#marie claire is doing the lords work

[ktownshizzle]

Kim. Seok. Jin.

This is not the same guy wiggling his hips to Super Tuna a few days ago.

[fushitoru]

chapter 3: the manor a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remains—can you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n krnfeknfkejrn i was so tired writing this chapter but used it to procrastinate on the reports and papers i have to write for internship/reports (wtf is quantum physics anyways). ty as always to @/sinn-clair for being the best beta reader <33333

Dear readers, 

Apparently, last week, there was an altercation in Lady Itadori’s drawing room involving Lord Gojo, Miss Itadori, and a dog. The dog was the victor. 

Furthermore, If one is to trust the betting books, then Lord Gojo shall be witness to wedding bells before the year is through.

As much as it pains This Author to agree with the betting books (they are written by men, and thus inherently flawed), This Author must concur in the prediction.

Duchess Gojo will soon have her daughter-in-law. But who she will be⸺ah, Gentle Reader, that is still anyone’s guess. 

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman⸺a work I have long heard whispers about but never fully encountered until now. Her words, as bold as they are revolutionary, have struck a chord deep within me. She speaks of the education and independence of women, of our capacity for reason and our right to be regarded as more than mere adornments to the lives of men. Her arguments are so meticulously crafted, so unwavering in their conviction, that they have compelled me to reflect on my own circumstances.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

I cannot help but wonder if there will ever come a time when these two worlds might reconcile⸺the status quo and that of what the book articulates. When women might be both respected and fre

Before you could finish writing in your diary, you suddenly heard frantic footsteps down the hallway, leading closer and closer to your door. Nobara bursts into the room, and you look up at her in confusion and, partially, dread. Nobara wouldn’t be bursting into your room unless there was someone who absolutely couldn’t see what you were doing in your past time.

Before she could catch her breath, she wheezed out, “Your mother.”

You quickly hopped into action with practiced and routine movements. Lunging for the floorboard that had hollow space beneath it, you moved it so you could place the book and your diary underneath and quickly hide evidence of you reading scandalous and radical works.

Just in time, it seemed, as your mother walked into your room to see you on your bed.

She squinted her eyes in suspicion. “What were you doing?”

You averted her gaze. “Nothing, just daydreaming, Mama.”

Usually, she would prod further into the matter, but it seemed as if she was too excited for that. Clapping her hands, she exclaimed, “I have just got an exclusive invitation for you! One that could secure you a very good match.”

You gave her a quizzical look as she walked closer, sitting at the foot of your bed with an expression of barely contained glee. “We shall be visiting the Gojo estate in Kent!”

At the mention of his name, your left eye twitched, though your mother remained oblivious. “Indeed, Mama? As is every other lady in London, I presume.”

“No, no,” she replied, waving your quip away with a dismissive hand. “We are to arrive at the Gojo estate before the house party.”

Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach. Oh, no, no, no, no. A sudden pressure gripped your chest, and you found yourself clutching at the bodice of your dress as if to steady your racing heart. “Before the house party, Mama?” Your voice, despite your best efforts, came out higher-pitched than usual, though you tried to maintain a semblance of composure. “Whatever for?”

“To secure an advantage, of course!” she replied with a bright smile, as though the matter were the simplest thing in the world. “The Gojo family has extended a personal invitation for us to stay with them for a few days prior to the event. It is plain to see⸺he is quite taken with you. Even that dreadful Lady Whistledown has noted as much.” She smiled indulgently, reaching out to gently smooth a stray lock of your hair. “It is your natural grace and charm, my dear, that has made you the season’s diamond.”

As your mother continued to speak, the twisting in your stomach began to intensify, morphing from nausea into something sharper, something more akin to anger. You kept nodding, trying to maintain a slightly pained smile, but the thought of spending time at the Gojo manor, in such close quarters with him, became increasingly unbearable. The memories of your recent encounters⸺his biting remarks, his mocking gaze⸺were still fresh in your mind, and the idea that you were being pushed toward an engagement with him made your skin crawl. But you knew better than to express your true feelings to your mother.

“That is… unexpected,” you managed to say, choosing your words carefully. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Mama? Perhaps we might appear too eager and ward off other potential suitors, lest they mistake me as claimed by Gojo?”

“Nonsense!” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “If all goes well, you’ll be announcing your engagement at the house party itself!”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hardly breathe as the full weight of what she was saying sank in. An engagement. To Gojo.

You almost felt faint, but as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How dare Gojo make a game of this, toying with you as if your future was nothing more than a sport to him? And how could your mother not see that she was playing right into his hands?

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the anger was bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “But, Mama, what if he does not wish to marry? What if he simply enjoys… toying with people?”

Your mother’s expression softened as she reached out to pat your hand, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “My dear, you are overthinking this. Men like Lord Gojo may seem playful and insouciant, but they are ultimately driven by duty. A man in his position knows the importance of finding a suitable wife, and you⸺my darling⸺are just the woman for the role. You are intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful. He would be a fool not to see that.”

Each word only fueled the fire of your anger. Duty? Suitable wife? You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her expectations press down on you like a suffocating blanket. But beneath that weight was a growing resolve, a refusal to be treated like a pawn in some grand game of power and prestige. Gojo might enjoy playing with others' lives, but you would not be his plaything.

You gave her a pained smile. “If you say so, Mama…” you replied, the anger now evident in the tightness of your voice.

“Of course, I do!” she declared, rising from the bed with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, we must begin preparations immediately. There is much to be done before we depart.”

As your mother closed the door, you stormed over to the floorboard, whipped open your diary and prepped your quill to furiously write: 

Lord Gojo is a most intolerable wretch. Though his outward appearance might deceive many, there is an endless well of impurities within his character.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

Were Sukuna here, I daresay he would assist me in disposing of the body with great enthusiasm.

While the Gojo dinner table was stocked with the finest of meals⸺that deserving of a wealthy dukedom, of course⸺Satoru found himself eyeing one dish of all⸺the scones.

Observing his mother and father, who were engrossed in deep conversation, he realized he could make the move. As discreetly as he could, he stocked his plate with many of the treats. The cook, bless his soul, knew how to make scones exactly right: soft, yet hard around the edges that have Satoru drooling when he takes a bite in to get a burst of flavor. He discreetly tucked a few sweets into his pocket for tonight’s work session on some Gojo business, thinking himself subtle.

Satoru could continue writing endless love poems in his head towards his chef’s scones, But Lady Gojo, ever watchful, noticed his little scheme. She arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she remarked, "Satoru, darling, it astonishes me that you remain so fit with such a fondness for sweets."

Without missing a beat, Gojo flashed his usual charming smile and responded, “Perhaps it is because I am kept on my toes constantly by you, Mother.” His parents shared a laugh at this, clearly amused by his playful banter.

The Gojo dining fell into a comfortable lull once again, sounds of forks and knives scratching against porcelain plates. The silence was better, Satoru believed. Because he knew he was not going to be pleased at what his father had to say to him next, judged based on the thoughtful look he adopted while staring at Gojo. 

“And how fares the season, Satoru? Have you made any progress?”

Satoru wanted to groan so bad, but instead, he straightened in his seat, the smile on his face now simply a facade. “I am confident all will proceed as expected, Father,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.

Duke Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something amiss. “Are you sure about that?” he probed. “You know very well, Satoru, that your inheritance of the title is contingent upon securing a wife and producing an heir. This is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

The weight of his father’s words hung in the air, pressing down on Gojo with the full force of expectation.  Would it be eccentric if I decided to scream to the heavens right now?

Before Gojo could even formulate a response, his mother, ever the one to steer the conversation, interjected with a delighted exclamation. “Oh, it’s all handled, my dear! Did you not hear? The diamond of the season is arriving a week early to our manor in the countryside!”

All thoughts of screaming himself mute vanished as his mother’s words piqued his interest. Now, this was interesting. You? Spending time with him, under his roof, with no escape? The idea alone was enough to spark a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Satoru almost started cackling maniacally at the thought of pestering you until you broke that oh-so-perfect and uptight demeanor of yours, until you were reduced to exactly what you were: an unruly and highly emotional know-it-all.

One could say Satoru was very bitter about the losses he had bore for that horse race.

As a self-assured smirk started to creep up Satoru’s face, Duke Gojo blinked, surprised by the news. “A week early? That’s quite unusual,” he remarked, turning his gaze back to his son.

Satoru offered a sweet smile. “Yes, unusual indeed.” He knew his parents were well aware of the marital implications of such an arrangement, and he could feel their eyes on him, gauging his reaction.

But Duchess Gojo, satisfied with her announcement, continued with a gleeful smile. “I daresay, it’s all coming together perfectly. Even matchmakers could not have planned it better.”

Indeed, Mother! The prospect grew more delightful with each passing second, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. You were in for quite the week, and he would relish every moment of ruining your composure.

Yuji leaned in closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Sister, did you perhaps neglect the chamber pot today?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “Your expression is quite telling.”

 The carriage, though spacious, felt suffocating with the tension hanging in the air. Your mother sat by the window, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as gleeful scheming regarding your imminent week at the Gojo manor. You, on the other hand, simmered with barely contained fury, with a pinch of nausea, your thoughts consumed with how you would confront Gojo at the ball you were all headed to. Yuji’s scrutiny only added to your irritation, his amused yet concerned face a stark contrast to your stormy mood. Across from you, Choso couldn’t suppress a snicker at Yuji’s comment, clearly enjoying the exchange.

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “Yuji, if you do not cease your incessant prying, I shall see to it that you regret ever opening your mouth!”

Yuji flinched, visibly startled by your outburst. His confidence wavered as he stammered, “I⸺I meant no harm, sister.” He quickly extended his elbow to you, his movements almost robotic in their sudden politeness. “Please, allow me to escort you inside.”

You ignored the offer, your focus already elsewhere. The moment the carriage came to a stop, you heaved yourself off, stepping into the entrance. Grand revelry was before you; many suitors and young ladies were present, necks glittering with diamonds and hands adorned with gloves. Roving your gaze around, you saw him.

The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze locked onto Gojo, everything else fading into the background. A sleazy and handsome grin on his face, definitely talking about some useless nonsense. 

Like a bull seeing red, you marched forward with determined fury, your sights set solely on him. He stood there, the picture of nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm heading his way. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your anger propelling you forward with each step. Yuji and Choso exchanged confused glances as they lingered by the entrance, unsure of what had just transpired.

As you closed the distance, Gojo finally noticed you, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But there was no time for his usual banter; you were ready to confront him head-on, no matter the consequences.

“What have you done?” you roared, striding towards Gojo. His head turned slowly, an amused and condescending smile creeping across his face. “I know this is⸺”

“Miss Itadori,” a voice hissed, dripping with offense. You turned to see Miss Yuki glaring at you. “Lord Gojo and I were in the midst of a very private conversation.”

You blinked, realizing that in your anger, you had entirely overlooked Miss Yuki’s presence. Though inwardly rolling your eyes, you knew it was best to maintain decorum. You curtsied in apology. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Yuki. I shall leave you both to continue your conversation.”

As you stepped back, giving them respectable space, Miss Yuki side-eyed you with a sharp “hmph!” before turning back to Gojo with a flirtatious smile.

“So, my lord,” Yuki began, her tone coy, “what type of woman would be to your liking?”

