#the elite's dignity

[pissmoon]

Yes, I think pop punk is lame. Yes, I think dressing full on goth while only listening to pop music is lame. Yes, I think writing essays on why wearing merch of bands you dont listen to is 'valid' is lame

[wat3rm370n]

They will keep asking this question because they cannot see the obvious.

Philosopher Michael Sandel on What Trump’s Win Says About American Society | Amanpour and Company - Amanpour and Company - Nov 15, 2024 “Hey but the Democratic party used to be in favor of the average working person, why do you think they got tagged as the party of what you call the meritocratic elites that look down on others?”

PA Democratic Party politicians celebrate corporate giveaway. Chloe Humbert Nov 18, 2024 Less than 10 days after having to deny being elitists who’ve abandoned the working class, to defend the party’s historic defeats they announce millions of taxpayer money being given to a literal bank.

[childrenofcain-if]

DEMO ✝ BACK-UP ACCOUNT

Wealth. Power. Death.

The Ballad of the Young Gods is a dark academia interactive fiction story, with dark fantasy and psychological thriller themes. Some of the romances also contain tropes and storylines which may be disturbing to some readers.

It is based on media like “Ninth House” by Leigh Bardugo, “The Secret History” by Donna Tart, “Masters of Death” by Olivie Blake, and SYFY’s “Deadly Class”.

It is rated 18+ for depictions of swearing, sexual themes, violence, and death.

Getting into an Ivy League school is a dream that thousands of American students nurse from a young age. Luckily for you, that dream is your reality. Four years of continuous hard work and pressure have made you a proud freshman at Yale University. And as if that wasn’t enough, you have been handpicked to attend Rathore College, whose selection process is revered across all the nation’s top educational institutions. But you should’ve known this stroke of luck came with a catch.

Yale is a crucible of power, where secret societies wield arcane magic and the dead are far from silent. The illustrious House of Styx wants you and this is a situation that not even your money can get you out of.

They are powerful, elite, and most of all, controlling beyond recognition. They are also the heart of the eight secret societies that attach themselves to Yale. From the White House to Hollywood’s most acclaimed stars, their influence reaches farther than anyone can dare to imagine.

A sinister conspiracy brews under Styx’s watchful gaze, one that threatens to unravel the fragile balance between the living and the dead. But in a graveyard of secrets, you and your accomplices are the ones with the shovels. You’re now in a world where the past is never truly dead, and the lines between life and death blur with each passing day.

But some secrets are better left buried, and some prophecies are destined to drag you to hell.

Cédric Armand Lacroix / Céline Armelle Lacroix (M/F)

Vindictive. Conniving. Ruthless.

As the heir to the Lacroix fortune, C is every bit as arrogant as their bloodline demands them to be. Even after the messy divorce of their parents which further led to their disownment by their father, Alain Lacroix, they refuse to give up on their dignity. They’ve vowed to destroy him one day and take what’s rightful theirs, brick by brick. The world bent to C’s whims, what money couldn't buy them, those pale green eyes probably did.

There is nothing that they can’t have, especially if they set their mind to that. That is until you came along and stayed one step ahead of them every time in everything that mattered. It wasn’t just the fortune or the legacy at stake; it was the bruising of their pride, the constant reminder that someone—anyone—could outmaneuver them. But beneath the layers of resentment and anger, there’s something more—something darker, even more dangerous.

An obsession takes root, one that blurs the line between hatred and fascination. And they vow to spend their whole life despising you for everything.

Romance trope: Enemies / Academic Rivals to Lovers.

Vance Kasper Næsholm / Vanessa Karina Næsholm (M/F)

Pious. Haunted. Disillusioned.

Raised under the oppressive influence of a rigid, fire-and-brimstone faith in a Danish Catholic orphanage, they were taught to see demons in every shadow and sin in every touch. Forever haunted by the visions provided by a wrathful God they can neither fully grasp their mind around nor escape from, their only reprieve came on the day they got adopted at the age of six and diagnosed with schizophrenia. But the truth of their ‘psychosis’ may be far more sinister than any medical diagnosis could account for.

As the tides become even stormier and their medications become ineffective when they arrive at Yale, all V can do is hold on to the last threads of control over their lives. Your first meeting almost makes them teeter over the edge.

Now that they’re your roommate, they’re bound to you by fate or folly, but whether they’ll be a stable ally remains to be seen.

Romance trope: Roommate Romance.

Wilhelm Johann Ostendorf / Wilhelmine Johanna Ostendorf (M/F)

Exhausted. Abandoned. Lost.

