezing, Conrad turns to face Celeste, draping his jacket over the crook of his arm. Her face works through a series of emotions so fast Conrad can't decipher a single one, before finally settling on affection as she glances back down at you, hand cradling the apple of your cheek.

"Stay for supper," Celeste sighs. "The young miss will be embarrassed by….whatever happened here. I'll inform Cook and her parents will be told that she extended the invitation and you gratefully—" she glares up at him, forestalling any protests, "—accepted. Go wait in George's room, one of his dinner suits shouldn't fit too badly and I'll send the valet up to dress you. "

"I'll—" her glare intensifies "—go wait in George's room," Conrad finishes lamely.

Your mother barges into your room halfway through Celeste helping you tie your corset cover on. You squeal in indignation at the door banging open, then simply sigh at the sight of your mother.

"Oh darling, why didn't you simply tell me you were planning something like this?" she asks you, almost proudly. Puzzled, you simply grin and bear her affections. "You've left me in quite the tizzy, no time to plan any special courses or order you a new dress." Gently, she pinches your chin with the most emotion you've seen from her since the announcement about Harry.

"Oh that won't do at all!" she cries, spying the dress Celeste had instructed your maid to lay out for dinner.

"It's the dress I wear to dinner regularly," you prompt her, wondering when on earth your mother had time to lose her mind.

"Yes but tonight's not just any dinner, now is it?" she responds dismissively, already combing through your wardrobe for something that would suit her suddenly inscrutable taste.

"No it isn't?" at Celeste's frantic gesturing, you repeat "No, it isn't," in a much steadier tone. "And it's not because…"

"Oh silly girl, did you already forget that you invited the Marquess to stay for dinner?" your mother chides you. "Oh this will do nicely!"

Your frantic confused faces at Celeste are instantly tucked away under a mask that almost drops the moment you see what your mother has picked out for you. It's a dress, of course, but one far too fine for a simple dinner. A remnant from your first season, the dress that had been intended for the final dinner party that never came about due to that momentous announcement of war at that soiree just over half a year ago. Diaphanous silk chiffon crusted in seed pearls, the frothy Valencienne lace bodice and sleeves giving it a much more….intimate air than a simple dinner gown would necessitate.

"I'm not wearing that," you tell your mother warningly.

"Don't be silly, of course you will," she dismisses you. "Now, matching gloves I think."

"It's clearly a summer gown!" you try to reason with her, but already she's directing your maid to pull out your matching pearl jewellery.

"Then it's a shame it never had the chance to be worn," she replies.

Frustrated, you huff and resist the urge to stamp your foot like a child. "I told you when you commissioned it and I'm telling you again now, you can see all my underthings through that dress!"

"Yes, darling, it's called a lingerie dress for a reason," your mother pats you on the shoulder patronizingly.

"Wh— but. I don't—"

"Hands up dear, the dress won't put it on by itself," she tells you, and you sigh, already knowing that you've been defeated.

Conrad pulls awkwardly at the cuffs of his dinner jacket, just this side shy of too short. He's never really had to spend time with the Baronet like this, as something approximating equals or 'man to man' as your father has just joked, boisterously clapping him on the back and offering him an aperitif. Nervously he sips at the small glass of liquor, using the motion to avoid having to make more conversation than necessary. Your father is extraordinarily interested in how his father runs the estate, what the annual income is and Conrad's own plans for future growth. It's a delicate line to balance between modestly demurring and factually reporting without tipping too far into gauche but Conrad thinks he's managed it. At least by the wide grin and ruddy humour of your father's reactions, he's at least managed not to to offend by talking so plainly about his finances.

With a feeling too euphoric to simply be called 'relief', your mother enters the parlour, trailing you in her wake. The relief is extremely short lived, because as you step out from behind your mother — not so subtly pushed as it were — Conrad promptly swallows his tongue and nearly chokes on the last of his drink. He's seen you in ballgowns, fine day dresses and outfits for nearly every occasion. He's seen you dressed, coiffed, and primped for the most royal of occasions and at your mud-streaked barefoot worst. The two of you have known each other in almost every season of your lives, in fact Conrad can remember the exact moment you stepped out of childhood and into adulthood. None of that, no other moment, has prepared him for this.

It's the simpleness of it all that undoes him. That this could be any other future night, that you could be walking in to dinner with him, skin fresh and eyes glowing in the soft light. The dress is gorgeous — he'd honestly have to be blind and stupidly in love with someone else not to notice — but its how you make it look that has him feeling thick headed and foolish, a child still mixing up his Latin verb declensions while a heavy handed tutor looks on. The sheer fabric of your dress has him inexplicably ashamed, like he's been invited to look at something precious not meant for him yet. On second glance, it's definitely not something he's meant to be seeing because wait, those are most certainly your undergarments. Oh he's going to burn in hell for this, he's going to burn in hell for—

"Lord Bolebec, why don't you do the honour of escorting my daughter in to dinner?" your mother suggests slyly, sliding her arm into the crook of your father's already proffered elbow. "We've been meaning to have her practice hosting more social engagements, and as you're the first guest she's formally invited, it's only fitting to start with you."

Woodenly, Conrad nods, still unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Your grimace still hasn't faded by the time he sets down his empty glass and strides over to offer you his arm. Heat suffuses your face as he so clearly and stiffly regrets whatever agreement Celeste must have browbeaten him in to. Conrad doesn't even look down at you as you take his arm and lead the group into the dining room. There's a muscle in his jaw throbbing as he pulls out your chair. He's trying very, very hard — and failing — to notice the way the single strand of pearls is drawing his eyes to your throat and down…further.

As your guest, Conrad sits beside you, a duty he fills admirably. As your guest, he is meant to be a conversational partner, a duty he fails at miserably. You've never, in the very many years and moments spent knowing each other, run out of things to speak of. Comforting silences drawing strength from an ease between you have existed, of course, but this, whatever this is, is not that.

Dinner turns into a long, painful affair, time artificially drawn out by Conrad's sudden inability to bloody talk to you. Questions are met with nods or one word answers. Appeals to shared memories or anecdotes you know he knows the punchlines to are met with blank stares or muttered words. Had your outburst earlier truly disgusted him so badly that your very presence unbalances him? Or perhaps it was letting your mother dress you in a very bald attempt at winning his favour through underhanded means. Whatever the matter is, the evening is quickly going from mortifying to downright humiliating.

Panicked, you throw desperate glances at your mother over his downcast head. Already forced to play a part somewhere between person — fully realized, intelligent, wilful, or in other words, a man — and ornamentation — beautiful, malleable, tasteful — your dignity comes cheap these days. With a smile strung as thin as your brother's favourite shaving razor, your mother obliges.

"My Lord Bolebec, I've heard that…"

Her, her he will answer. Polite, well-crafted ripostes to her elegant word games, answers that demonstrate that however reluctant he is to use them, social graces do exist inside of him. Whatever emotion is painted on your face is closer to a grimace than a smile but with every word spoken — distinctly not at your behest — humiliation pools in your belly.

"I'm afraid I've come down with a rather wicked headache," you announce suddenly before desert can be served. Abruptly you stand before one of the footmen can pull out your chair for you and sweep away to the library where hopefully no one will search for you for some time yet. Your last glimpse of the dining room is of Conrad half stood up from his seat, napkin clenched tightly in his hand.

Sprawled out in one of the high-backed chairs of the library, you scrub at your face and sigh. Celeste, thankfully, is the only one that has disturbed you, sliding into the room with a rueful smile and a glass of what would have been part of the after dinner cocktails. Seeming to sense your need to wallow in your embarrassment, she leaves you to it with a promise to come back in an hour if you hadn't gone up to bed by then. The drink burns as it goes down, but not as much as your face when you overhear your parents talking in the corridor outside.

"….awful, just awful. Albert, he hardly got a word out to her all supper! It really couldn't have gone more poorly, I simply don't understand what could have happened," your mother rants, voice fading into earshot.

"Really, woman," your father says disdainfully. "You dangle a boiled sweet wrapped up in nothing but cellophane in front of a starving man and what is he supposed to do? Think about anything other than eating it? That boy might still be wet behind the ears but he's still a red-blooded man. Honestly…."

Maybe it's the drink on a stomach that was far too tightly knotted to eat much at dinner, maybe it's the stinging tears of humiliation that prick at the corners of your eyes — whatever it is, some momentary madness animates you to write to your brother. Every avoided gaze, every stilted word, every humiliating sting of Conrad's sudden coldness, even the uncertain weight of your own grief over George's absence, makes its way onto the page. Fat tears drip onto the paper, smearing some of the drying ink. It's not not legible, and so in your state you let it be instead of trying to rewrite the whole blasted mess.

Is this what heartbreak feels like? You write, pen scratching over paper. If it is, I want my heart back. I want to go back, back when we were still running through fields and loving him wasn't as complicated as being in love with him.

It's with a sore head and a sore heart that you wake up the next morning. In your bleary headed daze, you don't recall asking Celeste to put the letter out with the rest of the post.

Conrad arrives like clockwork after luncheon, a bag of barley sugars in one hand and no mention of the previous evening on his lips. He doesn't bring it up when he's leafing through the paper and telling you the latest news he's gleaned from his father. Doesn't even hint at it when Celeste interrupts with the tea tray and a silent glare. Conrad does not mention it even when he has to return home for his own supper. Despite the many, many times the urge to just ask, to get him to confess to you what exactly had taken place, the words get caught in your throat. At last he must catch on to your hesitation, because he claps you on the shoulder and tells you not to worry.

"If you're worried about yesterday, you shouldn't be." You deflate with relief. "There's nothing wrong with being worried for your brother, but you shouldn't let that be the only thing in your life at the moment. We'll see better days, all three of us, and this will just be a bad memory to laugh about later." You sag in defeat.