Gojo scratched his chin, feigning deep thought as he prepared his response. “Well, Miss Yuki, I would imagine she must be intelligent, accomplished, and⸺” He paused dramatically, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a slow, deliberate drawl, “⸺and beautiful.”

You suppressed a sigh. Does he never tire of that tiresome gesture? It’s grown exceedingly dull.

Yuki’s pleased grin widened. “And what level of intellect do you find satisfactory, my lord?”

“Well,” Gojo mused, “I would prefer a lady well-versed in calculations. I often find myself making errors in my ledgers late at night, and a wife who could assist would be most valuable. Moreover, I would enjoy engaging in debates on scientific matters.”

Is he seeking a wife or an accountant?

The unusual nature of his request clearly left Yuki taken aback. She blinked, her smile tightening. “Indeed, Lord Gojo, these are rather...uncommon expectations for a wife.” Yuki then hesitated, glancing around as though searching for an escape. “Well, my lord, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I fear I must take my leave. My mother has been awaiting my return, and I would not wish to keep her waiting.”

She curtsied with a strained smile, clearly eager to extricate herself from the awkward situation Gojo’s peculiar standards had created. Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly turned and made her exit, leaving you alone to confront Gojo, who now had an amused look on his face, as if he had purposefully answered that way to ward Miss Yuki off.

You pointed your finger at him, wagging it accusingly as you hissed, “Gojo, I know this was one of your ploys.”

He let out an exaggerated groan, and he dropped all flirtatious pretenses he had adopted when conversing with the other lady. “Ah, yes. Please, by all means, heap more blame upon me for things entirely beyond my control. I derive immense pleasure from being the target of your needless and misdirected fury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

With a strained smile, he sighed. “It seems our mothers have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate this entire charade.”

Your hands flew up in exasperation. “I cannot believe this! I would sooner perish than marry you, and heaven help me if I were ever to bear your children!”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Gojo replied, shaking his head as if amused by your outburst. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward something in the distance. “We are being observed.”

You followed his gaze and saw, across the dance floor, both of your mothers trying—albeit poorly—to appear inconspicuous as they exchanged furtive glances and whispered behind their fans.

You huffed in frustration, turning back to Gojo. “This is absurd.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “But would it be so terrible to bear my children?” he murmured, his tone teasing yet somehow serious.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you refused to let it show. You straightened your posture, meeting his gaze with as much poise as you could muster. “I can’t think of far worse fates, my lord,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words.

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly undeterred. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine.. You felt a slight tremor of awareness course through you, and despite your best efforts, a hint of warmth crept into your cheeks.

He leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You seem flustered, Miss Itadori,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “I must admit, the idea of a future with you is… intriguing.”

Flustered and at a loss of witty remarks, you stammered, struggling to find your voice. “I⸺I hardly think that⸺”

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had this sultry expression to them, one that you didn’t need to ponder more than one second to know had no good intentions. 

With that, he released your hand, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your cheeks aflame.

Gojo ⸺ 1, You ⸺ 1. 

Choso crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, why are we departing a week earlier than the rest of the ton?”

The carriage rocked gently, the luggage rattling with the motion. You slumped in your seat, weary from the long hours of travel, your thoughts drifting to the comfort of a soft, fluffy bed. Your mother, noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow, handed you a handkerchief before turning to respond to Choso. “Well, my dear, your sister has caught the eye of Lord Gojo, and his mother has personally invited us to arrive early so that we may become better acquainted.”

Your eldest brother frowned, while Yuji stared vacantly out the carriage window, enraptured by the sheep present on the farm you were passing. “But why should we do so?” Choso pressed, his tone firm. “It is not as though Sister is lacking in suitors. Why should we entertain Lord Gojo’s interest above all others?”

Even in your heat-induced lightheadedness, your attention was drawn to Choso’s defense of you. A flicker of hope ignited in your chest; as the viscount, Choso held considerable authority over your mother, and he could potentially influence the matrimonial decisions made on your behalf.

“Lord Gojo is the most eligible bachelor of the season,” your mother insisted. “We would be foolish not to seize such an opportunity.”

Choso retorted quickly, “And Sister is the most eligible lady of the season. She is the diamond. If Lord Gojo’s eligibility rests on his title, would we not do better to pursue a match with Duke Nanami?”

You silently cheered Choso on, hoping he might sway your mother’s mind away from the ridiculous notion of a match between you and Gojo.

But your mother was not easily deterred. “I am quite set on Lord Gojo, Choso,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your sister seems to have formed a rapport with him, and this is about more than just titles. We must also consider her inclinations.”

Both your mother and Choso turned their expectant gazes upon you, awaiting your response. Flustered and unwilling to directly oppose your mother, you swallowed nervously and nodded. “Whatever you think best, Mother.”

The remainder of the ride was marked by the satisfied smile on Lady Itadori’s face and the glowers⸺yet paired with concerned glances⸺from Choso.

The slowing of the carriage and its turn onto a smooth pathway roused you from the gentle lull of travel. You blinked your eyes open and glanced outside. A magnificent flower bed greeted you, a sea of blues ranging from the palest sky hues to deep indigo. But what truly stole your breath was the manor itself⸺more a castle than a mere country home. Its grandiose structure rivaled Buckingham Palace in regality, with elegant blue spires and stately beige stone walls that seemed to stretch towards the heavens.

The carriage came to a complete halt at the base of a grand staircase, where Duchess Gojo stood waiting, surrounded by footmen and maids all dressed in coordinated baby blue livery. As the carriage door was opened, you, your mother, Choso, and Yuji stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

“Lady Itadori!” Duchess Gojo descended the stairs gracefully, her arms extended in greeting. Your mother met her with an equally warm embrace.

“Your Grace,” your mother replied fondly, her face lighting up with familiarity. The duchess then turned her gaze towards you, her smile gracious and welcoming.

“And this must be our diamond,” Duchess Gojo said warmly, her eyes twinkling.

You offered her a polite smile and curtsied. “Miss Itadori, Your Grace. I am deeply honored by your hospitality.”

She waved off your formality with a flick of her hand. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us, and I do hope that you and my son will find ample time to get better acquainted before the house party.”

You returned her smile, though unease stirred within you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Choso and Yuji introduced themselves with the same practiced politeness, and after the formalities were concluded, the duchess clapped her hands together. “Come now, let us take tea. You must be quite fatigued from your journey. I shall have the staff see to your rooms so you may rest after.” She directed the servants to unload the luggage from the carriages and then motioned for you all to follow her into the manor. “To the drawing room!”

As you crossed the threshold into the manor, you were struck by the sheer opulence surrounding you. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate gold and blue detailing, and the walls were lined with endless portraits of the Gojo family. Your gaze was momentarily drawn to a portrait of Lord Gojo himself. The artist had rendered his eyes in a cold, oceanic blue—quite unlike the electric blue intensity they held in person. The painting failed to capture the vitality, and perhaps the insufferable smugness, that characterized his gaze.

You quickly looked away before anyone could notice your lingering stare, hurrying to catch up with your family as you reached a grand set of double doors. Footmen stood at attention as Duchess Gojo led you into a drawing room, elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and laden with trays of sweets.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the duchess urged, gesturing towards the seating. She and your mother settled at a small table near the door, while you and your siblings gravitated toward the couches in the center of the room, where a tempting array of desserts awaited. As you sat down, maids swiftly arranged teacups and began pouring the tea. Yuji and Choso took seats across from you, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of interest—or lack thereof—in the proceedings.

“So, Miss Itadori,” You looked across the room to look at the duchess, who was leaning further to grab at her teacup and take a sip. “How do you find this season?”

“I find the suitors of this season very pleasing and kind, Your Grace,” you sat up fully, placing the scone you were eating down to fully face the duchess. “It has been a very extravagant season; I hope to continue my search to find a suitable match for myself.” Duchess Gojo nodded. “An admirable pursuit, of course. Is a love match what you are searching for?”

Her question hung in the air, and in that instant, you felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall upon you. The most searing of them all, though, was your mother's. You could feel it like a prickling heat against your skin, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been laid out before you long ago.

A love match. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable twisting into a knot of uncertainty. The very idea of love seemed foreign to you—elusive, abstract, something that belonged in novels rather than in the practical world of arranged marriages and alliances. Love was not what you had been taught to seek. No, your upbringing had been grounded in duty, decorum, and the quiet understanding that marriage was a contract, a union of convenience rather than passion.

But how could you say that aloud? How could you tell the duchess—tell anyone—that your dreams did not include the fiery passion of a love match, but rather the comfort of a peaceful arrangement? Your throat tightened, and the words that had once seemed so simple lodged themselves in the back of your mouth, refusing to emerge.

Your mother’s eyes bore into you, filled with unspoken expectations. You knew what she wanted to hear: that you were pursuing love, that you were open to it, that you were the ideal picture of a hopeful young lady seeking her romantic equal. But that wasn’t your truth. Your truth was more complicated, filled with desires for stability, understanding, and a life unburdened by the chaos that love so often seemed to bring.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room. What were you supposed to say? How could you balance the delicate line between honesty and propriety?

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it nearly impossible to find your voice. The tension swirled within you, an unrelenting force that made you wish you could simply disappear. What if they could see through you? What if, with one wrong word, they uncovered the truth of what you really wanted—a marriage that was practical, peaceful, and devoid of the complications that came with love?

But that wasn’t something you could admit. Not here. Not now.

You forced a polite smile, hoping it hid the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before the weight of the room could settle further, the heavy double doors swung open with a soft yet deliberate creak. Every head turned in unison, and the air seemed to shift as your savior, Satoru Gojo made his entrance.

His attire was impeccable—a finely tailored waistcoat of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light just so, paired with polished boots that gleamed as if they had never touched the ground. Yet, despite the formal attire, there was an air of disarming casualness about him, a kind of effortless elegance that made the room's grandeur seem almost insignificant by comparison.

His damp hair, still tousled from what must have been a recent bath, added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. Droplets of water shimmered at the tips of his white locks, catching the light as he ran a hand through them. The scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, seemed to announce his arrival to you even before he spoke.

He strolled in with an air of ease. “It seems that our guests are finally here!” He moved with an easy grace, crossing the room in a few long strides, bowing slightly to the duchess and your mother before turning his attention to you. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as if he could sense the internal battle you had been fighting mere seconds ago.

“Miss Itadori,” he greeted you with a smile that could have melted the iciest of hearts, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Ah, Satoru! Come, sit with us.” She motioned to the spot next to you with enthusiasm. “Why don’t you and Miss Itadori sit together?”

Choso’s sharp gaze followed him with a hint of suspicion, but he made no objection as Gojo accepted the invitation, seating himself beside you with an infuriatingly confident smile. Yuji and Choso remained on the opposite couch, observing the scene with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.

“Well then,” Gojo began, grabbing an obscene amount of scones to heap on his plate, “I was just at the 

archery range earlier today. Quite the exhilarating sport. I find it sharpens the mind as much as the aim.”

Yuji, ever the admirer of feats of physical skill, leaned forward with interest. “Archery, my lord? That sounds remarkable! I must admit, I’ve always found it to be one of the noblest of pursuits.”