What does the world think of you when you’re a product of brilliance and neglect at the same time? With an Oscar-winning filmmaker for a father and a mother ensconced on the American board of directors at the Louvre, their pedigree is undeniable, yet it is a legacy more hollow than it appears. While their parents sculpted their careers into masterpieces and amassed accolades, they left W to be raised by their paternal aunt and uncle. A sizeable trust fund and periodic checks served as their parents’ only gestures of care, a shallow substitute for the love and attention their only child so desperately craved.

The only times they had felt more than someone who was deeply unlovable were the summers you spent on rusty swingsets and fast bicycles with training wheels. But the swingsets have long been dismantled, and the bicycles have been traded for cars.

The only questions remain—are you the same kid who saw them, really saw them, beyond the reality of being unwanted and the suffocating looks filled with pity that came with their name? Or will this reunion only serve to confirm their deepest fear—that they are, and always have been, truly alone?

Romance trope: Forgotten Childhood Friends to Lovers.

Dumitru Constantin Diaconu / Dumitra Constantina Diaconu (M/F)

Charismatic. Reckless. Guarded.

D’s name is the one that comes up in almost every conversation about Yale’s wildest parties. A natural-born rockstar charmer with a magnetic presence, they effortlessly draw people into their orbit, collecting hearts and bodies with the ease of someone who’s always been in the center of the gold rush. Despite the countless admirers and the trail of broken hearts left in their wake, you’ll always find them with a Marlboro between their lips and a new person in their arms to warm their bed at night. Their smile is a promise, and their laughter a siren call. In the haze of flashing lights and the thrum of bass that pulses through the walls, they are a heartbreaker in every sense of the word.

Feelings are a complication they don’t allow, a line they never cross. They’ve perfected the art of detachment, of keeping their connections strictly no-strings, because to let someone in would be to risk the vulnerability they’ve long since sworn off.

Will you be the only person they'd let peel back the barbed wire surrounding their heart? Or will you be left with nothing but the faint scent of cinnamon and a tale that wasn't meant to be?

Romance trope: Friends with Benefits / Sex First, Feelings Later. [You will only be able to unlock their romance route through a hookup.]

Maxwell Edmund Whitlock-Singh / Maxine Edythe Whitlock-Singh (M/F)

Duty-bound. Noble. Untouchable.

Politeness and decorum are second nature to M. They are the embodiment of manners, a living testament to the art of subtlety in a world where spectacle often trumps substance. They are the sort of person who commands attention without seeking it, a product of both royal blood and rigorous self-discipline. Dubbed the “Paragon of Styx,” M is a modern Plato, someone who finds as much solace in philosophical debates as in the classical texts they’ve devoured in multiple languages. As the second-born child of the Crown Princess of Wales, they have always understood that their life would be one of service with every action scrutinized, and every word weighed.

Their intellect is vast, but it is their passion for the esoteric that sets them apart. For all their convictions, there is a restlessness within M that even they cannot fully articulate. It is the paradox of their existence—a life of privilege that feels at times like a gilded cage, a role that demands both reverence and obedience. Indeed, heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Will you make them realize that life is more than duties and expectations? Or will you become yet another figure in the background, another reminder of the golden cage they were born into?

Romance trope: Forbidden Royal Romance / Secret Relationship.

Step into the shadows as the wealthy heir apparent to a billion-dollar industry who is just starting at Yale University as a freshman.

Be a part of Yale’s most enigmatic secret society, the House of Styx.

Fully customize your character including: pronouns, gender, physical appearance, personality, sexuality, and more.

Romance 1 out of 5 love interests (all of them are gender-selectable).

Study forbidden knowledge, practice dark magic, and try not to fail at your actual coursework.

Test your mind, body, and soul in rituals that blur the line between reality and nightmare.

Learn about the secrets that your mother took to her grave. Is she really the same woman you remember so fondly from your childhood?

Will you rise to navigate the sinister plans brewing under the nose of the House? Or will your actions drag you and your companions to the fiery depths of Hell.