You let the matter lie that day, and every day for the next two weeks after. Life goes on like it never happened. Or at least, it never happened whenever Conrad is around, but your mother with her nervous hand wringing refuses to let the matter die. Meal times, the only times she can be certain of your presence to pin you down and rehash the same events over again, are the most wretched parts of your day.

On this day, however, there's a letter from George brought in to you along with the toast. With greedy, eager hands you tear into the envelope, not caring about the crumbs smearing across the paper. Your mother continues to lecture you on all the possible mistakes you might have made but her voice fades into background noise at the first sight of George's sloping hand.

….so don't go wishing away your love, oh desperate sister of mine, he writes. Your hand flutters to your mouth in shock as your last letter, written in a tipsy haze, comes startlingly back into focus. You'll miss him when he's gone, like there's no air but you're still breathing. Don't spend the rest of your life waiting between breaths. Tell him, all right? That's the only thing I want, not for you to spend every day fretting over me. But, I know you and I know him so. I'm writing two letters; this one and one to Conrad, laying out all the reasons I think he's in love with you. Before you decide to strangle me, my reasoning is this: he's far, far more impulsive than you and thus less likely to over think it. If, even after everything is laid out before him and he still feels unable to address his (quite obvious) feelings, then I have asked him not to break your heart and let your feelings dissolve naturally. Honestly though, I don't foresee him not—"

"Oh Marquess, do sit down and join us!" your mother's voice brings reality crashing back down around your ears.

Conrad stands rather sheepishly at the door to the dining room, worrying a letter between his fingers. You swallow around your desert dry mouth and the thunderous roar of your pulse.

"I shouldn't like to impose," he starts nervously. "Only I've received a letter from George and thought that your daughter might like to open it together if she hadn't received one from him as well."

Your fingers are wrapped so tightly around your own letter from George that the paper starts to tear under the pressure. You hope the raw frantic energy bubbling in the pit of your stomach isn't immediately visible but Conrad catching your eye and cocking his head makes you certain it hasn't.

"Sit down and eat something first," your father insists, breaking the intractable hold of Conrad's concerned gaze. "Any news from George is liable to be weeks out of date and you're still a growing young man."

"I—" any protest Conrad might have offered is immediately squashed by the under butler methodically setting out another place setting at your left elbow. "I would be glad to," he lamely finishes.

Taking his seat, he finally notices the paper clutched in your hands.

"Oh I see you received one too."

Desperate not to let him see the all too revealing words George has written to you, about you, you quickly shove the letter into your pocket.

"Yes," you tell him through a tight smile. "I did. You don't usually share George's letters to you with me."

"I suppose it was meant to be a peace offering of sorts," he says quietly, trying to avoid your parents' overzealous attempts at eavesdropping. "For the other night's discourtesy."

The scrape of a knife pressed too hard against porcelain jolts you both back from your own intimate bubble, the rest of the world filtering back in.

"Marquess, I must wonder what are your father's plans for the summer with the social season unlikely to go ahead. Will he be going down to London to attend the emergency House of Lords more regularly?" Your father ensnares Conrad into a conversation about the Duke's political goals and Conrad's own opinions on the same matters, leaving you to bear the pointedly encouraging stares of your mother.

Conversation is interrupted by the door swinging open again only a few minutes later, the butler announcing Lord Kitchener. You have to crane your neck to get a glimpse of the man around the bulk of Conrad's body. It's unfair really, the bean pole he's grown up to become with stupidly wide shoulders to match. Murmurs breakout again as the room struggles to their feet to greet the unexpected guest. Shock, then glee flits across your father's face at such an illustrious visitor, especially one who had become so well known for his war efforts.

"Kitchener!" your father booms gaily, "What a pleasant surprise!"

"My, we really are quite popular this morning to be commanding so many visitors," your mother chimes in, nervously smoothing the fabric of her morning gown under her palms. Her napkin competes with her knuckles for a finer shade of white.

"Conrad, I wasn't aware that you'd be visiting with the family," Lord Kitchener says, removing his hat, tucking it under his arm, and waving off the footmen all in one smooth gesture.

"I wasn't aware you'd planned to visit them either," Conrad replies glibly. "They're very dear friends of mine."

"I see," says Lord Kitchener. "That makes this next part rather grim then."

He sighs, a heavy beleaguered thing, then turns to face your parents. Lord Kitchener rolls his shoulders back, braces himself visibly, and then begins to speak.

"It is with my deepest regrets that in the early hours of April 4th, your son, George, was killed in action."

The clock in the hallway chimes, ringings out the new hour, before resuming its heavy handed ticking. Tick. Tick. Tock. The world grinds to a halt.

A serving tray rattles in a footman's suddenly clumsy hands. Your mother lands in her chair heavily, not her usual graceful descent but the free fall of gravity taking over. Your father gasps as though he's been hit. There's no— there's not enough air in the room.

Georgie's words burn a hole through your pocket, the rest of your body icily numb. No. It's not true.

Conrad is the first to find his words again.

"But he's an engineer! He shouldn't be near any action at all, surely there's been some confusion."

"I'm afraid there's been no mistake," Lord Kitchener sighs, full of regret and the world weary exhaustion of someone that's seen too much waste. "Along with the rest of his unit, he was constructing tunnels near Ypres. The shelling was too heavy for the not yet supported tunnels and every last soul was lost." He pauses, the weight of all those deaths crushing him down. "I am so very sorry for your loss."

"I don't believe you," you croak through vocal chords that feel screamed raw. "I don't believe you. I want to see him. I want to see my brother, I want to see Georgie." Your voice breaks on the last word. Your hands tremble and so you ball them into fists, nails cutting into your palms to hide the tremors. You have to be brave. For him.

It can't be true. He's not dead. He's not. He's just written to you, he's got schemes and wild capers up his sleeves. There's still a parcel of pear drops and socks you'd finally knitted well enough to send him, still packed up on the desk in your bedroom, waiting for the post to resume after the Easter holiday. Georgie, with his soft eyes and wry sense of humour can't be gone. He mustn't be. He promised to come back.

"It wasn't possible to recover any of the bodies," Lord Kitchener tries to let you down gently. "But I assure you there were no survivors."

The gaping pit that's followed you around since the moment your brother left finally opens up and swallows you whole.

You manage one determined step towards him before Conrad steps into your path, arms coming round you to stop your advance. He holds you steady, unwavering even as you fight to free yourself from his grasp.

An animal caught in a trap, you thrash and scream over the sounds of your mother's quiet sobs. He won't — Lord Kitchener can't be allowed to be unscathed by this, the collapse of your entire world. Georgie has been the one constant of your entire life. Your first friend, your first co-conspirator. The first one to see you, to take you seriously, to ask you about the future you want instead of what you were expected to have. Georgie's the one that's always been purely, completely, and totally on your side. He can't be gone because if he is then he's left you. He's betrayed you by dying, by leaving you to face the rest of the world, the rest of your life, without him at your shoulder.

"He killed him," you hiss. "He killed my brother, that bastard KILLED MY BROTHER." You scream and wail and still the body in your way won't budge. Hardly seems affected by your clawing and struggling, and so you, in your anger, strike where it will hurt. "He killed your best friend! He killed Georgie!"

Conrad shudders, takes an involuntary step backwards, but refuses to bend to your grief. "He killed him, he killed him," you repeat over and over again, voice trailing into wracking sobs. The fight, the anger driving you dissipating into something more raw as you futilely throw yourself over and over again at the human wall Conrad has put between you and the man that saw your brother into his living grave.

You'll miss him when he's gone, like there's no air but you're still breathing.

You're going to be sick. Was he scared, your brother, when he realized what would happen, trapped down there in the dirt, in the dark? Did he realize the moment when the air ran out that his life would too? Did he panic? Did he pray? How long did it take to suffocate in the wet earth? Or maybe, maybe there was some merciful god looking down, one that let him be knocked unconscious so that his last moments were not spent in pain. Maybe—

The pounding of your fists against Conrad's chest grows weaker, hands clutching at the front of his suit. It's the only thing keeping you present, the weave of the fabric under your fingers as your face grows hot with the saline of your tears. You sob, great big wracking things that make your ribs ache, the pounding of your heart ever present, even as Conrad holds you up. You're cold, so cold. The core of you frozen, coated over with the thickest ice.

A warm hand cradles your face into the starched collar of a neck. Quickly it grows damp from your tears but the hand never turns you away. A noise, a horrible wailing noise won't stop ringing out. Please, won't anyone make that awful, animal noise stop?With a start you realize it's coming from your own mouth, ripped from your throat and the aching remnants of what was your heart.

"An official death notice will be sent to you shortly," Lord Kitchener says tiredly, putting on his officer's cap. "I thought that as it was my direct interference that led to the boy's enlistment in the Corps that I should express my condolences directly."

"You were mistaken," insists your father, voice strangled with grief. "Now good day to you sir."

part 3

#conrad oxford x reader #conrad oxford #sunnie writes 🌻#cut all the flowers series

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epickiya722 · 9 months ago

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Sukuna is Yuji's Biggest Hater... Or He Is??

Oh, he is. He definitely is. There is no doubt about that. Sukuna hates Yuji and has since the get-go. Yuji will cough and Sukuna will go "shut the hell up, brat". (Exaggeration, but you get it.) But why? Why does Sukuna hate Yuji so much?

But give me a chance here!! Hear me out, folks!! Just hear me out!!

Storywise, it makes sense that he would because hello! Yuji is the big good protagonist and Sukuna is the big bad antagonist. That's to be expected. I'm here for it. But let's not mind that!!

Now, here's me just rambling on. I have thoughts, folks, thoughts. I'm not saying I'm totally right on this. Just hear me out. So get ready for a long post!