Gojo leaned back into the couch, resting one arm casually behind you on the backrest, his posture the very picture of relaxed confidence. He smiled at Yuji’s enthusiasm and continued, “Archery has long been a favored pastime of mine. It requires precision, patience, and an understanding of balance—qualities I find both necessary and rewarding. I've dedicated many years to perfecting my skill with the bow.”

He paused, allowing a slight, reflective smile to touch his lips. “In fact, just last month, I competed in the annual tournament at Her Majesty’s estate and managed to hit the bullseye in every round. Some of the other competitors remarked that it was almost unnatural, but I assure you, it is merely the result of countless hours spent at the range.”

Yuji’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every round? That’s incredible, Lord Gojo! Your dedication must be unparalleled.”

Gojo shrugged with mock humility, though his eyes glinted with pride. “It’s all in the discipline, really. Once you understand the rhythm of the draw and the release, it becomes second nature. Of course, the challenge is in maintaining that focus while under pressure. But I’ve found that to be the most exhilarating part—especially when the crowd is watching.”

Yuji nodded fervently, clearly enthralled. “I would love to see you in action, my lord! Perhaps you could give me a few pointers one day.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before returning to Yuji. “Ah, I’m sure you’d take it quite well, Yuji. Perhaps we could all visit the range together during your stay here.”

 The nonchalant arrogance in his voice, paired with the image of him lording his skill over others, irritated you. You couldn’t resist a small quip, your tone light. “Oh, indeed, Lord Gojo. Your accomplishments are so profound that I fear I might believe you are telling tales. Of course, I wonder with all this focus on archery, do you leave any time for pursuits that require a bit more… finesse?”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they met yours, his gaze sharp with understanding. Yet, rather than take offense, he allowed a playful smirk to curl on his lips, his voice laced with teasing intent. “Ah, Miss Itadori, archery indeed requires finesse, I assure you. But perhaps you’d care to test that claim yourself? I’d be more than happy to provide a demonstration.”

As he leaned in closer, you found yourself all too aware of his presence. The scent of his cologne, a warm and intoxicating blend of vanilla and tobacco, filled the air between you, making it difficult to maintain your composure. His face hovered just near enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“In fact,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d wager that with a little practice, you might find yourself hitting the mark with more than just words.”

His proximity made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Despite your resolve to remain composed, the effect of his closeness and the quiet intensity in his voice left you momentarily at a loss for words.

Choso, sitting across from you, gave Gojo a sharp look. Meanwhile, Yuji was practically beaming at the prospect of an archery lesson from the lord himself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice more controlled than you expected, though there was still a slight quiver in it. “But I’ve found that words can be just as powerful, if not more so.”

Gojo smirked, his gaze lingering on your face as if savoring the moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your own resolve. But you wouldn’t allow him to see just how much he affected you—at least, not yet. 

Despite the warmth in your cheeks and the flutter in your chest, you held his gaze, meeting his playful intensity with your own determined calm.

However, your mother’s voice broke through the spell. “Oh, Your Grace, might we have a tour of the manor sometime?”

Duchess Gojo, clearly delighted to show off her home, nodded eagerly. “Of course! There is a pavilion overlooking our garden where we can play pall-mall, and the library is quite extensive.” Your interest piqued at the mention of the library, and you made yourself a mental note to explore where it was.

Then she turned her gaze towards you, her expression growing more conspiratorial. “And as for Miss Itadori, Satoru has promised to give her a personal tour of the grounds tomorrow after she takes rest today.”

You stiffened at the suggestion, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo lean in slightly, his mischievous grin widening as he whispered, “I’ll be sure to make it… thorough.”

You couldn’t sleep.

Restless thoughts kept you tossing and turning, denying you any hope of finding solace in slumber. The events of the day had left you drained, and after the conversation in the drawing room, you had collapsed into the plush, inviting bed. Sleep had claimed you almost instantly. But now, in the dark silence of the night, you awoke with a start, your mind refusing to quiet. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t escape the whirlwind of thoughts that stirred within you.

The prospect of the coming days loomed over you, a storm of anxiety brewing. Spending time with Gojo, of all people? Your mother’s insistent push for this potential marriage was unbearable. How could you possibly tell her that you despised the man? The mere thought of being bound to him in matrimony was a nightmare⸺marriage itself was daunting enough, but to an arrogant, loquacious, and insufferably self-assured man like him? It would be nothing short of Hell on earth.

With a frustrated sigh, you rose from bed and rubbed your face, trying to dispel the fog of sleeplessness. Perhaps a visit to the manor’s library⸺the one mentioned during tea⸺would offer some distraction. Grabbing a lantern, you slipped out of your room, treading softly down the stairs and into the main hallway. You moved with the caution of a thief; your mother would surely not approve of your nocturnal wanderings. Her voice echoed in your mind, sharp and reprimanding: “Good things never happen in the dead of night!”

As you opened the library’s grand doors, a soothing fragrance enveloped you⸺the scent of aged paper mingled with a hint of vanilla, a fragrance unique to this room. But what truly took your breath away was the sheer size of the library.

Bookshelves lined the walls, rising two stories high, creating a space that could easily have served as a grand ballroom. Cozy nooks beckoned you to sit, while further exploration revealed tables and armchairs tucked away behind towering shelves. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.

Your eyes roved over the multitude of volumes: ancient ledgers, personal family records, scholarly works on politics, astronomy, and the sciences. Though you did not often indulge in scientific pursuits, you found them fascinating whenever the opportunity arose. One book in particular caught your eye:

Observations on the Planet Venus.

Drawn to the back of the library, you found a large window offering a stunning view of the garden and pavilion, bathed in starlight. You couldn’t resist the allure of the table beside it, where you settled in and began to read.

“The planet Venus is an object that has long engaged my particular attention. A series of observations upon it, which I began in April, 1777, has been continued down to the present time…”

Time slipped away as you became engrossed in the text, the lantern’s light flickering softly as you pored over the meticulous observations and calculations. Your hands were soon stained with ink, evidence of the notes you had been feverishly jotting down on scraps of parchment you had found in a supply cabinet. A good hour or two had passed before you finally leaned back, stretching your tired muscles. You rested your head on your arms, intending to close your eyes for just a moment. Soon, you found that your sleepy brain forced you to reflect and muse upon your life, as a mind often does at three.

What a pity it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Gojo. If only he were different, you might have lived in this manor, with its perfect library, forever. You could imagine it: waking in the mornings in your fluffy bed, sharing the latest discoveries in astronomy and medicine with your handsome husband…

Truly, what a pity. Your sleep-deprived mind began to conjure an image of this imagined husband—tall, nearly Gojo’s height, with kind eyes and lips that would kiss you gently awake each morning (unlike Gojo’s snark). You envisioned banter over breakfast, late-night rendezvous in the library, and tender embraces in bed…

Before you could delve deeper into your fantasy, the sound of footsteps jolted you back to reality. The tread was deliberate, too similar to your mother’s for comfort, and panic flared within you. Your mind, already muddled with exhaustion, conjured the worst possible scenario—your mother finding you here, in the library where you had no business being at this hour.

Memories of her discovering forbidden books in your childhood flashed before your eyes, and your breath quickened in fear. Rising as quietly as you could, you pressed your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound, creeping toward a bookshelf to hide. But the footsteps drew closer, relentless in their pursuit. You felt like prey, cornered and desperate.

Getting out of your chair as quietly as you could, you squeezed your eyes shut and put both of your hands over your mouth so you didn’t start making audible gasps that would let the person know where you were immediately. Softly⸺but panickedly⸺walking towards a bookshelf, you hid as you traced the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. You tried to walk away from the sound, but it seemed like the person was listening intently for your movements. You couldn’t help but think you were like prey, cornered and desperate.

However, it was all for naught; your heart sank as you realized you had ended up in an alley of bookshelves that were up against the wall, essentially creating a dead end for you. The steps got closer and closer, and you drew yourself closer and closer to the wall. Your eyes was still shut, but you could hear the steps around the corner, coming closer and closer. 

The footsteps were merely a few feet away from you, and in a moment of sheer panic, you blurted out, “I am sorry, Mother⸺”

“Excuse me,” came a voice that was decidedly not your mother’s. Your eyes flew open to find none other than Gojo, his blue eyes alight with offense. “Do I resemble your mother in any way?”

You blinked, struggling to process the sight before you. He was holding a quill, ink, and a stack of notebooks that resembled the ledgers you had seen earlier, along with a plate of scones that looked absurdly sugary.

“I—” you stammered, taking a sharp breath to compose yourself and paused, looking at Gojo⸺who was shooting you a petulant frown⸺take a big bite of his scone. “Your tread was uncannily similar.”

He paused, chewing on a scone with a sulky expression, while you averted your gaze in embarrassment.

When he finished chewing, he cleared his throat. “You must possess rather poor hearing to mistake a man of my stature for a lady.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Perhaps you have an unusually light step.”

An awkward silence settled between you as Gojo took another loud bite of his scone. You hastened to break it. “It is quite late; I must take my leave. Good night, my lord.”

You bowed your head slightly and moved to leave, but before you could slip past him, he blocked your path, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What business do you have in the Gojo library at this hour?”

“Nothing of import,” you squeaked.

At the not-very-innocuous tone in your voice, his eyes narrowed further. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” He leaned in, his gaze sweeping over you with exaggerated scrutiny. Noticing the ink stains on your hands, he quipped, “Were you tampering with important records?”

Your heart raced, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely wrong to suspect you⸺what else would a lady be doing in a library at this hour? It was a no-win situation: confess to reading a book and risk your mother’s wrath, or be accused of something far more serious.

It was best to come clean. “I was merely reading a book,” you confessed. “I can show you precisely where I sat and what I was doing.”

Gojo’s expression softened, but he quickly continued his theatrical suspicion and hmmphed. “Of course. I must be certain that no mischief has been afoot.”

You led him back to the table where you had been reading. He sat across from you, depositing his supplies onto the table with a flourish and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ever the investigator, he watched as you retrieved the book. It bore no resemblance to the Gojo ledgers, which had the telltale blue cover and Gojo insignia, which consisted of six eyes. 

Upon seeing this, he nodded in acknowledgment. “You are exonerated.”

At that, you sighed and clutched your chest. For a moment, you contemplated pleading with Gojo to keep your late library visit secret from your mother but you shot the idea down for two reasons. First, you would never lower yourself to plead with Gojo, and second, Gojo⸺ever the insufferable man⸺would definitely make sure to mention it to your mother and further exacerbate the issue. 

As he began arranging his ink bottles and quills, preparing to work on his ledgers, you took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in casual attire, loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt with several buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. Slut.

It took you a moment to realize that he was settling in at your table. You frowned. “I beg your pardon, but this is my spot.”

Gojo looked up from his work, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “My dear, this is my library. Thus, it is my spot.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it in frustration. He was right, after all. The entire manor was his. Your silence seemed to amuse him, as he returned to his ledgers with a smug smile.

Now, you didn’t really know what to do⸺should you go back to your room, or should you stay and continue reading the book? In your indecision, you continued to flip through the pages of the book, particularly because you wanted to finish the conclusion section before going to bed. But you soon felt his gaze upon you, the sound of his quill slowing down.

You didn’t look up. “Might I suggest you cease staring at me? It is quite improper.” “What? Why would I do so? To watch you peruse a tedious romance novel?”

“This is a book on the state of the art of astronomy.” 