(NOTE: I started writing this in January before 248 came out! So I added onto what was revealed in that chapter and onward to this post.)

(ANOTHER NOTE: I literally finished and posted this a minute or so before I saw the leaks for 257...)

Off rip, Sukuna no doubt despises Yuji's existence for the fact that Yuji is capable of keeping him contained. He was literally made to be Sukuna's vessel. A cage, if you will. It takes Yuji willingly to give up control, Yuji being fed multiple of Sukuna's cursed fingers at once or a Binding Vow for Sukuna to take control. Other than that, Sukuna is locked up, he ain't getting out. Do not pass go and do not collect $200.

Sukuna's first L of the series came at losing a mental battle against Yuji and no doubt that was a hurt to his pride.

But other than that, why else could Sukuna despise Yuji so much?

Well, I have a guess! Am I right about this? As I said, I'm not saying for certain.

But my guess is that Sukuna hates Yuji the most because he hates how he displays himself in battle. Better yet, Sukuna hates that Yuji isn't him.

Not only he hates that Yuji displays his strength in a humble way compared to others, but as 248 reveals Sukuna hates that Yuji keeps going despite Sukuna constantly trying to break him. I'll touch on that later.

You know the saying "your biggest hater is your biggest fan" or whatever? Yeah, that is Sukuna... maybe.

I'll clear this up because I know you probably went "HOW"? Okay, I touched on this in a post so I'll summarize it here.

Yuji doesn't do something that a lot of other characters do whenever they're out there throwing hands. Enjoying a fight and/or proving their strength. Yuji often fights not to show his strength, but he fights for others. Yuji doesn't think to show off his capabilities because it doesn't interest him to. Yuji isn't a prideful person.

Mind you, even before the cog mentality bit, Yuji already didn't think much of himself. He has called himself dumb at least twice. And, in a small moment, Yuji actually seemed shocked at Megumi's comment how of "adept" he is, almost as if he didn't think he was capable of such a thing even though since day one Yuji has been shown to being able to pick up on things fast with ease.

Yuji only feels weak when he feels he has failed someone. Wasuke told him that he's a strong kid and to help others. Ever since then, what all has Yuji has tried to do? Help others. It probably irritates Sukuna given that he is not someone who helps others, especially if it doesn't benefit him. He doesn't even like requests.

Sukuna probably hates that Yuji goes out of his way to sacrifice his life for people with the power he has when Yuji should be showing it off and enjoying a good fight just like he does. It's what makes Yuji boring to him.

Whenever Sukuna has fought someone (most of the time), it's a battle of "who is stronger" and he praises that person for showing off that potential. He even gets some entertainment out of it. There was even Maki, who wasn't fighting him for the sake to prove she's strong, who he praised.

But out of those he has faced, who does he constantly put down? Yuji.

Here's the thing. We know Yuji isn't weak. Sukuna knows this, too. He knows this firsthand because he has always been there. Sukuna, the King of Curses, was able to be suppressed by Yuji while possessing his body. He has seen Yuji show strength and speed that he was born with. He fought Yuji himself and within that first fight Yuji has managed to throw Sukuna off guard twice.

So Sukuna knows what Yuji can do. He just doesn't acknowledge it to Yuji. Instead, he chooses to call him "weak" and "boring".

But why? What is it about Yuji that really gets at Sukuna to constantly put him down like that?Again, 248 confirms Sukuna hates that Yuji has an unbreakable spirit. Yet, wouldn't that be something Sukuna be impressed by? Wouldn't he be impressed that Yuji's will is so strong that not even the King of Curses can tear it down? Let alone, why would he even care enough to acknowledge Yuji's unbreakable resolve at this point of the story and actually go out his way to be petty to try to break it again?

Why is Sukuna actually wasting his energy being pressed by Yuji who he deems weaker than him?

It's expected for the villain to be irritated by a hero's unbreakable will. But with Sukuna? Villain, he may be, he doesn't cross as the type to actually be that pressed about one person. Like, why does it matter that Yuji, this teenage boy who shares his mutual hatred, opposes him?

In a way, I believe that Sukuna hates Yuji, but also believes in his capability just in his own twisted way. He may, just maybe, sees Yuji as "the next Sukuna". Not in the sense of "I want an heir to live on my legacy" but in a "you should be like me, an epitome of strength and greatness".

What if Sukuna eggs Yuji on over and over to break him to eventually get him to snap and really show him a more bloodthirsty side? But one that he isn't angry on the behalf of others, but for himself? What if Sukuna wants Yuji to be selfish? What if Sukuna hates that Yuji has this unbreakable spirit because he wants to mold Yuji into his own image, and doesn't even know it himself yet?

We don't know much of Sukuna's past except how he was feared and worshipped through his reign of terror during the Heian Era. But what about before all that? Before he became the King of Curses? Or even after? What caused his death? Did he still have people who worshipped him?

We just know he was an "unwanted" child and he brushes that off. I imagine that during his time growing up, he learned how harsh life was and that shaped him into who he is today. He may be trying to project that onto Yuji. Wants Yuji to not be so naïve about how cruel the world is and doesn't deserve selfless people like Yuji. Treating him cruelly so that eventually Yuji becomes what he wants him to be. Just like him.

It's a crazy idea, I know, but anything can happen, I guess.

Sukuna chooses to not help Yuji and even if he does, he doesn't mean to. Earlier in the story, he reacts badly to being used as "a generator" against the Finger Bearer Curse, going as far as to killing Yuji.

[Thinking back on it, I find it intriguing and visual pleasing in storytelling that Sukuna tears out Yuji's heart. Not like I wanted Sukuna to do that! I actually freaked out! What I mean is, Yuji is someone whose actions are influenced by his heart than his head. Opposite of Sukuna who is a heartless monster and in battle, he tends to think with his head. In that scene, it was like saying such. Sukuna is a heartless monster while Yuji has a heart too big for his body. Moving on!]

The next time Yuji asks for his help with Junpei he laughs in his face and denies him that aid. After that, Yuji doesn't ask for Sukuna's help anymore.

Instead, he gets stronger and trains to rely on his own skills and prowess. Probably what Sukuna wants. He doesn't want to be used as some aid Yuji calls on whenever and at the same time, just maybe he wants Yuji to grow on his own the way he probably had to. He's helping Yuji become great without helping him.

Come the Shibuya Incident, this is where it gets interesting to me.

First, recall the fight between Choso and Yuji. We can see just how Yuji has gotten stronger. So strong that Choso did indeed have a hard time beating Yuji. Choso even remarks later after Shibuya how Yuji is like a "demon god" in chapter 139. This isn't him praising Yuji as a big brother. This is him praising Yuji as someone who has faced Yuji before. That was not an easy fight for Choso even though all Yuji fought with was his martial arts, wits, strength and speed.

"Kiya, didn't he lose that fight?" Yes (and some of you won't let that go). But, remember how Sukuna reacted?

He comments how he couldn't believe that Yuji lost to such "riffraff". That wording caught my attention because Sukuna would have normally said something like "You're pathetic, you're weak" or of the nature. He probably would have made a comment of how he expected Yuji to lose.

But he doesn't! Instead, his words are of disappointment that Yuji lost to Choso all while insulting Choso with "riffraff/inferior opponent" comment. Isn't that odd to anybody else but me?

Fast forward just a little to the final battle with Mahito! When Mahito confronts Sukuna for the third time, he tells Sukuna to shut up (and he wasn't even talking) and watch as he kills Yuji. And Sukuna gives him this look. It was smug. He was smirking. It's like he knows Mahito was talking a big game that he indeed did not win. It could be because he knows that at that point, Yuji wasn't going to stop until Mahito was dead. That he was at a breaking point.

(I also felt that Sukuna probably Sensed Kenjaku nearby. The thing is, if Mahito had succeeded in killing Yuji, it still would have been a lost to him somehow because Sukuna could probably just resurrect him again.)

A breaking point that Sukuna started. Let's rewind it back a bit to after Sukuna fought Mahoraga. Ah, yes. That moment.

When Sukuna switches back to Yuji to show off the destruction he did during the fight with Mahoraga. The memories of what Sukuna had done from killing the Hasaba twins, everything he did when fighting Jogo and finally Mahoraga. Once Yuji took in everything, he becomes distressed, nauseous, he falls into this state of self-hatred.

"... I am nothing but a murderer."

That scene is a punch to the gut. It was heartbreaking, especially to Yuji fans, huh? But there is someone who enjoyed it, undoubtedly. Someone who relished in seeing Yuji in such pain. Of course, it was Sukuna. We all know Ryomen Sukuna was basking in being the cause of Yuji's breakdown.

Something tells me that during that fight against Mahoraga, Sukuna realized just how destruction and death was happening around him and thought "Oh, I think the after results should be something for the brat to see"! And when he let Yuji see that huge black space void of life? He was laughing, he had to be.

I touched on this here, but I'm bringing it up here, too.

Yuji being aware of what Sukuna does and vice versa, Sukuna actually didn't have to bring Yuji right to that spot. He could have just switched back where he was and Yuji would have still known what he did. But, no. Sukuna had to be extra cruel. He had to show Yuji what he did front row and center. Almost as if he needed Yuji to see how cold-hearted and ruthless Sukuna is and maybe push Yuji to being just as cold-hearted and ruthless.

Take note of the lyrics of SPECIALZ, the song King Gnu written from the villains' POV. (Lyrics in the parentheses are translated by the music video.)