“Indeed? I confess, I am surprised.”

Your irritation flared and you whipped your head up to glare at Gojo. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I was under the impression that young ladies’ interests lie solely in matters of the heart.”

“So, in addition to gossiping, you are also prone to narrow-minded assumptions?”

Gojo scoffed. “Narrow-minded? It is a simple observation. Both men and women often indulge in fanciful notions of love.”

You scoffed. “Ah, so you hold yourself above other men. What are you, God?”

Gojo ignored your remark. “Those who read such frivolities are seldom engaged in serious thought or the appreciation of true art.”

“Romance allows one to experience love and joy. Does the prospect of happiness through art truly horrify you?” You stood, glaring at him. “Unlike you, my lord, ladies such as myself cannot frequent dubious establishments such as brothels to seek out lovers. Our reputations and futures are at stake.” Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. “To deny women the solace of love is cruel. It is our only refuge in a world that forces us into unwanted marriages!”

When you were done ranting to Gojo, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. Truly, this man could bother you like no other; only your siblings have caused this much heat on your face due to anger. The only sounds in the library was your rushed breathing, from anger.

Gojo scoffed. “You truly think too much.”

You offered a sharp scoff. "And you, far too little. Even Sukuna Jr. possesses more emotional intelligence than you."

"Do not compare me to that wretched creature," Gojo retorted.

You gasped in disbelief. "How dare you speak of Kuna in such a manner!"

"Then perhaps you should keep him from fouling the air around me!" he snapped.

A sly smile crept across your lips. "He merely knows whom to guard me against."

At reference of That Night, Gojo sighs exhaustedly. “Do you find trouble with the judgments I made that night? None of that was meant for you.”

“Are you quite serious?” You were in disbelief. Does he truly feel no remorse? Frustrated, you ran a hand over your face. “Your words may not have been intended for me, but they were no less cutting. I cannot abide such arrogance, my lord.”

Gojo leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of indifference. “Arrogance or simply honesty? I merely spoke the truth as I see it.”

“Your so-called truth is nothing more than disdain wrapped in wit,” you snapped, feeling your temper rise again. “You speak as though your opinions are infallible, as if you alone have the right to pass judgment on others.”

“I only say what others are too afraid to voice,” he retorted, his tone cool. “If that makes me arrogant, then so be it. But I will not apologize for it.”

“Of course not,” you said bitterly. “An apology would require some measure of humility, and that is something you clearly lack.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing more clipped. “I fail to see why my opinions should trouble you so much. Perhaps you are simply too sensitive.”

Your anger flared at his dismissive tone. “Or perhaps you are too blind to see the harm your words cause. You claim to be honest, but what you truly are is cruel.”

“Cruel?” Gojo’s voice was sharp now, his composure slipping. “For speaking the truth? For refusing to coddle those who cannot handle it?”

“For refusing to consider the feelings of others!” you countered, your voice rising in frustration. “Not everything is a game or a joke, my lord. Your words have consequences, whether you acknowledge them or not.”

A tense silence fell between you, each of you locked in a stubborn glare, neither willing to yield. Finally, you shook your head, the weight of your frustration pressing down on you. “I cannot do this,” you muttered, turning away. “You are utterly impossible.”

You began to walk away, but Gojo’s voice cut through the silence. “Running away so soon?” There was a hint of something in his tone⸺something almost like disappointment⸺but you dismissed it.

You paused, glancing back at him with a hardened expression. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. You refuse to see reason, and I refuse to waste any more of my time on you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and left the library, your heart pounding with irritation and anger. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of heaviness in your chest. 

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n gojo the type to hit ur g spot every ti---WHAT WHO SAID THAT?

anyways yes we r getting (sort of) freaky in the next chapter (gojo busts in his pants seeing reader's ankles /j)

gojo when reader thought he was her mama

also tysm for all the asks, and comments, and love you guys have shown me. super motivating that you guys are enjoying the story and propels me to write more <3

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

TAGLIST

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@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

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@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

[burningvelvet]

do u ever just think about how claire clairmont literally slept with percy shelley and then lord byron in the span of roughly a year and then refused to love or depend on any other men for the rest of her life despite having marriage proposals from many men and practicing the radical tenets of anarchist philosophies like free love then traveled europe on her own and moved to russia and converted to catholicism and existed as an independent working woman before casually outliving everyone in their famous social circle all while still being overshadowed by her older step-sister mary shelley

[clock-of-the-leaf]

The Ton in the Bridgertons

We do not see much politics in the Bridgertons but as sexism exist you cannot brush over or make racism disapear in what 40 years ? I try to be sensible about but as I am a white individual I might make mistake and apologise if so and will correct it.

At first we would still keep the same hierarchy of power than the one in real life and, I assume, in the show.

Secondly let's talk about THE thing that changes everything in the Bridgertons : the Great experiment.

The Great experiment appeared for the same reason than show in Queen Charlotte but it's a bit more subtle. It was introduced mostly so Charlotte could marry the king George but never did the royal councils intended to actually give more power to the "other side" of the society. Even if people could now get invited and participate in activity didn't mean they'd be invited or treated well.

Queen Charlotte is actually the one who shacked things up, after mostly focusing on her marriage at first she slowly woke up and saw that despise what was said her own were still being rejected and treaded unfairly. By attending Lady Danbury ball, she shoke things up. When some titles were left without any heir she would think first of giving it to the "other side" (that's how Simon's dad became Duke) etc.

Even thought the Queen Charlotte promoted tolerance things didn't completely work out that way. The "original" Ton felt jealous and left alone and while they couldn't reject the other side at the more little scandal possible they would directly reject a familly. And while young did marry racized Lord it was almost UNFATHOMABLE that an eligible white Lord would marry a girl of colour. It got a little better but there is still a lot of pression on racized people. A few Lord did actually mary girls from the "other side" the most known one being St-Clair, Abernathy and the Sterlings leaving a lot of preassure on their children because they represent this new kind of union and must be perfect. So it is a big deal that so many of the Bridgertons will have union with people of the other side as they are one of the most old and respected familly.

[dyns33]

Hours of Idleness

Lord Byron x Reader 

I said, I did. Even if I still have to watch the movie. 

When Mary had invited her to join her  and some friends during their stay at Lord Byron's place, Y/N had hesitated.

The man had a certain reputation. There were a lot of rumours about what was going on in his mansion.

At the same time, Y/N didn't often get the chance to visit a Lord's mansion, or spend time with her dear friend Mary. Even though she didn't approve of all her life choices, like seeing a married man, she liked her very much, she liked their conversations.

Y/N was also very fond of the works of Lord Byron. So it seemed obvious to think that spending a few days at his house would be at least interesting, if it wasn't too outrageous.

As soon as she arrived, she wondered if she had made the right decision.

Lord Byron came towards them with a furious air, before kissing Mr Shelley.

On the mouth.

He did the same with Mary and Claire, before turning to Y/N.

           "Another lovely lady who doesn't smile. I'm going to have to get that sunshine out of that sweet face."

           "Nice to meet you, Lord Byron." she said, keeping a neutral face, as she had been taught.

           "Oh, my dear. The pleasure is all mine."

Although it was the first time they had met, he also kissed her, quickly, as if that was perfectly normal, before inviting them inside.

There might still be time to get back in the carriage and go home.

But Y/N was curious. Also fascinated by the places, the atmosphere, the stories. And the man.

Even though he was as eccentric as the rumours claimed, the kiss was the only insane thing he did in her presence. The rest of the time, probably drinking a little too much and speaking far too frankly, he talked about poetry, beauty, freedom and love.

His eyes sparkled when he recited verses, his laughter echoed throughout the room, and he sometimes turned to Y/N with a huge smile.

The fact that she still wasn't smiling seemed to bother him as much as amuse him. He spent several hours trying to break through what he called her shell.

What he didn't seem to understand was that the more time she spent with him, the more Y/N really found him charming, and that scared her very much, because the man wasn't someone serious or constant.

In her humble opinion, despite his grand speeches, he knew nothing about love. About freedom, yes, as he claimed so well, displaying a remarkable open-mindedness, being infatuated with men as much as women, seeing them as equals, not paying attention to their social rank, their skin, their body. He spent entire nights with one or more lovers, nights full of desire and passion.

But that wasn't love.

For Y/N, love was pure, and deep, and far too complex to attach to more than one object at the same time. She respected that he didn't want to get married, and that he wanted to have fun, but she couldn't stand him repeating that he was writing about love.

Probably the fact that she hadn't succeeded in not loving him didn't help her annoyance.

She dared to tell him during one of his parties, when he was talking about writing a sonnet for a man he had only seen once, whose name he did not even know, but who had capsized his heart.

           "What are you saying, beautiful lady with the invisible smile ?" he asked, chuckling.

           "I'm saying you don't know anything about love."

           "And you do ? A little bird told me that you don't have much experience in this field."

           "Your little bird is knowledgeable, but we're not talking about the same thing. I don't need to share a bed to know love."

           "My dear, what audacity."

           "As always, you do not listen. I have loved and I love with an ardent love. An eternal love, stronger than anything you have ever experienced, because I see beings as they are, and I can no longer be without them. Their absence is torture, finding them is a joy. To see them happy is all I wish in the world, even if it is not with me. You love bodies, and ideas, and feelings, but you don't get to the bottom of things, ever. You claim that you do, but the surface is enough for you. You're afraid of the abyss, or you're not even aware of their existence."

Lord Byron did not answer. Even though he tried to hide it, her speech had visibly upset him and Y/N went to bed wondering if she had forever ruined her chances of being close to him.

But that didn't really matter, since she would never have been anything more than a new lover, a little passion before the next ones.

Unable to sleep, she went to the library in the middle of the night. As she had found a story you never read and was walking back to her room, holding a candle in one hand and the book in the other, she heard a noise coming from the bottom of the stairs.

Turning and looking down, she then saw Lord Byron. He looked at her strangely, as if she were a ghost. No doubt he hadn't expected to find her here at this hour, in her dressing gown.

To prevent the situation from becoming awkward, she decided to pretend he wasn't there and continued on her way, returning to her bed.

The following days, the guests were all surprised by the absence of their host, who apologized saying that he was indisposed and that he had to be left alone, asking them to have fun without him and not to worry.

When he finally returned, it was to announce that he had just written several poems and stories that he hastened to share with them.

           "My friend." said Mr. Shelley after finishing his reading. "If I didn't know you well, I would dare to say that you are in love."

           "So you don't know me so well, because not only am I, but I have met Love, the real one, with a capital L, Love incarnated."

           "What do you mean  ?" wondered Claire.

           "I was wandering among dead stars, lost in this cold world, when suddenly a light caught my attention. I looked up, and there she was, her eyes piercing me, watching my soul and stealing my heart. Her white dress, slightly transparent under the effect of the moon, her face lit by a pale candle, enveloped by her undone hair, and a book resting on her heart. How not to love her ? All that was missing was a smile, a sweet smile, that she refused me again, because she knew that I did not deserve it, because before that night I had pretended to know her. I saw her now, and I had to write, inspired by so much beauty and perfection, which prevented her from falling asleep until I have created a work worthy of her."

Nobody dared to comment on what he had just said, everyone understanding who he was talking about, preferring not to stare at Y/N to not embarrassed her. Lord Byron didn't seem to share this thought, uttering a cry of joy and throwing his arms in the sky when he saw her, hidden in a corner of the room.