Shall we dance in the border of the death

Tokyo trenches in the metropolis

Shall we give it our all in between yes and no

Show me a hint of bad part inside of you

***

Let it all make a mess

Devour everything to your heart's content (Let's feast on the emptiness)

A lifelong labyrinthine rendezvous (Lost in the labyrinth of life, launched on this rendezvous)

To the point of dizziness (Losing my mind), "U R MY SPECIAL"

These lyrics reflect that scene. Yuji is brought to the border of a death scene, a place where many died. "Show me a hint of bad..." Yuji's reaction is the bad part of him that later shape into the Yuji we see for the rest of the arc. His words of "nothing but a murderer" kind of hint Yuji's later words to Mahito. How he'll keep on killing and killing curses. He won't take pleasure in it as it's just seems to be his role in this ongoing war between curses and humans.

"Let it all make a mess", definitely what it all was. A mess that affects Yuji hard. A mess that you could say makes him empty inside. "Let's feast on emptiness/Devour everything to your heart's content", Sukuna pretty does just that. Feasts on everything he chooses to both literally and figuratively. He devours on Yuji's pain and what if he wants Yuji to do the same? To just devour everything to satisfy himself. He had Yuji "feast his eyes" on the empty space.

Take note that in the anime, when Yuji is saying to himself to "die, die right now" his eyes are this red color. Sukuna's eyes are red. To me, that wasn't just Yuji telling himself to die, but also Sukuna, a bad part of him that he wanted to be rid of in the first place.

"Losing my mind", Yuji wanders from that scene as he constantly replays words he and others have said to him. He's in that state of confusion, lost and dizziness.

Now, these set of lyrics also could be Mahito's POV to Yuji. Mahito is a foil to Sukuna. They're both major antagonists to Yuji who mess with him. But in opposite, death isn't something Sukuna is afraid of while Mahito turns tail when it gets dangerous for him.

Let's rewind back to my previous point about the scene between Sukuna and Mahito. Yuji was at that breaking point and Mahito was going to feel that rage and lose against it. He would, and he does, become Yuji's victim. Again, in a twisted way it seemed Sukuna was proud of just knowing Yuji was possibly about to become a killing machine against Mahito.

I described in another post here that Yuji is a toy to Sukuna. In this case, the toy Yuji is to Sukuna is play dough. A modeling dough that comes in vibrant colors that children play with to mold into whatever they imagine.

Yuji is a play dough. He's being molded into whatever Sukuna wants him to be.

But why would he care to do that? Maybe it's a subconscious decision. That somewhere deep down inside Sukuna, a part of him senses that Yuji is that missing piece of him. Remember how twins work in JJK? Two halves of one whole.

It's why he acts and does what he does. He's incomplete and Yuji makes him feel less of such.

Well, I mention before in other posts... probably... but I believe in the whole reincarnation theory, I do. I think it's a fun idea. But! I don't mean Yuji being a reincarnation of Sukuna's twin. I do believe in that though. [As of now, that theory has been debunked.]

What if Yuji was a reincarnation of Sukuna himself?

Could it be that Sukuna may be "Yuji's biggest hater" because of the idea how your own worst enemy can be yourself?

That's really all I have to say for now.

***

Now I got something to add! As of 257, it's stated that Sukuna did indeed consume his twin in the womb (that bit I was right about) but Yuji isn't the reincarnated soul of that twin. It's his father, Jin Itadori.

But I still stand by my theory Yuji could be Sukuna's reincarnation via soul recycling or other means. Like, this whole time what if Sukuna was trying to shape Yuji into what he envisions because Yuji is him? Yuji is that piece of that's like... "what could have been". He's the good that Sukuna wants extinguished.

Simply, as it turns out if you apply the reveal of 257, Sukuna is like this cruel, evil "mentor" for his "nephew" that's he's looking out in his own weird, harsh way.

#just kiya's thoughts #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #jjk manga spoilers #itadori yuji #itadori yuuji #yuji itadori #yuuji itadori #ryomen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen

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zer05trange · 9 months ago

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Roaring Sea

VIII. Blue Velvet Pouch

⋆｡°✩ (childe x fem!reader)✩°｡⋆

⋆｡°✩ premise: A few years later, you spend a few quiet moments in your new home, before setting off in the frosty air of your nation's winter.

⋆｡°✩warnings: none!

⋆｡°✩ series masterlist

There's beauty in silence. Not a complete silence, but a welcoming quietness that looms around a home. Specifically, the silence of the morning.

You stand in your kitchen, your new kitchen, in solitude and silence. The lack of sound only amplifies your other senses, and the croissants you pulled out of your oven are filling your large home with their scent.

It’s taking some harsh adjusting to, but your new living space has become a home to you. It’s large, much bigger than the humble apartment above your bakery. It overlooks all of Snezhnaya, each window displaying a gorgeous view of your nation. It is way fancier than any house you’ve been in, and you imagine that the rest of the houses by it are as nice too. The other houses, of course, belong to the remaining harbingers.

You’re thankful that in the few years you’ve lived here, you haven’t met most of your neighbors. Not that they have any interest in you, but they’re part of the reason why you were so hesitant to move in.

“Good morning,” You hear from outside the oversized room. Ajax makes his way down the elegant staircase and into the kitchen, dressed to fit the cold weather outside.

“Where are you going?” You ask as he makes his way closer to you, puzzled at how clothed he is this early in the morning.

“I have to finish some paperwork,” He sighs as he stands right next to you and picks up a croissant.

“You just got back, though,” You sip on your warm drink, bumping your hip into his, “You gonna be back by tonight?”

“Yeah, are you checking in with the bakery today?” He asks.

“Mhm, I need to make sure our new manager has everything under control,” You respond, biting into your own pastry.

“I’ll be back before you’re home, then,” He responds, taking your free hand and fiddling with the ring on your finger. You look up at him with a tired smile, unashamedly admiring him as you put down your food. He smiles back, his closed lips holding a mouthful of bread.

“You know, if I could,” He swallows, “I’d stay here all day with you, all week even.”

“Sappy,” You roll your eyes, and turn to refill your drink. He grabs your arm and twirls you back around, pulling you closer to his chest. You grunt from the force of your cheek hitting his coated chest, causing him to pull away from you for a moment.

“What? Is my жена already tired of me?” He asks, in a joking tone.

“No, your жена hasn’t woken up yet,” You look up at him, with your eyebags on display. He laughs at your comment, and you have no idea where he gets that energy that early.

You can’t help but smile at the man through your tiredness, though. You reach up to place a kiss on his lips, and you can feel him smile before he returns the favor. You stay like that for a moment, before you feel the heat of his lips disappear.

“I have to go,” He pulls away from you. You nod, looking up at him once again. You straighten his thick scarlet scarf that drooped down below his neck, before kissing him one last time. He heads toward the front door of your large house, his heavy boots clanking against the expensive floor with each step. He says goodbye, I love you, and a promise to come home alive, all three being a daily occurrence in his morning routine.

You finish your breakfast before heading upstairs to your shared bedroom, ready to get dressed for the day. You pass through your bedroom and into your closet, putting at least three layers on to protect yourself from the nation’s frost. After donning your final coat, you head back to your bedroom. A glimmer catches your eye, and you turn your head.

A small velvet pouch sits on the made bed. The exact same blue bag Ajax had given you the first night you met him. You walk over to it, sitting on your bed beside it. You pick it up and hold it in your hands before opening it. Inside, you pull out a small press-dried glaze lily, a necklace with a beautifully shaped cor lapis charm, and a folded piece of paper. You open the paper, and it’s clear to be a written letter from Ajax.

Лисичка,

You know apologies are not my strongest suit, but I would like to say I’m sorry for leaving you alone in our home for months at a time, and not being here as much as I want.

As I’m writing this, I’m waiting for my ship on Liyue harbor, and I cannot get you out of my mind. What a wonderful woman I’ve married! One that lets me be away from her for work, but is ready to accept me back the moment I’m home. One that forgave me on a harbor very much like the one I’m on, when I messed up in what I thought was an unforgivable mistake. One that has so much love to give, and one that accepts the crazy and undying love coming from myself.

I was talking to Mr. Zhongli, and he helped me pick out this necklace for you. The glaze lily I picked for myself. It reminds me of the night when you gave into my annoying ways, and let me spend time with you.

I'm not good with word, but I guess what I’m trying to say is that you are everything to me. Anything and everything. And I couldn’t be more grateful that you let me into your busy life with open arms. I promise to love you more and more with each letter I write, each expedition, and each day.

– Ajax

You fold the letter back up, not realizing a spare tear escaped from your left eye. Doesn’t he know what he does to you? You let yourself sit and soak in the letter’s contents for a moment, before realizing that it’s best to leave soon for the bakery.

You have one more thing to do, and that is to put on the gorgeous golden necklace. You carefully place the flower and letter back into the pouch before putting it into your pocket. You head downstairs and out the door, where the coldness of Snezhnaya seems more forgiving to you this morning.

⋆｡°✩translation: жена wife

⋆｡°✩a/n: Thank y'all so much for reading!! I hope to start writing another chapter story soon <3 and my request box is open as of right now!! I hope yall enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

⋆｡°✩tag list: @inlovewithlondonn @zamorazz @ay4tou @kur0melon @boomie-123 @esthelily @i-simp-for-giyuu @itsflowerdomethings @whatamidoing89 @luvrkise @ninjaartsimping

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roguedruid · 7 months ago

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"Oh great druid this humble petitioner asks for your recommendations on fics you did not write but enjoyed greatly I look forward to getting your top 15."