           "Here she us ! Love !" he said, coming to kneel in front of her. "Oh, I'm not asking you for anything Madam, not even a smile. I won't even dare to touch you, but let me write on your behalf and lay poems on your altar."

           "I can't tell if you've lost your mind or having a laugh."

           "Never !" he said touching her thigh, already forgetting his promise not to touch her. "I love you."

           "Do you at least remember my name ?"

           "But what is a name ? Shakespeare has proven it, it has nothing to do with love. I read your eyes, I perceived your outlines and now I see you."

           "Shakespeare wrote about two children who wanted to escape a cruel reality, and who couldn't stop until it was too late. I beg you to be smarter than them."

Lord Byron did not listen to her plea, continuing to write, dedicating all his works to his beloved Y/N for long months, long after she had left his home. He also wrote her many letters, which she tried to ignore and to which she only replied out of politeness, trying to forget what she had felt for this man, and maybe was still feeling.

It helped her to repeat to herself that he didn't mean what he was saying. He was driven by a new madness, a fad. That she didn't give in to him easily was supposed to keep the flame going, but he would grow weary whether she fell into his arms or not.

The difference was that if she fell, she would regret it all her life, whereas if she resisted, her honour as well as her heart would be safe.

He visited her one day, without being invited of course, nor having asked for an invitation.

           "I missed you, my sweet unsmiling muse. I needed to see you, and talk to you. I want you to know that it's fine if you never love me. It drives me to despair, but I can understand that a being like me cannot arouse such feelings in you."

Maybe she could, or should, have used this moment to silence his so-called love forever, and set them both free. But poor Lord Byron looked so sad, so tired, that she couldn't hold her tongue.

           "I never said that I didn't love you."

           "What are you saying ? I dare not believe what I'm hearing. Please, don't play me."

           "I would never do such a thing. I said that you don't know anything about love, and I can say that's the truth. I know you, I've read all your writings, I've watched you, I know your humour, your kindness, your intelligence, failings, doubts, fears, your hands which tremble when you drink too much and touch a lover's skin, in order to forget that you are only a boy in a world too big for him, full of unanswered questions, which pushes him towards the void and of which he tries to fill with his fantasies. Your last writings... I think you sincerely believe that you love me. But it's not serious. You'll get tired, as always, and soon you'll be writing poems for someone else. You love what I represent in your mind, while I love you, even if you're a idiot."

The Lord swore she was wrong, that he would love her forever and never write for anyone else again.

Despite his tears and his beautiful phrases, Y/N still refused to believe him, asking him to leave her house and getting up to retire to her room.

           "Marry me !" he said then, throwing himself at her feet.

           "Do you really think marriage is a good thing for love ?"

           "Honestly ? I think it doesn't really matter, if the love is true. And I truly love you. Even if you don't marry me, I will love you. Even if we were apart, I will love you. Even if you marry someone else, I will love you. Even if I slept with the whole world, I will love you. Even in the grave, I will love you. My heart is yours. With marriage, everyone would know that, as they would know that you are mine. And if I were to die, you would be safe from any needs."

           "Possessiveness and money. So romantic."

           "But I don't care about any of that ! I know you don't either. I love you and I will love you forever, don't you understand ? I can still see you, during that night, beautiful, and I can't think of anything else. Yes, I had lovers in the past, to whom I spoke of love, but I was blind. I like danger, yes. I like difficulty, and challenge. I like also not to hurt others, and I will never force anyone to share my bed. I have always mourned the death of my feelings. But you ! I know that I will love you until the end, no matter what."

           "I can see you mean every word." she said, kissing him on the forehead, before leaning into his lips, returning the kiss he had given her when they first met. Because even if he was not constant, Lord Byron was not a liar.

           "Will you marry me ? Do you really love me ?"

In response, Y/N smiled at him. He then made a strange face, stopping to breathe for a moment, getting up by putting a hand on his heart, as if he was going to feel faint.

           "What is it again ?" she sighed, still smiling, accustomed to his eccentricities.

           "I didn't think it was possible. I didn't think I could love you more. But what a glorious sight. What radiant majesty. I've imagined that smile for so long and nothing compares to it. You've robbed me of this wonder all this time, I am hurt by it my dear. Oh, give me that smile again, please."

This made her laugh, and with teary eyes, half joking, the Lord continued his speech, declaring that her laughter was the most melodious sound in the world, which he had never had the chance to hear before, and that he had to take leave immediately to write an ode to this new music.

           "You are insane." laughed Y/N.

           "Insane for you, no doubt, Lady Byron."

           "Not yet."

           "In my heart, for a very long time, and forever."

And as he walked away after kissing her finger where her wedding ring would soon be, Y/N looked at him, unable to stop smiling.  

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Louisa Clarence-Smith

Published: Dec 29. 2022

Maths professors at top UK universities will warn ministers on Thursday that academics are too scared to challenge damaging attempts to “decolonise” the curriculum.

A dozen leading academics have written to Claire Coutinho, the Education Minister, calling for more protections for free speech at universities, where many professors fear it is too “personally risky” to challenge the decolonisation agenda.

For maths degrees, professors are being pressured to explain how they are presenting a “multicultural and decolonised view” of the subject. In a recent consultation, the Quality Assurance Agency, which advises universities on course standards, said maths professors need to “present the work of a diverse group” of mathematicians, and ensure students are aware if they had “connections to the slave trade, racism or Nazism.”

A group of professors will warn on Thursday that such guidance “risks politicising the subject of mathematics and presenting a skewed perspective on its history.”

'Personally risky'

They said in a joint letter, seen by The Telegraph, that it also “infringes on the academic freedom of mathematicians to teach their subject according to their best professional judgement”. However, they warned that academics “who challenge orthodoxies on topics such as gender identification and diversity face physical intimidation from student activists”.  

“Many mathematicians see it as personally risky to suggest that 'decolonising the curriculum' might not be the best way to encourage more Black and minority ethnic people to take up mathematics,” they added.

Signatories of the letter include Prof Alan Sokal of University College London, Prof Abhishek Saha of Queen Mary University of London, Prof Jane Hutton, a medical statistician who works at the University of Warwick, and Dr Yuri Bazlov from the University of Manchester.

They are urging the Government to fight to pass the Higher Education (Freedom of Speech) Bill in its original form, despite opposition in the House of Lords. Clause 4 of the bill would give academics and students the power to sue universities if their freedom of speech rights are breached. The Government tabled amendments to the bill which would mean academics could only use those powers as a “last resort”, after first pursuing complaints through the procedures of the relevant university and the higher education regulator.

Personal cost of raising complaints 'far too high'

However, responding to the amendments, the mathematicians said: “We do not think this would give us the protection that we need. Universities have vast resources and power compared to individual academics. If academics are required to exhaust all internal processes…and then spend up to 12 months taking their complaint through the Office for Students before they can begin the lengthy process of going to the courts, we believe that the personal cost of raising any complaints would be far too high, rendering the system ineffective.” Ms Coutinho has previously said that the Government remains “resolute in our commitment that academics and speakers will have the right to go to court where this fundamental right has been denied.”

A spokesperson for Universities UK said: “Universities work hard to create the right conditions to protect and promote free speech and academic freedom across their campuses, and there are already significant legal duties placed on universities to uphold freedom of speech. The Government’s proposed changes to the Freedom of Speech Bill are helpful in making the new legal tort more targeted in scope, reducing the risk of university resources being wasted defending frivolous or vexatious claims.”

==

Secular blasphemy laws.

[renee-writer]

The Changeling Chapter 13

AO3

Wee Ian and his sister, Maggie, exam the newcomers with wide eyes. Maggie has never meet her uncle and Wee Ian was just her age the last time he saw him.

 

“You have grown so big and braw,” Jamie addresses his nephew, “and what a beauty you are, Maggie.”

 

“Uncle Jamie, who is the lass?”

 

“Wee Ian, this is my wife and your Auntie, Claire and our son William.”

 

She smiles at the children. “Hello.”

 

Both react the same way, moving away from her, their eyes wide. The lad finds his voice. “Why Uncle Jamie, she is a Sassanach!”

 

“Aye, but dinna fret. She is a good one. I swear it.” Murtagh is holding laughter back. It is good to know that the bairns are being raised as true Scots.

 

“Ian Murray, Margaret Murray, Claire is your auntie. You shall treat her with respect. Is that clear?” Jenny’s stern glance meets their eyes.

 

“Aye mam.”

 

“Aye mam.”

 

“I understand,” She hands William to his daddy so she can kneel to their level, “the English can be fearsome. I am not fully English. I was raised all over the world. My dear uncle, may his soul rest in peace, he was an archeologist, dug up the past,” the irony of this hits her and she almost burst into laughter. Wasn’t she raised perfect for this adventure she is on! “So even though my voice is English, I am a Scot, for I am married to one and a mam of one.”

 

“That be good.” Wee Ian nods to himself, “very good.”

 

Maggie toddles up and rests against her. She carefully touches her dark curls. Everyone holds their breaths.

 

“Maggie’s Auntie Claire.” She declares. Jamie watches, his eyes full of pride.

 

Later, after the children are tucked in bed, they sit down to talk about the pardon.

 

“Sae this Lord Abernathy is helping cover up Randall’s crimes?”

 

Jamie nods. He understands Ian’s feelings about the man. He has, after all, came close to assaulting Jenny. It was something they don’t discuss.

 

“Aye, it makes sense. There has to be someone high up to allow him to get away with his despicable acts.”

 

“Ned is hoping to persuade him to arrange a pardon for Jamie in exchange for keeping their secrets.” Claire explains farther.

 

Jenny is silent, to silent. Ian looks at her. “Jenny?”

 

“As much as I want Jamie to be pardoned, I loath that he will continue to get away with it.”

 

All nod in understanding.

 

“He won’t for long,” Claire’s declaration has all eyes on her, “there is to be an upraising, we will raise up against the British. Unfortunately, it won’t succeed but, at the last battle, Black Jack will be killed.”

 

“How do you know that? I ken knowing the future but one person out of it, knowing his fate?”

 

“I know, Ian, because before he dies, he will marry a lass named Mary Hawkins. From their union they will have a son. Years after, my first husband, Frank Randall, will be born.”

 

Total silence.

 

“You married one of them!” Jenny hisses.

 

“Frank was nothing like his ancestor. He was interested in the family history. In his research, he found the information about Black Jack.”

 

“Jenny Mon ghrá, remember this is two hundred years in the future. Claire then didn’t know. She can’t be blamed. Her knowledge may help Jamie be free and help us prepare for this coming upraising, eh?”

 

She smiles at him before turning back to her sister -in-law. “Forgive me Claire. I just loath him so much. The knowledge he isn’t long for this world is a comfort.”

 

“I understand and I can help prepare for what is to come.”

 

She explains the upraising and it’s aftermath.

 

“We should stay out then, remain loyalists?” Jamie questions.

 

“Yes. I would love it if we won and could break off their control it isn’t just now. To keep the family safe, we need to stay true to the British.”

 

“We will do as you bid.” Ian says. They discuss what to plant and when, hiding resources away from the conquers.

 

“I am afraid the whole clan way of life will end. The wearing of tartan will be forbidden, the speaking of Gaelic. It will return in our great- great- grandchildren’s lifetime.”

 

There is a solemnness in the air. Her words, though needing to be said, carry a heavy weight.

 

“Thank you Claire. We shall prepare as we can. We shall keep the Gaelic in our hearts. Our children will learn it even if they can only speak it in secret.”

 

“Ian is right,” Murtagh has been quiet, listening for most of their conversations, “the bloody English will never fully conquer us.”

 

“Amen!” Jamie cries.

[destieltaggedfic]

Omg you’re doing the lords work with this blog. So thank you for that! This is kind of a niche topic, but do you know of any fics where Dean smokes?

In a couple of these what he smokes is weed. Obviously, its never really the point of the fic, just something that happens

if you wind up in the dark again (just turn and call my name) – strangerdeans   Ao3

Nonspecific timeframe.  Claire’s car has broken down and Dean is her last chance for assistance.  He doesn’t let her down.

Word Count: 4k                                 No Sex

Magnetic North – demonlandline   Ao3

Nonspecific timeframe.  Its 3am and Dean is smoking outside a motel.  Seems like as good a time as any to finally give in to the thing he feels for Cas.

Word Count: 3k                                 No Sex

Love and Longing in Lebanon - piesexuality, things_renew_themselves   Ao3

Nonspecific timeframe.  From time to time, Dean and Cas take themselves off to their place and get high.  Dean’s deal with himself is that when they are doing it he can only say nice things to Cas.

Word Count: 9k                                 No Sex

Charlie Grace - Piper_Halliwell1979   Ao3

Set S12 AU.  Its only after they deal with Lucifer’s child that Cas realises his own grace has created life with his mate’s.  Not something Dean was expecting given they are both male.  (warning for mpreg)

Word Count: 7k                                 Graphic Sexual Acts

Another 12x03 Coda - Piper_Halliwell1979   Ao3

Set S12.  Dean needs to get out of the bunker after Mary leaves, Cas rushes back to look after him and they talk.

Word Count: 2k                                 No Sex

well the point of my life is to be with you babe - forest_lad   Ao3

Nonspecific timeframe.  When Dean gets high, he gets affectionate and touchy-feely, so he makes sure it only happens when Cas is around.

Word Count: 2k                                 No Sex

[into-the-sky-under-the-sea]

𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴 & 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴

💠 𝑨𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒂-𝒊𝒔𝒉

-inspired by Saltburn (2023) and the art it references (or reminded me of) 🏰🍾 ▪ Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh [a fav book of mine] ▪ Brideshead Revisited (1981) miniseries ▪ The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith ▪ and I have to mention Purple Noon (1960), my favorite film, just because it is the first adaptation of the first Ripley book ▪ The Secret History by Donna Tartt [another fav book] -rolledover from autumnal mood -books on my tbr 📚 ▪ Ticky by Stella Gibbons ▪ Brat Farrar by Josephine Tey ▪ Possession by A.S. Byatt, which can also connect to The Romantics below

💠 ℂ𝕒𝕡𝕠𝕥𝕖'𝕤 𝕊𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕤 & 𝕞𝕚𝕕-𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕪 𝕘𝕝𝕒𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕣

-currently reading Capote's Women: A True Story of Love, Betrayal, and a Swan Song for an Era by Laurence Leamer, which I've had for a while but am now reading because it is the basis for the new season of Feud: Capote vs. The Swans (series on FX) -Answered Prayers by Truman Capote is now one of the next books I want to buy -I read a couple articles pertaining to the book and surrounding figures, which then lead me to watching the documentary Always at the Carlyle (2018)

💠 ƑคเгץՇคɭєร

-I am in my fairytale era 🧚🏼‍♀️✨️🦢⛲️🪷❄️🏹🍎🪞🥀🫧🪺 -seedlings were planted back in December with reading E.T.A. Hoffmann's and Alexandre Dumas' Nutcracker stories, and watching Frozen for the first time and then reading "The Snow Queen" by Hans Christian Andersen -it was cemented with rewatching Donkey Skin (Peau d'ane) (1970) early in the month and then reading that fairytale 💍 -I've continued / am now I'm continuing to do that with other titles ▪ "The Red Shoes" 👠 ▪ "12 Dancing Princesses" 🩰 ▪ Up Next: "The Little Mermaid" 🧜🏼‍♀️ -specifically, watching (or rewatching) Czech and Soviet adaptations ▪ Снежная королева (The Snow Queen) (1957) ❄️ ▪ Three Wishes for Cinderella (1973) 🦉 ▪ Perinbaba (1985) 🌨 ▪ Up Next: Русалочка (1976) and Malá mořská víla (1976) (both are "The Little Mermaid") 🧜🏼‍♀️, and Двенадцать месяцев (The Twelve Months) (1973) -and on my immediate tbr is The Magic Toyshop by Angela Carter 📕

💠 𝔐𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔈𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩 𝔉𝔢𝔪𝔪𝔢

-this is the only way I can think of describing this mood/interest and it's not even a complete phrase, just adjectives of the aesthetic -I'm just listing movies and books that illustrate this to me ▪ Currently Reading: Brutes by Dizz Tate ▪ Currently Watching: Jean Rollin's vampire films: The Shiver of the Vampires (1971), Fascination (1979), The Living Dead Girl (1982), Two Orphan Vampires (1997) ⚰ ▪ on my book wishlist is Mine-Haha: or On the Bodily Education of Young Girls by Frank Wedekind, which was adapted into the film Innocence (2004) 🌳 ▪ I swear I had other things to put here, but I can always do updates posts later -taken from one of my Letterboxd tags "ethereal femme horror" which I started/came up with when I first watched a couple Jean Rollin films late last summer

🏹 [Also, Fairytale + Moody and Ethereal Femme = my "growing up in a land far far away" list on LB]

💘 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚜

-in October I watched Haunted Summer (1988) and rewatched Gothic (1986) and in doing so I realized I haven't read much from Lord Byron. I then bought his Selected Poems and Don Juan 📜 -reading his work is also likely to lead to finding a biography about him, and works by and about the other Lake Geneva attendees: Mary Wollstonecraft (Shelley), Percy Bysshe Shelley, Claire Clairmont, John Polidori (I have previously read Frankenstein and The Vampyre)

💘 ᑘᘉᕼᓰᘉᘜᘿᕲ ᘺᓍᘻᘿᘉ / ᖴᘿᘻᗩᒪᘿ ᖇᗩᘜᘿ

-at the beginning of January I really wanted to start reading Boy Parts by Eliza Clark, but soon afterwards I found out an internet booktube friend died suddenly, so I was a little out of it last month. Boy Parts was actually on her 2024 tbr, so I definitely want to get to it soon when the spur strikes again. 📷 -honestly, since finding out about her death, though it has taken me some time, I'm even more determined to get to books and movies I've been wanting to read and to watch for years! things I've put off because of high expectations or whatever. things I think will be new all-time favs, 5/5 stars, etc. I'm going to read them! and one of those is A Certain Hunger by Chelsea G. Summers 🍖🍇 -I'm now realizing, when you think about it, certain Jean Rollin films could probably be categorized here 🧛🏼‍♀️

[yngai]

would it not be too indicative of a weight being lifted off her shoulders, she would breathe a sigh of relief to see the crow's hail mary working . their question a stump in claire's reminiscing that throws her off balance, forcing the discussion into another direction . their posture does relax, the snow & mud no longer an obstacle, as if she just remembered overcoming the harshness of siberia's winter . she has wasted too much of this assignment lost in her own memories of a daughter she never wanted, looking at ethan winters not as a pawn in a larger game but a reflection of her own desperation, & he was far more deserving of a reunion than she . if only she believed in the superstition of fate she'd let the fantasy of seeing mei-li again go, if only it wasn't the light guiding her forward, the reward she'd ask for once miranda gift is in her employer's hands . how delusional motherhood has made her .

the crow has found the soft spot between the rock where their ice pick strikes, neither of them at the mountaintop yet, “ because you have greater allies on whose shoulders to cry on, i imagine . ” if not the rest of her squad, at the very least her own brother, unless he treats claire with same level of impersonality as the rest of his men . creating distance so that the pain of separation stings less, even with family . weren't this a mutual sin perhaps she'd judge . “ you know me from legend & though i am quite prideful i must admit, the villagers had a tendency to exaggerate . ” miranda hadn't given them time to decide what the crow was, either heretic or hero, all they could do is cling to their offered hand as the only savior between their lords & miranda's dogs . a lie so easy to believe despite it's hasty construction, followed now by another, rolled smoothly off her tongue . she was back in her element .

“ plus, i don't even know your name . ” there is almost a comedic pause, stopping in their trek in front of the megamycete's branches, humor complimented by the blank stare of their mask . a younger version of herself would have underestimated claire's intelligence, not even considered that the reason claire feels this odd comfort around the crow was because she senses some subconscious familiarity, but she would still test the limits of her disguise . even lanshiang couldn't rid ada wong of her hubris .

“ how would i know who to pass your legend onto ? would your little band of soldiers even care to listen to a little crow like me ? ”

she doesn't make much of the other's behaviour, for in a time so dire claire knows better than to judge - god knows how conflicted she used to be in the past just the same as today. she wants to believe it's because of the experience gained in these two decades and some of, the way death and destruction won't leave her side and how humanity gets worse and worse despite her best efforts.... but the truth is even more simple than that. she's always worn her heart on her sleeve - but where did it lead her? friends and loved ones turned into enemies and nightmares to remember by, yet somehow claire is still standing.

"why not?" she counters, shoulders raising slightly and for a moment claire feels like she's gone back to the police station that has haunted her for so long; her first time being part of this bigger picture she's can't quite see clearly yet even after all these years. her trust was just a tad too much even back then, but considering what it gave her back, claire knows better than to complain. the crow's questions are all legit and if it wasn't for the fact that lives are in need to be saved, perhaps she would have given in to recount more of her story. "giving the benefit of doubt is what kept alive sometimes, i guess."

it started with the rooky cop that night in raccoon city; the friend she couldn't save in antarctica and the friends she lost in many other islands after that; the doctor who made one good choice after so many wrongs and just for once it was enough. had it not been for her heart, she would have been already gone for a long time. "i like to think i'm not exempt from death despite the way my odds always turn out good." claire says, ghost of a smile as she turns to face the crow. "something tells me you're really good at escaping shitty situations, so in case i don't make it out of here at least someone knows i tried my best."

[cashthecomposer]

Are you a hedonistic bastard pansexual who is obsessed with post apocalyptic nonsense and writes bad poetry?

Are you a theatre kid who just turned 18 who has a crush on some awesome celebrity who may actually turn out to be a complete asshole?

Are you a gay asexual med student with a thing for vampires who’s been working on a novel for shut up many years?

Are you a sleep deprived goth girl with a frankly unhealthy fascination with science?

Are you a bisexual soft boy who writes fairly decent poetry and is obsessed with your girlfriend and may have a few children somewhere on the west coast?

Then you should consider supporting my Patreon for like $1 a month or something, bc I’ve written (that’s right, past tense, workshopping now!) a musical about these five characters (Lord Byron, Claire Clairmont, John Polidori, and Mary and Percy Shelley, respectively) and the summer when they all got high and wrote a bunch of ghost stories, including the original modern vampire story and motherfucking FRANKENSTEIN.