Uhhhh Damn. Hold on. Lets seee..... I can give you eleven- in no particular order- that come to mind with a bit of searching. but questioner- I read so many fics. This is gonna be a crapshoot of fandoms, so hold on. Of Harrowed Hearts by Sable_Scribe: A Naruto fic which is sadly unfinished- but had an awesome vibe and really dives into the characterization of the Konoha 12 and their potential. It does have Naruto/Sasuke vibes- but when it last left off the slow burn was slow and Sasuke was barely realizing his emotions. The Games We Play by Ryuugi: It's posted on Spacebattles origionally- but it's been reposted a few other places. It's massive- nearly a million words. This was my first real 'Massive fic' i followed as it was updating- and my real intro to Space Battles/Sufficent Velocity as fanfic sites. Also- first Gamer fic that went *way* into the power scaling and endgame stuff. Jaune in this story escalates hard as fuck. I'm talking supernatural kung fu, elemental powers, the ability to destroy cities- And his threats are scary enough to match it. This was before Salem for most of the story- but the Grimm that show up are terrifying. Keeping on the forums real fast- Two Quests (Essentially reader driven stories) deserve to be on this list. Xander [Quest] by one Judge Mental is another of those Monolithic kind of reading experiences. it's massive- on a word count I can't even figure out- spread across like 28 threads. it starts as a simple premise- You are Alexander Harris- and you are born as the reincarnation of Ganondorf. Yeah- that Ganondorf. Things only escalate past that point- to where the last i checked we were possibly the strongest sorcerer on earth- and only 12.

"A Geeks Guide: CORE" series by Sage_of_Eyes. Again, monolithic in scope- it's a complete reimagining of the Highschool DXD mythology (yes, the ecchi novels/anime. Yes it's way deeper then it deserves. Yes, it's also metal as fuck)

Swerving back from forums:

A Drop of Poison by Angel Of Snapdragons: Naruto's Shadow Clones are fucking crazy- and if you've ever wanted to see the power fantasy of them escalating non stop- this is the good shit. Drifting by AlphaDelta1001: More Naruto- but this one has some of my favorite 'Kinda Genius' Naruto moments. It mixes up the timelines, throws in a completley revamped Chuunin exam, introduces tones of new characters- and completely revamps Naruto's methods- if you ever got bored of 'it's all Rasengan' in canon- this is definitely a suggestion.

From Fake Dreams by Third Fang: Fate Stay/Night. Supercharged. This is a bit of a controversal pick- mainly because Third Fang is one of those authors who's sense of humor is... off. Just a bit of that old school Shonen Jump Pervert vibe in the background- snarky comments and purile humor creep around the corners of his writing- but FFD is still immensly fun to read. The power creep- already high as fuck in Canon FSN- goes so high. Where recently Shirou isn't fighting Servants- But True Ancestors. Son of the Western Sea by Mac_Ceallach: If you want Percy Jackson going solo on a world-wide adventure- this is it. its after the War for New York, before the romans showed up- and Its got Percy just... being cool vibing. Hitting into other myths by accident. In contrast, if you want some true off the rocker Percy- An Impractical Guide to Godhood by Antony444 It's technically a crossover with A practical guide to Evil- but if you ever wanted to see olympus and the rest of the percy jackson verse just... implode with chaos? This is it. Flooding Hades with the flaming river- beating Ceaser in Gladatorial Events, fucking with the olympians? This goes hard. The Many Quirks Of Phantom Thievery by PsychicBeagle Persona 5, reloaded. Featuring New Game+ shenanagains, plenty of romance and memes, and puns. If you're a P5 fan, I highly reccomend it. It's Time For Another Good Idea, Bad Idea by Haurvatat: This is a weird one- for one it's Solo leveling, so it's fandom was kinda niche. on the other... It's got Cannabilism in it. But! As a Cook? this is a guilty pleasure fic. The cooking scenes are all written like Binging with Babish episodes, the humor is on point, there's actual stakes and emotions- theres closure? What more does a fic need.

#submission

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a-d-nox · 2 years ago

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pac: what to retain and release this month

take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.

last pac/pap: advice from the universe

masterlist of pap/pac posts

want a personal reading? click here to check out my reading options and prices!

pile 1

release only focusing on the negative. negative moments exist so that we can appreciate the positive ones. without moments of difficulty there would be no purpose in having hope. a series of negative moments doesn't equate to a lifetime of them. perseverance makes us strong and resilient thus the negative moments are only there to help us become better/stronger versions of ourselves. focus on what you can control; not how you can control others or outcomes. let go of everything else (others actions, outcome, etc.). when you let go, that is when miracles happen.

retain your ability to create with passion. you are powerful. you know how to receive and act appreciatively and humbly. focus on what you receive rather than what you take; count your blessings. look around at all you have rather than what you don't; "gratitude is the best attitude." trust that the universe is working towards giving you everything you need in this lifetime - it simply takes time. attract what you want by using your passion and creativity. practice self-love and engage in activities that allow you to express yourself creatively.

pile 2

release your fears of being alone and self-isolation. you have done the work and you know who and what you want. don't face analysis paralysis - go out there and get it. your inner voice and thoughts are likely telling you not to, that its scary, that you'll only being disappointed, etc. that is not true - that's false perception. if you are experiencing negative self-talk, chances are you experienced being let down in the past and you are allowing cognitive bias to shape your future. what happened in the past isn't destined to happen in the future. don't hide your heart out of fear that it will be broken - it's not the way to live. if you aren't vulnerable with others and are unwilling to share your true self, you may never find what you seek most in life. this is the month for you to take a chance - its okay to be scared, its okay to stumble/fall, its okay to be hurt or to get hurt. so long as that is not where your story ends. face fears, get up, heal.

retain your fake it to you make it attitude. NONE of us know what we are doing and that is okay - use your powers of deception for good though. use them to get out of your comfort zone. you have a talent for strategy. have a honest conversation with others or yourself about what you want and need from any given situation. you have the strength to confront situations head on and you should do so! don't hide things about yourself that helps others to better understand you and your needs. be honest and be vulnerable - you are strong enough to do both. take what you need and leave the rest behind.

pile 3

release giving more than you have and more than you can afford to lose. something tells me that you tend to give more than you receive; be cognizant of what you are giving. it's okay to give without receiving, but it is NOT OKAY to be used for your generosity. do not feel obligated to constantly give; especially if you are not in the position to do so mentally or monetarily. mind your wallet right now - be careful what you are spending... and expending.

retain your ambition - push yourself and others out of their comfort zones. you have a non-quitting attitude: tired you recharge, disappointed you try again, losing momentum you reevaluate and re-strategize. reflect on your situation and follow your intuition. don't get caught up in the dramatics or get defensive - take in everyone's thoughts and opinions.

#tarot reading #tarotblr #free tarot #tarot #tarot witch #tarotcommunity #pick a photo #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card

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abeautylives · 2 years ago

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Imperfect Moments - Chapter One

a/n: This is my first intentional series, I hope you love it 🥹 I don’t have a posting schedule in mind but I do have several chapters already locked and loaded.

Series Masterlist

pairing: Jakexfemale!reader

word count: 1.4k this chapter

series summary: You’re in love with your best friend. His twin brother hates you. Or does he?

warnings: none this chapter aside from a little language

jake_gvf just posted a photo

The notification appears and you flick it away.

Jake’s updates are the rarest and yet they irritate you the most. Josh had convinced you to follow everyone in the band, to “keep up with us when we’re gone,” and you’d done it simply because he’d asked. On the off chance that he’s posted a picture including his twin, you decide to open the app.

So pretentious. Bitch, you’re not a pirate.

Lame.

You leave the comment, knowing he’ll never see it.

When your phone starts ringing in your hands, you can’t help but smile as your favorite picture of Josh’s face graces the screen.

“Joshua, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You’ve really done it now, darling,” your heart rate picks up at the nickname, “Jake’s pissed.”

“Pissed about what?” You’re actually confused. You haven’t seen or even been in the same state as Jake in weeks. You rarely speak to him.

“Your little comment on his picture. Oh, he’s completely up in arms over it, throwing an actual tantrum! They call me the dramatic one.” Josh’s laughter is infectious and you join in happily, until what he’s saying sinks in.

“Wait, how did he even see that? He reads his own Instagram comments?” You didn’t think they took much control over that kind of thing, and you definitely didn’t think yours would stand out amongst the flood of fans drooling over him.

“Jacob takes his work on social media very seriously Y/N,” his tone is stern until a giggle comes over the line. He’s joking, but you’re chewing over your bottom lip, still concerned that your comment had even blipped on Jake’s radar.

“Y/N? You there?”

Shaken out of your contemplation, you fix a smile onto your lips that Josh can’t see. “Yeah! Sorry, sorry you have to deal with that. He’s so annoying.”

“No, this is great. I love it when you get under his skin, the entertainment is free. I do need to go though, just wanted to say thank you for making me laugh from afar.”

“Pleased to be of service,” you chuckle, proud of yourself for earning the praise of the older twin. “When do you get back?”

“Hmm, I think we’ll be home next week. Maybe Friday? I’ll let you know, we can go out!”

“Sounds good, I miss you already,” it slips out, but you mean it.

“We haven’t been gone that long! I’ve gotta go darling, talk soon!”

“Yeah, talk soon. Bye J-“

He’s already hung up.

You’re not sure why you’ve never clicked with Jake when it had been instant with his literal carbon copy, he’d immediately seemed to dislike you after your first meeting. You figure it’s probably because he’s too pretty for his own good and unfortunately, he knows it.

Josh is pretty like that too, unbelievably so, but it’s almost like he has no idea. You love that about him. You love everything about him. You might be in love with him.

He’s completely oblivious.

It’s hard to not develop a crush on Josh. You’re sure that anyone who’s ever interacted with him walks away a little bit in love, and you interact with him more than most but in over a year, he’s never given you the impression that he feels anything more than platonic affection for you.

Stupidly, that hasn’t stopped you from letting your world revolve around him.

Over a thousand miles away, reclined against the pillows of his claimed bed in the hotel room he’s currently sharing with his brother, Jake is staring at his phone. Fuming.

“What the fuck is her problem?”

“Who?” Josh can’t help but poke the bear.

“Your little friend, where does she get off calling me lame? Like she doesn’t know who the fuck I am.” Jake’s a humble guy, normally. Or at least he thinks he is.

“And who the fuck are you, Jake, hm? I quite enjoy that she doesn’t like you.”

“What you quite enjoy is that she only likes you. You love the attention, it’s sort of pathetic.” He doesn’t mean it, not really, but the friendship between you and his brother grates on his nerves in a way he won’t bother explaining. “You know she’s into you, right?”

“Y/N?! No, it’s not like that with us.”

“Josh, it’s not like that with you. She never leaves you alone. She likes you, it’s disturbingly obvious.”

“To who?” He seems genuinely surprised by this revelation, eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

“You’re an idiot,” Jake mutters it under his breath as he deletes your comment under his post and then promptly drops the conversation.

The following week, the guys got back into town on Friday, just as Josh had thought. And he had called you, just as he said he would. What he failed to do however, was tell you that all of his brothers would be joining you when he suggested you go out.

When you walked up to the table expecting to find Josh with his beaming smile and head full of curls, only to be met with three beaming smiles and one distinct sneer, the disappointment settled deep in your belly. Rather than allow it to show, you greeted them cheerily.

“Fancy seeing all of you here! How was Florida?”

They each stand to offer you a hug, Sam giving you a friendly kiss on the cheek before dragging Danny to the bar with him to order a round. When Josh wraps his arms around you, you return the gesture and hold onto him for longer than you should. You really did miss him, but your reunion is soured by the look of displeasure on Jake’s face. Unfortunately, it’s directed at you and your eyes have found his over Josh's shoulder. You maintain the eye contact as the embrace comes to an end.

“Jacob.”

“Y/N.”

“Well look at the two of you, it’s been thirty seconds and you haven’t cursed at or spit on each other yet!” Josh truly does find your distaste for one another entertaining, it’s puzzling to him but he enjoys trying to figure it out.

“The night is still young. I need a drink.” Jake finally stands and bumps your shoulder with his as he makes his way across the room where the others are waiting at the bar.

“I can’t believe you guys have the same DNA. He’s such an asshole,” you huff out as you rub the spot on your shoulder that Jake had touched. Josh simply laughs.

Most interactions you have with Jake end with you telling one of his brothers he’s an asshole. He’s never actually touched you though, not since the handshake you shared when you first met. His body’s contact with yours leaves you feeling off-balance and irritated, and you eventually call the night early after confirming with Josh that the two of you will get together soon.

Josh turns from you when you leave his side, sips his drink and keeps talking with Sam.

Jake watches your back until you’ve left the building.

The thing about Jake that no one knows, not even his twin, is that he’s jealous. Jealous of your easy friendship, envious of the attention you’re constantly showering his brother with.

When you’d been introduced he’d been pleased to finally meet you, but the sheer amount of time you spent with Josh quickly became excessive. While the world had literally shut down, he’d watched you cling to his brother in a time where contact with other people had become so limited.

The part that bothers him is that he envies what Josh refuses to realize is there. Josh doesn’t appreciate what you have to offer, and it makes him feel like he’s not allowed to. Not allowed to indulge in your presence, not allowed to admire you. So he’s gotten to know you from a distance, overhearing phone conversations and eavesdropping when you’re in their home. Occasionally he’ll join the two of you but keeps his communication with you scarce, or nonexistent.

Which is fine. He can handle that, except he’s seen what’s going on behind your eyes every time you let them linger on Josh’s face. He can feel it radiating from you if he gets too close. Somewhere along the way, you’d developed feelings for his brother.

And he wishes they had been for him.

Therefore, he acts like he can’t stand you. In turn, he knows you hate him because of it.

Taglist:

@lightmylove-gvf @spicedandicedtea @weneedsomehealing123 @milkgemini @why-ami-on-here

Please let me know if you’d like to be added ❤️

#greta van fleet #gvf #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fic #gvf fan fiction #josh kiskza #josh gvf #jake kiszka #jake gvf

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malinaa · 11 months ago

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2023 WRITING REVIEW

tagged: no one i just wanted to do this and i forgot about it soz </3 tagging : board of directors i'd tag u here but this is mostly fic-based so sorree... anyway if u have already done this my b.... i wld like to see ur post tho @evcndiaz | @brimay | @usignedupforthis | @seek--rest | @posallys | @dustorangeheartssnowman | @adhd-merlin | @queerofthedagger

number of stories posted to ao3: 34 ±1 bc i updated a fic from a while back <3

word counted posted for last year: 90k... a feat (i wrote more but it was ofic so add like maybe 10k to that)

fandoms i wrote for: alex stern series, merlin, house md, pjo, spidey, hunger games, doctor who, & the grisha trilogy

pairings: merthur / arwen / mergwenthur / mergana, darlingstern, hilson, percabeth, petermj, everlark, tenrose, malina

stories with the most KUDOS: jealousy, jealousy (house md) with 522 <3 BOOKMARKS: except my life (merlin) with 137 <3 COMMENT THREADS: rip current (pjo) with 38 <3 *technically the answer to all of these is tested with torment but that's a fic i updated so i don't reallyyyyyy count it

work i'm most proud of (and why): thread of gold (arwen, bbc merlin) because i don't exactly post 2nd person fic and tbh most people HATEEEEE 2nd person fic AND i got people to enjoy it. HA!

work i'm least proud of (and why): coffee drinker (gen fic, bbc merlin) because it was just a promptfic and i didn't even really feel like posting it but i wrote it so i might as well yk?

share or describe a favorite review you received: any review that quotes a line but this one from judas kiss (arwen, bbc merlin)...

THIS. IS. WONDERFUL ❤️❤️❤️ *creates bookmark with gusto* I LOVE that you dug into what it might have been like for Gwen while she was under that enchantment! It was so creative to have her past memories blurring with glimpses of the present during the enchantment. I *felt* her disorientation, and it *hurt*. I felt so bad for Gwen all over again! 😭😭😭 That aspect of this story could have been a fantastic standalone one-shot in its own right, but noooo, you raised the bar and KEPT GOING and made it even better!!! I love that you showed Gwen and Merlin staying friends after Gwen becomes queen, and I love how she confides in him and how he immediately drops everything to go look for the offending piece of jewelry. The bit about Arthur’s incredulity at Merlin’s method of testing the enchantment was a great dash of humor, and I love that you fleshed out the concept of the enchantment to be something the others could experience so that they could truly *know* that Gwen had been innocent. And don’t even get me started on how much I love Arthur’s “Forgive me.” I love how he doesn’t think twice about humbling himself in front of everyone because his focus is solely on Gwen, consumed by the urgency of doing the right, honorable, and loving thing in that moment. You write Arthur and Gwen’s relationship so beautifully. 💕 Well done; I hate you (/affectionate) for all these feels. 🥰🫂👏

a time when writing was really, really hard: august through october... idek why i was literally in agony not writing

a scene or character you wrote that surprised you: writing jj in spider-man: homewrecker because i've NEVER written him before (in my memory) and i was like. Hello .

a favorite excerpt of your writing: cannae lie i have a few favs so... killing is a love language (mergana, bbc merlin) Heartbreak snakes up his throat, constricting him at the sight of her. Morgana’s beauty is incontestable even like this, but her hatred wore her down to her bones. Gone were the full cheeks and rosy lips, the perfectly combed hair, the wardrobe that would put princesses to shame. Now, her face is sunken in, her hair a curled storm, her dress is merely black rags at this point. thread of gold (arwen, bbc merlin) Your father’s presence is larger than life. Larger than love. It looms. It casts shadows long enough to hide every hope and dream you’ve ever had for yourself. the boy and the girl (malina, the grisha trilogy) Memory fractures into shards. Real or not real? There’s Mal in the meadow. Mal buried beneath the hanging tree. Mal cold in her palms. There’s a sky darker than night. Her hands bloodied. A knife lodged in his heart. Her knife. His blood. Her fault. She killed him. She loves him. Her fault. Rest her head on his still chest. Her fault. No heartbeat. Her fault. No warmth. Cold light spilling from her palms. She killed him. The Saint’s only true worshipper martyred.

how did you grow as a writer last year: my hopes from last year was that i finally finish a multichap fic.... 😭 does a short 3-shot count. besides that i wrote more consistently and i'm finally Used to my writing style. i think.

how do you hope to grow this year: hell if i know if i could write something longer than 20k that'd be great 😭😭😭😭

who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer, beta, cheerleader, etc.): the board.... @rosesau / @bipercabeth / @stellwood fnh...... i'd tag katie but she absconded from tumblr smh. anyway hi freaks n geeks

anything from your real life show up in your writing last year: oh i don't even know. nothing ig

any new wisdom you can share with other writers: bro idek the more i write the more writing becomes fundamentally so hard to talk about ... sorreeee

any projects you're looking to starting (or finishing) this year: IF I DON'T FUCKING MAKE PROGRESS ON MY PLAY I WILL BASH MY HEAD INTO A WALL. THIS CAN'T KEEP HAPPENING. ATLAS AND VIVIAN YOU WILL BE WRITTEN ON THE PAGE INSHALLAH

#tag games #2023 #writing #text #tais toi lys #not the numbering getting fucked. whatever

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neonscandal · 1 month ago

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So, I just read a posts about how some male anime/manga characters that are loved will be hated if they were female. And it got me thinking. What do you think will happen if Gojo, Sukuna or Bakugou were female characters (with the same power and same personality), will they be hated? For me, yes they will be hated. But, the same can't be said for Yuuji or Midoriya. Like, for me, even if their characters were female, somehow, I think will be loved... But what do you think?