By supporting my Patreon, you’ll be able to get a good view of the entire process of the creation of this musical from the very freaking start, including pictures, videos, and music from the show as it’s being workshopped, and eventually, a full recording of the show!! And you’ll also get to know that you’re helping me, an independent creator, achieve something great, a childhood dream... by ensuring that I don’t have to survive on beans and rice, and can afford the coffee/gas necessary to do all the work associated with creating a whole freaking musical. 

So yeah, please consider becoming a patron. This isn’t a typical path for a composer; I want to do something that really isn’t done, and show transparency throughout the creation of my work. I can only really do this if I have the resources, and that relies on support from folks like you. 

If you can’t support my Patreon for whatever reason, then please reblog this post instead. Maybe one of your followers can, and that would make all the difference!

[burningvelvet]

Excerpt of a letter from Claire Clairmont to Lord Byron discussing her step-sister Mary Shelley’s new novel, Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus, 12 January 1818:

“I have Faults. I am timid from vanity; my temper is inconstant & volage. I want dignity. I do not like our Mary sail my steady course like a ship under a gentle & favorable wind. But at thirty I shall be better and every year I hope to gain in value. What news shall I tell you? Mary has just published her first work a novel called Frankenstein or, the Modern Prometheus. It is a most wonderful performance full of genius & the fiction is of so continued and extraordinary a kind as no one would imagine could have been written by so young a person. I am delighted & whatever private feelings of envy I may have at not being able to do so well myself yet all yields when I consider that she is a woman & will prove in time an ornament to us & an argument in our favour. How I delight in a lovely woman of strong & cultivated intellect. How I delight to hear all the intricacies of mind & argument hanging on her lips! If she were my mortal enemy, if she had even injured my darling I would serve her with fidelity and fervently advocate her as doing good to the whole. When I read of Epicharis the slave in Tacitus & of Hypatia of Alexandria in Gibbon, I shriek with joy & cry Vitoria! Vitoria! I cannot bear that women should be outdone in virtue & knowledge by men.”

[backtomycorner]

The (Gay) Origins of Vampires in British Literature

Thanks to the absolute joy that is Dracula Daily, I thought now might be a good time to talk about the origins of the vampire in British literature. I am a 19th century scholar who focuses on the Gothic, so while by no means an expert on vampires, I do have some understanding of how the genre came to be and boy, is it as wild and petty and as you'd hope it to be.

In order to understand how vampires came to be the aristocratic, blood sucking sex symbols they are today, let's first lay some ground work on how the tradition made it's way to Britain:

The vampire is a folkloric figure from Central and Eastern Europe, the Balkans, Turkey, and Greece. In 1701, French botanist Joseph Pitton de Tournefort was touring the island of Mykonos and recounted in his A Voyage to the Levant (1702) his experience witnessing the locals dig up the grave of a suspected Vrykolakas and cut the heart from its chest.

A century later, the Romantic poet Robert Southey cites de Tournefort's Voyage in his epic poem Thalaba the Destroyer (1801). The poem does not outright use the word "vampire" and the turning of the main character's love interest into a vampire is a minor plot point, but Southey's work draws a direct line of how the vampire tradition jumped from Greece to England.

Now here's where it gets interesting.

It involves (of course it does) everybody's favorite 19th century bad boy, Lord Byron.

Byron's poem The Giaour (rhymes with shower) is the first mention of a vampire in the English literary canon. His vampire falls more in line with the folkloric vampire as a blood drinking corpse than a debonair aristocrat. How Byron learned about vampires is not clear. He could have learned about them from Southey or de Tournefort, or encountered the legend during his own travels in Greece. Either way, Byron didn't really care for vampires. He thought they were dumb.

ENTER THE FAMOUS GHOST STORY NIGHT AT LAKE GENEVA

Scene: Mary and Percy Shelley. Mary's step sister Claire, Lord Byron, his doctor John Polidori, probably a ton of opium, and definitely a lot of sexual tension.

While most people know that Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein during this time, it's also worth noting that Byron started writing what was called A Fragment, or a Fragment of a Novel which featured an aristocratic traveler/vampire. However, Byron got bored with it and decided to drop the whole thing.

Not so much for Dr. John Polidori. Polidori worshipped Byron. He wanted to be Byron. He most likely wanted to bed Byron and Byron had the gall to laugh and call him "Polly Dolly" and refuse to give him the time of day.

So Polidori got his revenge by taking over Byron' s fragment and turning it into The Vampyre (1819). The entire novel is a thinly veiled jab at Byron and his hedonistic living. To make matters worse, the public thought Byron wrote it which infuriated Polidori who just wanted to shame Byron who laughed the entire thing off and said he would never write anything so trashy.

Once again, you can blame Lord Byron for something. The aristocratic, seductive vampire is (indirectly) because of him.

[dameronology]

Jazz... please... #8 from the hurt/comfort prompts with Mr. Murdock 👀

of course!!

matt murdock + 8) this is gonna hurt like a bitch, but I have to stitch up that wound

warnings: mentions of wounds and also blasphemy lmaooo

It was refreshing to have the roles reversed for once.

It was slightly less refreshing, however, for you to be covered in cuts and bruises. Matt was trying not to be smug about it.

You were sat on the sofa, legs folded beneath you as you stared blankly ahead. Murdock was nothing but a blur in front of you, strong jawline fading out into the edges of where your vision was loosely focused on the wall behind him. He was muttering something about...you weren't listening. Your brain had turned off hours ago, somewhere between trying to deck Wilson Fisk and then face planting five flights of stairs. The latter might have not been an issue had you not been so distracted by jeering at Fisk's black eyes - now you had two yourself.

"Are you listening to me?"

Your eyes flickered back to Matt. "Absolutely not."

"Of course," he sighed. Reaching out to the coffee table, he picked up a bag of frozen peas and gently pressed it to your sore nose. "You're gonna be bruised for a while, sweetheart."

"Like a damn peach," you muttered.

"Peaches don't attack crime-lords," he shot back. "Only idiots do that-"

"- right, because you've never laid a finger on him, right?" you cut him off.

"Well, you've got me there."

Matt continued to clean you up, dabbing at your bloody nose and cuts as he worked away. He could do it on autopilot now, relying on muscle memory and his senses to work out what needed to be done - and you couldn't fault him, to be honest. His handiwork was almost on par with a medical professional. He had been half-tempted to call out Claire Temple - more for your sake than his - but it was the wee hours of the morning already. All either of you wanted at that point was sleep. And maybe wounds that weren't going to bleed out.

"This is gonna hurt like a bitch, but I have to stitch up that wound," he softly said. "If you need to me to stop, just say."

He gently peeled the gauze back off your forehead; you squeezed your eyes shut, breath immediately hissing as he stitched it up. You had the utmost respect for Matt's catholicism but in that moment, you could have used every biblical figure's name in vain ten times over.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and that wee donkey. Fucking goddamn Jesus shit, that hurts. FUCK. Bollocks. Shit on a stick. Next time, I'll just stay in -

And then he was done.

"There we go," Matt smiled. "All done."

"Sorry for being sacrilegious," you let out a quiet grumble. "I haven't had stitches that hurt so much before."

"It's okay," he chuckled, gently running a cold cloth over your bruised cheekbone. "My hands are a little bit shaky."

You furrowed your brow. "You nervous or something?"

"Not nervous, but there are definitely nerves," he admitted. "Seeing you in pain is more than I can handle."

"Hey," you reached out a hand to him, running a hand down his jaw and tangling it in the hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm in one piece. Barely, but I am."

Matt forced a smile and snaked his arms around your waist; he pulled you into a tight hug, avoiding pressure on your sore face. He didn't normally act like you were made of glass but fuck. Tonight, it had felt like you were. He sometimes forgot you weren't invincible. You just did a damn good job of acting like it.

"I love you," you murmured into his shoulder.

"I love you too."

[leafvy]

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

here’s a list of short names to coincide with my long names list :)

[ disclaimer: my sincere apologies if there are any spelling/meaning/origin mistakes in any of my name lists, i am by no means a professional in this area, i just like creating lists to help aid storytellers. i do try my best to find each name’s corresponding origin/meaning/spelling but i am a human who is prone to make the odd mistake. p.s, i take requests! ]

Female

Ada - German - First born female

Ali - Arabic - High, elevated, champion

Amy - French/Latin - Beloved

Anne - Latin/Hebrew - Favour, grace

Aria - Hebrew/Italian - Air, song, melody

Aura - Latin/Greek - Wind

Ava - Latin - Bird-like

Aya - German/Japanese/Hebrew - Sword, colourful, beautiful, bird

Ayn - Hebrew/Finnish/Russian - God has favoured me, grace, eye

Bay - English/French - Auburn-haired

Bea - Latin - Bringer of happiness

Beau - French - Beautiful, handsome

Belle - French - Beautiful

Bia - Latin/Italian - White, fair

Bindi - Noongar - Butterfly

Blair - Scottish - Plain, meadow, field

Blanche - French - White

Blythe - English - Joyous, kind, cheerful

Bree - Irish - Exalted one, strength

Briar - English - Bush of wild roses

Brook - English - Small stream

Bryn - Welsh - Hill

Buffy - Hebrew - Diminutive of Elizabeth, my god is an oath

Cara - Latin - Dear friend

Chloe - Greek - Blooming, fertility

Cia - Greek/Hebrew - Light,

Clair - French - Bright, clear

Coco - Portuguese/Spanish - Diminutive of Socorro, help, relief

Cora - Greek - Maiden, girl, daughter

Cove - English - Small coastal inlet

Dara - Hebrew/Irish - Pearl of wisdom, gift, compassion

Dawn - English - Sunrise

Doe - English - Female deer

Dot - Greek - Diminutive of Dorothy, gift of god

Dove - English - A bird

Eden - Hebrew - Delight

Edie - English - Prosperous in war

Ella - Greek/Norman/Hebrew/German/Spanish - Beautiful, fairy maiden, goddess

Elle - French - She

Elm - English - Elm tree

Elsa - Scandinavian - Joyful, Noble, god is my oath

Emi - Japanese - Blessed, favour, beautiful

Emma - Germanic - Whole, universal

Erin - Irish - Peace, from the island to the west

Esmé - French/Persian - Esteemed, beloved, emerald

Etta - Latin - Of noble birth

Eva - Hebrew - Giver of life

Eve - Hebrew - Giver of life

Faith - Latin - Confidence, trust, belief

Faye - French - Fairy

Fern - English - Green shade-loving plant

Fiona - Gaelic/Scottish - White, fair

Fleur - French - Flower

Flo - Latin - Flowering, flourishing

Gia - Italian - God’s gracious gift

Grace - Latin - Gracious

Greta - Greek/German/Persian - Pearl

Gwen - Welsh - White, holy

Hope - English - Desire of fulfillment

Ida - Scandinavian - Labour, work

Isla - Scottish/Gaelic/Spanish - Island

Ivy - English - Fidelity

Jade - Spanish - Stone of the colic, precious gemstone

Jae - Korean - Ability, talent

Jane - English - God is gracious

Jessie - Hebrew - He sees

Jill - Latin/English - Child of the God’s, youthful

Joan - Hebrew - God is gracious

Joy - English - Happiness, joyful

June - Latin - Born in June

Juno - Latin - Queen of heaven

Kai - Hawaiian/Japanese - Sea, ocean, shell, restoration, recovery

Kat - English/Greek - Clean, pure

Kate - English/Latin/Greek - Clean, pure

Kim - English/Korean/Chinese/Vietnamese - Gift of God, gold

Kira - Russian/Japanese/Persian/Greek - Mistress, ruler, leader of the people, beloved, light

Kyla - Hebrew/English/Scottish - Narrow channel

Lacy - English/Latin/French - Lace, cheerful, unbridled

Lake - English - Body of water

Lana - Slavic/Gaelic - Little rock, light

Lark - English - Songbird

Lea - Hebrew/English - Delicate, weary, meadow

Leda - Greek - Woman

Leigh - English - Delicate, meadow

Lia - Greek - Bearer of good news

Lily - English/Latin/Greek - Pure, passion, flower

Lisa - Hebrew - God’s promise

Liv - Norse - Shelter, protection, life

Lois - Greek - Superior

Lucy - English/Latin - Light

Lula - German/English - Famous warrior

Luna - Italian/Spanish/Latin - Moon

Lux - Latin - Light

Luz - Portuguese/Spanish - Light

Lyla - Arabic - Night

Mae - French/Latin - Month of May

Maeve - Irish/Gaelic - Intoxicating

Mara - Hebrew - Bitter, strength

Mary - Aramaic/Latin/Hebrew/Greek - Bitter, beloved, rebellious, marine, drop of the sea

Maude - German/French/Hebrew - Powerful battler

May - English - Month of May

Meg - Greek - Pearl

Mia - Scandinavian - Of the sea, bitter

Mila - Slavic - Gracious, dear

Mina - German - Love

Mira - Latin/Slavic - Wonder, wonderful, peace

Moon - English - The moon

Mya - Greek/Arabic/German/Persian - Sea of bitterness

Nelly - Greek - Light

Nia - Gaelic/Swahili - Lustrous, goal, purpose, resolve, brilliance

Nina - Spanish/Hebrew/Russian/Babylonian - Enclosure of fish, little girl

Noa - Hebrew - Motion

Nora - Irish/Latin/Arabic - Honour, light

Nova - Latin - New

Nya - Swahili/Gaelic - Purpose

Opal - Sanskrit - Gem

Ora - Latin - Pray

Paige - Latin/Greek - Assistant

Paris - Latin/Greek - Pouch, wallet

Pearl - Latin/English - Smooth round bead formed by a mollusk

Pia - Latin - Pious, reverent

Pixie - Celtic/Swedish/Cornish - Fairy

Quinn - Irish/Gaelic - Counsel

Rae - Hebrew - Ewe, female sheep

Rain - English - Rain

Reese - Welsh - Ardent, fiery

Remi - French - Oarsman

Ren - Japanese - Water lily, lotus

Rita - Spanish - Pearl

Rose - Latin - Flower

Ruby - Latin - Red gemstone

Rue - English/Greek - Regret, herb

Ruth - Hebrew - Friend

Sadie - Hebrew - Princess

Sage - Latin - Wise

Shae - Gaelic/Irish - Admirable, full of majesty

Sky - Norse - Cloud, scholar

Sloan - Irish/Gaelic - Warrior

Sue - Hebrew - Lily

Suzy - Hebrew - Lily

Tara - Sanskrit - Star

Tate - English/Norse - Cheerful

Taya - Japanese - Young

Tess - English/Greek - To harvest, to reap

Teva - Hebrew - Nature

Thea - Greek - Goddess

Tia - Spanish - Aunt

Uma - Hebrew/Sanskrit - Nation

Una - Irish - The personification of truth, beauty and unity

Velma - German - Determined protector

Vera - Slavic - Faith

Wren - English - Small bird

Zara - Arabic - Radiance

Zelda - German - Grey fighting maid

Zia - Arabic - Light

Zoe - Greek - Life

Zuri - Swahili - Beautiful

Male

Ace - Latin - One; unity

Amir - Arabic/Persian/Hebrew - Prince, chief, immortal

Araz - Arabic - Provisions, commodities

Arik - Norse - Eternal ruler

Arlo - English - Fortified hill

Arris - Greek -Best

Asa - Hebrew/Japanese - Healer, physician, born in the morning

Ash - English - Ash tree

Atlas - Greek - To carry

Axel - Hebrew - Father is peace

Bane - Slavic - Glorious defender

Bear - French/German - As strong and brave as a Bear

Beau - French - Beautiful

Beck - Norse - Small stream

Blaire - Scottish/Gaelic - Plain, field

Blake - English - Fair-haired, dark

Bodhi - Sanskrit - Awakening, enlightenment

Bolt - English - Bar, arrow

Bran - Scottish/Irish/Gaelic - Bramble, thicket of wild gorse

Brock - English/Celtic - Badger-like

Brody - Scottish - Broad eye, broad island

Bron - English - Son of a dark man

Buck - English - Male deer

Cade - English - Round, barrel

Cain - Hebrew - Something produced, spear

Cash - English/Latin - Hollow

Chase - English/French - To catch, to seize, hunter, huntsman

Clark - English - Scribe, secretary

Cody - English - Helpful, pillow

Cole - English - Swarthy, coal-black, charcoal

Colt - English - Young horse

Crew - Latin - Chariot

Dane - English - From Denmark

Dax - French - Leader

Dean - English - Valley

Drake - English - Dragon, snake

Duke - English - Leader, son of Marmaduke

Eden - Hebrew - Place of pleasure, delight

Eli - Hebrew - Ascent

Evan - Welsh - Youth, young warrior

Ezra - Hebrew - Help, helper

Felix - Latin - Happy, lucky

Fig - English - Fruit

Finn - Norse/Irish - Finn, Sámi, white, fair

Fox - English - Cunning, sly

Gage - French - One who is defiant

Gale - English/Greek - Jovial, tranquil

Grant - English/Gaelic - Tall, big

Grey - English - Grey-haired

Guy - French - Guide, leader

Heath - English - Someone who lives by a moor or heath

Hugh - English/French/Germanic - Mind, spirit

Ian - Scottish - The Lord is gracious

Ike -Hebrew - Laughter

Iker - Basque - Visitation

Jack - English - God is gracious, supplanter

Jax - English - God is gracious

Jay - Latin - Bird in the crow family

Jeb - Hebrew - Beloved friend

Jed - Hebrew - Beloved of God

Jet -English - Black, airplane

Jody - English/Hebrew - Jehovah increases

Jon - Hebrew - God is gracious

Joss - German - One of the Goths

Jovi - Latin - Father of the sky

Judd - English - To flow down

Jude - Greek - Praised

Kade - Scottish - From the wetlands

Kai - Hawaiian/Japanese - Sea, ocean, shell, restoration, recovery

Kiam - Unknown - Unknown

King - English - Monarch

Kit - Greek - Bearing Christ

Knox - Scottish/English - Hillock, round-topped hill

Koa - Hawaiian - Warrior, brave one

Kye - Welsh/Scandinavian/Gaelic/Greek - Keeper of the keys, earth, narrow, straight

Kylo - Latin - Sky

Lane - English - Small roadway or path

Lars - Latin/Scandinavian - From Laurentum, crowned with laurel

Leif - Scandinavian - Heir, descendent, beloved

Leo - Latin/Greek - Lion

Leon - Latin/Greek/French - Lion, son of a Lion

Levi - Hebrew - Joining, attached

Luka - Italy/Slavic - A person from Lucania

Luke - Latin - The bright one, the one born at dawn

Max - Latin - The greatest

Milo - German - Soldier, merciful

Nash - English - By the ash tree

Neo - Latin - New, gift

Nico - Greek - People of victory

Noah - Hebrew - To comfort

Oak - English - Oak tree

Otis - German/English - Wealth, son of Otto

Pax - Latin - Peaceful

Piet - Dutch - Rock

Pike - English - A person who lives on a sharp hill

Poe - English - Peacock

Quana - Native American - Aromatic

Ray - English/German - Counsel, mighty protection, guards wisely

Reed - English - Red-haired

Remi - French - Oarsman

Ren - Japanese - Water lily, lotus

Rhett - English/Dutch - Advice

Roan - Gaelic - Little red-head

Rory - Irish - Red-haired King

Ross - Gaelic - Promontory, headland

Roth - English/German - Red, wood, renown

Roy - Gaelic - Red

Rudy - German - Famous Wolf

Ryan - Irish - Little King, illustrious

Saint - English - Holy person

Saul - Hebrew - Ask, question

Sid - French/English - Wide meadow

Slade - English - Valley

Tate - Norse - Cheerful

Teo - Spanish - God

Tim - English - One who honours God

Toby - English - God is good

Torin - Gaelic - Chief

Troy - Irish - Descendent of a foot-soldier

Tye - English - Someone who lived near a pasture

West - English - Western stream

Wolf - German - Travelling Wolf

Zane - Hebrew - God is gracious

Zeke - Hebrew - God strengthens

Zen - Japanese - Peace

Zev - Hebrew - Wolf

[renee-writer]

Gold Dust Woman Chapter 17

AO3

They find Boone bigger then expected but smaller than New York. They will be there a week, mainly on vacation. Mary and Claire share a rented cabin near the festival. All share spaces.

 

One morning, Claire gets up needing fresh air. She asks Jamie to take a horse ride. “I haven’t been on a horse for years and would love to ride with you.” Said with a straight face.

 

“A ride lass?” he is smirking, “would you wish to ride with me or on your own.” His smile would melt chocolate.

 

“Well,” she draws it out, “I would like to ride with you. You have more experience with horse flesh, you see. I can ride on your back.”

 

She walks towards the stables with a swish of her hips that has him thinking indecent thoughts. Lord, she will be the death of him.

 

“So, you want to ride my back, lass? Won’t that be taken our friendship to something else? For, I don’t let just anyone ride me.” He replies after picking his face up.

 

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Fraser.” She looks over her shoulder, given him a shy smile with sultry eyes and swaying hips. Jamie has known for a while that he was in love with her but now, what game is she about?

 

They enter the stables and walk over to a beast of a horse, a black named Thunder. Alex, in charge of the stables, frowns. “You don’t want to be playing with that one. He has his own head and it is a stubborn one.”

 

Jamie laughs. “I have one like him in Scotland. A clodheid named Donas.”

 

Claire walks right up to Thunder and whispers Gaelic words to him. The beast is soon nuzzling her hand while the man stand and stare, wide eyed, neither believing it.

 

“That one is a keeper.” Alex says to Jamie.

 

“Aye.”

 

Thunder it is. They mount him, with Claire holding tight to his back. As they head out  she whispers, “Mo  dhuine milis their air turas mi.” to him. He starts the horse, at a gallop, towards the lake. Thunder wants to run and doesn’t stop until he reaches water.

 

“Come, take a swim with me.” Claire says.

 

“We have no clothes to get in the water with.”

 

She grins, “So.” As she starts to pull her clothes off. Finally, down to her knickers, which she flips on to the shore beside him before slipping in.

 

After he catches his breath, he does the same. When he gets down to his boxers, he paused, facing her and making sure he has her attention before slipping them down.

 

“I am disappointed you didn’t go commando.” She states.

 

He shrugs. “I usually do.” Before joining her. He takes her waist, pulling her close, before kissing her hard. They both know this will change everything.