She's bacckkkkk

Things are finally calming down so I'm working to polish off some of these asks that have been sitting for a bit. Thank you for your patience, anon, I think this is a great question. Reasonably, you're probably wondering why. Makima? Well, to answer your question, I think she is incredibly pertinent to address the internet zeitgeist... which is just a superficial, misogynistic lack of media literacy.

I think most of my takes tend to attract the girls, the gays and the theys *gestures broadly*. So I would never assume that I speak for most men or any of them for that matter. However, I couldn't help but notice the idealized interpretation that soft-spoken, "nurturing" Makima garnered by Chainsaw Man fanboys everywhere nor the way people drooled over Mei Mei who is confident and can hold her own but largely not a big player in JJK.

Out of the three characters mentioned, they share the fact that they are OP or notably powerful and subsequently confident and boastful about said power. As a woman, Gojo would more than likely come across more as comedic relief (but let's not ignore the fact that Gojo is canonly/fanonly pretty polarizing). Sukuna would probably catch fewer strays honestly, benefitting from the Makima/Mei Mei treatment which I will get back to. Bakugo!? Bakugo set in a shojo or josei would be a lovable tsundere. Regardless of gender tbh. But Bakugo as a girl or woman would have her name slandered more than Sakura from Naruto.

THE WHY

This will get a bit dicey but let's expand on the interpretations above.

Gojo is a bit complex because, as stated, he doesn't exactly get star treatment as he is. Perhaps just in my corner of the internet and I'm totally okay with that. But as a woman who stakes her identity on her strength, is cavalier about the feelings of others, who does seemingly reckless things confident in how events will transpire... she wouldn't even be taken seriously. That level of audacity would simply be comical because there'd be no way that audiences would assume her to be as OP as she claims. A bit of a crossover observation, but, the same way none of the Class 1A boys took girls seriously in the sports festival except Bakugo is the same way audiences would recieve Gojo's confidence if he were a woman.

Sukuna as a woman would be well received. Motivated by something carnal, sultry in her dismissiveness. Sukuna is peak dark feminine energy and people would eat that up, honestly.

Bakugo is another character who, despite sweeping every character vote for MHA, still has a pretty polarizing reception. Some people feel his character arc didn't have enough suffering to atone for his behavior as a child. Which is interesting because it taps in on something known to Midoriya, Bakugo and Geto. Regardless of strength, people still need saving. It is a large part of all their motivations from a character perspective. Readers and in universe bystanders alike across both series tend to assume that those who are strong are never weak which is categorically untrue. I am curious as to whether this is because, in these instances, they are men and boys. But I still feel as though Bakugo, regardless of looks, would likely be hated and the need for humbling her would lead to grotesque comments. Especially as she is bested by Midoriya. I feel like those integral moments to the story and their character development wouldn't be received for the nuance it brings but just perceived as a gratifying loss for Bakugo who dared to make ludicrous statements at the sports festival and was never chosen by All Might. There would be a constant need to rub her failures in her face because how dare she still think so highly of herself despite constantly being shown otherwise.

Note, I made mention of Sakura who, even if I haven't seen the show, I know fanboys hated her for her yo-yoing with Naruto which came across as manipulative despite loving Sasuke. This element of their dynamic overshadows all other aspects of her character even though she is a prolific healer and relative proficiency as a fighter. I've never seen slander for Hinata who I assume to be much more timid and soft spoken.

Subsequently, characters like Makima and Mei Mei are ogled for their obvious appearance and I believe there is more grace reserved for women who may be powerful but never speak of it (similar to IRL when women who know they are pretty acknowledge that they are pretty much to the disapproval of those around them). Regardless of how sinister they are, they come across as quiet or docile until the moment their strength is needed which is far more palatable than a woman who is confident in her abilities and dares to speak of such. Even when Mei Mei jests about her proficiency, it's done so seductively and not in a bragging way. Subsequently, they are drooled over despite their relative power in universe.

Makima, undeniably lethal, is seemingly kind and a woman of few words who makes it a point to offer Denji a way out. Despite the fact that she is an obvious predator in many ways, fanboys either don't see it or glorify a dynamic in line with abuse. In truth, her villainy bubbles just below the surface for anyone bothering to read a little deeper but at least she doesn't boast of her strength.

Mei Mei is completely capable of taking care of herself though she feigns weakness when teasing Gojo during the beginning of the Hidden Inventory/Premature Death episode. Though her power seems lackluster when comprehensively revealed and understood, she is capable of navigating sticky situations even at the expense of her brother. She is conniving and money-hungry and a veritable sexual predator. People love to call women "gold diggers" but the cries of how beautiful she is tend to overshadow a reasonable understanding of her character because she largely flies under the radar.

This glosses over the appeal of a villain character namely because, in early CSM discourse, most people could barely recognize her alignment because of a lack of literacy when consuming content. I'd argue the same for Mei Mei, honestly. People really had to push evidence as to why Mei Mei was a foil for Nanami who diametrically differs from her in every way before some readers could understand that she was definitely engaged in abusive behavior with her brother. Despite the obvious art and context.

EARNEST HEROES

I agree, Yuji and Midoriya would likely still be well received as girls though I'd actually be curious for similar examples like them in shonen as none come to mind. There's a faction of the fanbase that hates to see Midoriya cry which would likely be more acceptable as a girl as its more commonly seen as feminine and I think there's commentary there as well.

Even though they are OP, they are shown losing, in turmoil and to be discouraged and it would temper any strength therein. Honestly, if they were girls, there likely would still be those who don't pick up on just how OP they are.

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goneahead · 1 year ago

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I was tagged by @radiowrites and @stephmcx thank you♥️!!

Hi! I am @goneahead on tumblr. I am also goneahead on A03 and goneahead over on dreamwidth (see links in my pinned post - my internet has gone wonky again)

So, this was definitely not one of my better years. I have three WIPs and while I plodded away at all three, I was never happy enough to post new chapters.

What’s really sad is I finally hit 1 million words posted on dreamwidth—and then I pretty much struck out this year. I’m mostly posting this cuz I think its good for newer writers to realize that yes, even experienced writers have years where things just go all pear-shaped.

My grand total for fanfic was: 1,513😳

I don’t keep track of my poetry word count, but I started the year writing poem #926 and ended the year writing poem #947

Total Number of Fanfics: about 150

Total Number Of Completed Works: this year? 0

Total Number of WIPS worked on this year: 3

How Many WIPs do you still have: 4

Looking back, did you write more than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? Much less. In fact, this year was pretty much a bust.

Did you take any writing risks this year? Well considering I spent all year writing three fics and wasnt happy enough to post anything….

Biggest Surprise: I would love to say I was surprised at how little I posted, but I am a disorganized idjit and—yeah. nobody is shocked.

Biggest Disappointment: see above😆

Do you have any writing goals for the new year? Finish Home verse. Let’s see how that goes….

Fanfiction Questions Below! (if you don’t write fanfiction feel free to skip or rework the questions for your original works.)

Fandoms I’ve written in this year? Hawaii Five-0

Your most popular story of the year? sadly, I didn’t post a new story, just a poem and a tiny addition to another verse.

The story that was easiest/or most fun to write? Still enjoying my MIB AU. Now if I could actually finish it…

Hardest story to write: Lead Me Through the Fire from 2022 was one of those fics where all the different pieces of the plot had to fit together just so. I spent more time than I’d like to admit second-guessing myself on how I arranged the chapters.

Your sweetest funniest story: I have a soft spot for Hawaii Five-0’s Eric Russo. The character is very funny and often wildly inappropriate. I wrote a scene in one of my WIPs where Eric is just soooo Eric

Your saddest scene: I didn’t write anything sad this year.

The sexiest moment you’ve written this year? again, nada.

Your favorite tag: diplomatic javelining😆

Most unintentionally telling story: hmmm. I can’t think of anything too revealing in my fic? Except a tendency to write too many AUs?

Are any of your fics named after/heavily inspired by music? Yes. A lot of my fics have their own playlists and that music definitely influenced those fics. I don’t usually share these songs—or name my fics after songs—because I listen to a lot of obscure stuff most people have never heard of.

What’s your own favorite story of the year? I continued to get a lot of interesting and thought-provoking comments on Care and Feeding of a Super SEAL this year. There are many amazing fix-it fics for S10xE22 written by insanely talented writers—so its crazy and humbling that people are continuing to read and comment on mine.

Fanfiction risks you took this year? sadly, none.

My favorite part of fandom this year: We had new people join our fandom!

You know, I really don’t get what has happened to fandoms these last few years. It used to be that fans just shrugged and continued to write, create, and have fun—even their fandom didn’t have any new content being made. Am I the only one who thinks its weird that most fans now book it for the nearest exit as soon as a show is canceled or a movie series is over?

letsee, tagging um, @cowandcalf @bennyokelly @itwoodbeprefect @stellagioia @redgoldblue

#answered #h50 #a03

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pinesfamilyguidetotheweird · 11 months ago

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Hi there! Thanks for giving a look at my rather humble post ;)

I have occasionally read your fanfic series, and it's been interesting to see how many developments you've made on your Tumblr. So I'm thinking of... do you still take an art request?

If you do, I'll ask for some minor characters like Wendy or Candy - I'll choose Wendy. For facial expressions, take the most fitting examples you can think of! ;)

Currently, I'm sketching one heck of a fanart as a celebration of sorts for my upcoming new drawing tablet.

Once that's done, I'll go back to taking requests. I have drawn Wendy for my AU recently, but I haven't posted it yet. I was thinking about Candy just a moment ago for a post I'm fixin' to make involving her (and Grenda) for my AU (and a possible exclusion from the AU)

And, I meant to reply to your comment over at AO3, but since I'm here...

Thank you for taking time to read all that mess I've written lol.

#ask answered #fragmented au

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sleepwithgiggli · 1 year ago

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Really Not a Defence of B*mbi S/leep/s, but...

What Even Is Forced Feminisation (and Why)?

In Defence of the Humble Sissy

The B*mbi trances are (justifiably!) talked about as unethical, but I've never seen anyone talk about their role as forced feminisation trances. This is what they are. If you don't recognise this, it's easy to misunderstand some very key elements of them.

I want to say first that I consider the B*mbi trances to be extremely unethical, and I don't think anyone should use them. This article is not an encouragement of their use.

Note that unethical and dangerous are two different words. I don't consider the B*mbi trances to be especially dangerous (I have encountered trances I do considered dangerous – I know the difference!), but I do consider them unethical. Extremely so.

I also think they include some elements that undermine their own purpose and while well-written from an erotic and fantasy point of view, the trances are actually really bad at their claimed intention.

What are the B*mbi S/leep/s trances?

If you have been living under a rock and somehow have missed their existence (maybe I should congratulate you), these are a series of trances that propose to turn you into a bimbo and a sex doll. You will forget your old life, and become devoted to being sexy in a stereotypically feminine way and serving men sexually (especially their cocks!)

The series contains a lot of trances that work together and build on this central concept. One of the most impressive things about these trances is the way they are split into individual files that you can mix and match and put together in your desired playlist.

I have seen other big trances that work this way (but not many), but none of them are free. That's the second big draw of these trances. They are free – anyone can use them.

What are the trances *really* about?

It’s not overtly obvious, but the signs are extremely apparent if you know what to look for. Some files make it more obvious than others.

These are not primarily bimbo slut trances. They are forced feminisation trances, aimed at people who see themselves as men or sissies, to encourage (nay, force) their already-existing desire to act like a certain kind of a woman – a hyper-feminine slut, basically.

The bimbo slut side is just part of the forced feminisation fantasy. The fact that it appeals outside of its central audience is a nice bonus, and adds to the trances popularity.

Gender is not mentioned directly, so that these trances can be enjoyed by either gender, as long as the listener has a bimbo slut fantasy.

This isn't unusual! There is a long tradition of trances advertised as feminisation trances that nevertheless make no mention of the listener's original anatomy, with the possibly unintended effect that they can be enjoyed by any gender.

(By the way, if you’re a woman and not in Second Life, feminisation trances are often the best trances for you – the bias towards male listeners infects almost everything else. But you have to be careful – some trances do explicitly use male anatomy or even slurs for men. Some creators are good for you, some are not. If you're in Second Life, this bias is reversed - most trances assume a female listener, so just about any trance is fine. It's those who don't identify as women who have to be picky here.)

The primary goal of the trance series is to get those who dress as women on a part time basis to want to do that more, and to want to do feminine things they might be reluctant to do. To essentially act out the role of being a submissive woman.

Remember these trances are primarily written for people who see themselves as men who want to be women - so the things the trances are trying to make you do are things you already want to do. These are not bad things.

Since it's in vogue at the moment, lets acknowledge a bit of Plagiarism

I recently saw a bit of hypnoporn where someone commented about the audio, "Isn't this just a blatant rip-off of B*mbi S/leep/s?"

That made me laugh because it has it exactly backwards. Catgurl was a German hypno-creator who sadly vanished from the scene more than a decade ago and released a trance called Gogo Bubble. This was a really good feminisation / bimbo trance, and if you can get a copy I thoroughly recommend it. It doesn't have the massive unethical failings of the B*mbi trances either. (It does have "angels of your elbow" though.)

The earliest B*mbi tracks, and a central conceit used throughout the trances (that of bubbles that engulf you and swallow your memories), are directly taken from this trance. It's not just being inspired by an idea, it's directly copying. I know the first time I ever listened to the first B*mbi set, I was shaken out of trance by marvelling just how much of a copy it was.

That said, the B*mbi trances have really built on this idea and have a lot of unrelated unique stuff in them. The hypnosis world has often been a free-for-all with people recklessly grabbing stuff from each other without credit so it's hard to point fingers*. But I do think these tracks owe a massive debt to Gogo Bubble and it’s a shame to see Catgurl gets no credit for it.

*It doesn’t happen much, if at all, in trances you pay for, and is rife in free trances, so it might be related to the incorrect idea that it's not plagiarism if you don't charge for it.

Do We Need To Talk About the Content Of these Trances?

Here's the gist: you are programmed to have an alter-ego, named B*mbi, who is a total bimbo slut, obsessed with pleasing men and being sexy. You will see yourself as a sexy woman when she is active, and she will become more and more active – in fact, once activated, she tries to take over your "old self".

The trances plant a lot of triggers to reactivate suggestions from the trances, and one really unethical element is just how open these triggers are. You are told you will obey anyone, anywhere, anytime who uses these triggers – and later, the triggers aren't necessary any more. The suggestions become permanent.

The trances are very explicit about the fact that any limits you have in place will be overridden, and in time, the suggestions will affect your real life. Whatever you want, you will become a bimbo slut intent on obeying and sexually pleasing any men you meet.

The series is also very heavily focussed on being obsessed with sexually suggestive bimbo clothing, wearing that clothing, and once you wear it, finding it almost impossible to remove it.

The various suggestions here, especially the last one, are compelling to those who want to be forcibly feminised. These people are given a fantasy of letting their worries (for their unfeminised life) fade away, and being an extremely feminine slut. The clothing suggestions are all about feminisation, and hit several old tropes of this fetish.

But remember who these trances are written for. They are people who want to express their (idealised) feminine side, and they want to be forced to do that. Hypnosis commands are the perfect vehicle for that.

Sadly, I don't consider the trances to be good at what they intend, but they are very good at upholding a fantasy of being feminised into a bimbo, and that is one of the reasons they are so popular.

So Why Are They Unethical?

This is a big topic, since almost everything about these trances is unethical. But I'll cover the main points:

The trances are heavily focussed on tying the suggestions to your "bimbo uniform" which is described as dressing up as a woman. If you already dress as a woman (and especially if you want to look good), this is a problem. The suggestions would apply literally all the time, at least on every occasion you want to look good.

One of the suggestions related to your bimbo uniform literally only works in the context of feminisation, by the way, and makes some of the other suggestions harder if you do not need feminisation!

Secondly, the trances have a huge focus on wearing down your resistance to any separation between your "bimbo" time and your "normal" time – the trances intend for you to become a bimbo all of the time, which means someone who is sex-obsessed and willing to obey literally anything said to you by any men at any time.

Honestly, the amount of suggestions devoted to taking over your normal life and replacing it with a bimbo life are really impressive. These trances could in fact be ethical and fun if just as much effort was made to preserve a separation between your bimbo life and normal life. They'd have a very enthusiastic seal of approval from me if they did that. Because they do illustrate a sexy fantasy, after all.

But if you understand why the trances are the way they are (to encourage those seeking forced feminisation to live out their fantasies), it makes sense why they are the way they are. That's not good, but does explain them.

The Hysteria Around These Trances

This leads nicely to a discussion of the unhinged way these trances are often discussed. You should be aware that I think everyone should avoid them. But it's not because I think they will take over your lives and make you a full-time bimbo.

The trances really encourage this fantasy, and numerous fans want to believe that is a real possibility (because they really, really want it to be true), so you can easily get exposed to the idea that if you listen to these trances you'll be easily manipulated and lose control of yourself. But the trances are overrated in that regard, because...

There's a thing that is pervasive to the entire hypnosis community. I'm talking about the mystique of hypnosis. There are many people (some who really should know better) who talk about hypnosis like it's some magical power that evil practitioners can use to make you do things you don't want to do.

There's some truth to the idea that you should be careful about what hypnosis suggestions you expose yourself to, but it's not really because of this.

There was a recent case of a sexual abuser who had a harem of women and forced them all to listen to the b*mbi trances. Some took this as evidence that the trances robbed these women of their willpower and gave him control of them.

I couldn’t help remembering a similar story that is quite local to me, of a guy who maintained a sex cult focussed on the works of Gor, a notorious BDSM fantasy. This created a local moral panic about those books, with people claiming that reading those books turned the women into the cult leader's sex slaves. I mean, come on. They aren't even that well written!

The second story didn't involve hypnosis. Both stories overlook the highly documented fact that abusers use whatever tools they have to hand to encourage their followers to worship them, and people get into abusive relationships anyway, and will do some extreme things for their abuser. You don't need "magic" for this, you just need an abusive person who has a powerful, controlling personality.

The abuser in the first story was not dependent on using the B*mbi files. Those files were just part of the background decoration he used while abusing those women. It's the relationship as a whole you need to look at, and avoid seeking a simple, reductive, explanation. That's for tabloid news stories.

These files are often involved in hysterical stories about the power of hypnosis, mainly because people buy into the hype and mystique of hypnosis and let their biases get the better of them.

In Conclusion

Avoid these trances if you care about what you put in your noggin. They won't do what you want, but you might find your life suffering as you get increasingly devoted to them (as you can with any fun activity), neglect things you should be doing, and find yourself becoming insufferable to those around you.

But if you do listen to them anyway (and let's face it, a lot of hypnosis enthusiasts will be drawn to them because some people tell them they are dangerous), don't pay too much attention to the hysteria. You can stop listening when you want to. When the trances are no longer serving a need, you can walk away.

We need to create better alternatives. Because speaking plainly, if you want the fantasy of being feminised or becoming a bimbo through hypnosis, there really isn't much competition – at least not on this scale. They are really good at presenting that fantasy. Then again, the perceived danger might be a big part of the draw, so this might not help.

#swg #bambi #hypnosis #trans

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