W̶̗͖̝͆h̷͕̲̑̎̓̍̄̎͠͝a̵̢̛̫̾̓͗t̴̙̫͛̐͆̾̀̓̔̊͝ ̴̪́́̈́͛̂̉̀͒̊́ạ̸̗̯̲̘̬͗̀ͅr̸̢̪̜̭̼̠̟̜͚̂̈́͋͋̅͑̉́̎͝e̸̩̯͉̿̊̔͛̃̎͝ͅ ̵̢̹̜̤͍͙̩̬̰̜̏̃͝͠y̷̢̨͇̘͍̌́͐̍̆̓̑̐ǫ̶̢̧̡̛̥̤͉͎̟̃̏̍̓̒ͅu̷̓̂̾̇̇͜͝,̸͎̖̮̲̳̻̱̬̎̒͑͝ ̸̡̛̰̌͐c̶̛̪̗̰̻̜̲̘̺͗͊h̴̡͔̦̘̤̖͊̿̓̇i̵͉̘͙̥͍̼̜̐̐̄̅͝͝ĺ̶̡̧̧̼̦̦̗̰̝̼̓̊̀d̸̡͎͔͔̰̖̿̐̈́̓͊̌̃̓͜?̷̩̗̲̫̮͕̍̈́́̽͜͝͝

DEMO

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WRITTEN BY: axel (he/him)

CODED BY: @albywritesfiction (they/them)

[gremlingottoosilly]

Hiii! I just read Mafia!Konig x introverted!Reader and it gave me this great idea! can you please do one where introvert!reader absolutely clings to konig since he is this big scary mafia guy so people are too afraid of him so don't try to talk to her out of fear of him.

as an introvert who absolutely does this i would greatly appreciate it!

Mafia!Konig is definitely your protector. It's how you two met, actually. You see, being an introvert is hard, but you manage to live just fine for a long time. Never a single problem, always moisturized and in your lane - it's just that your extraverted friends can sometimes be a bit of assholes who love pulling you out of your shell as you kick and scream. This is how you ended up squeezed between sweaty, dancing bodies at some expensive elite club that wasn't allowing regular stoners and instead opted for people who could afford cocaine and a minimal order of 300 euros per table. You don't think you ever drank something that was more than 15 Euro for something very bougie - but here you are, feeling uncomfortable. Awkward. Your friends left to flirt with some guys, and you would leave, but you haven't paid for your order yet, and you won't put it on someone else's tab. This is how you caught Konig's eye. A lamb to the slaughter, too innocent of a creature to simply ignore. He had to have you, press you in his arms and hope he'd be able to take you home without choking you and them threatening your poor body with his gun. He wanted something nice today, and protecting some awkward lady in the middle of her introverted breakdown is his one good deed for the year. You just wanted to go to some quiet place to recharge. Konig had already paid for a VIP room for the whole night, but now he just pushes you to it slightly, not caring that you're trying to stay near and find your friends. He says it's fine and he won't hurt you. You feel the outline of something metallic and sharp poking at your hip, so you decide to listen. Your dignity is not worth being stabbed, you think. He apologizes for being too harsh, and he looks a bit nervous. There is a mask hiding his face and you feel even more scared now - but he explains how he just wanted to make sure you're doing alright. He says he just wanted to help a pretty lady not be too overwhelmed with everything. He gives you something nice to drink and covers the tab for the entire table. He doesn't make you talk to him and instead allows you to examine his tattoos with poorly contained curiosity. He is nice for a dude who is definitely into some crime stuff. You just wished he didn't kidnap you later that night. It was kinda rude.

[sleepydeprived]

A Chance for Redemption

—A mysterious high school student appears out of the blue, bearing the face of the late Martha Wayne and puzzling even Gotham's greatest detectives.

[chapter 3]

Mama I’m Chasing A Ghost.

| Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x Reader

The floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom looked out onto the manicured gardens of the estate, and in the distance, was a view of Gotham that never seemed to change.

The same scenery, the same routine.

The butlers, the maids, the drivers who ferried me from one lavish location to another.

Every day was like the last, but with one major exception;

Gotham Academy

For the first time in my life, I had been thrust into a world that wasn’t mine. My mother had insisted I’d go, telling me it was for my own good. I was homeschooled my entire life, my education confined to private tutors and digital classes.

That is.. until my mother moved me to a prestigious school a few months ago. I don’t know what changed her mind. She was always so hellbent on keeping my life private. Her sweet little girl that only she knew about.

But now here I am attending a school that is closely watched by weird, content-hungry journalists and creepy paparazzis hoping to catch a photograph of children with high titles.

Nevertheless, I felt like an outsider. A puzzle that didn’t quite fit. I was the new kid—the girl who came out of nowhere.

But being an outsider didn’t automatically mean loner.

My presence didn’t go unnoticed.

I was different. People knew it, felt it, and stared. Maybe it was the fact that I came from a family—a clan—that held such an influence over Gotham’s elites. I was basically one relative away from a famous celebrity or a corrupt politician.

But, of course, there was also the resemblance to Martha Wayne.

It was a ghost of a resemblance, really, but it haunted me all the same. From the first day I stepped onto campus, I heard the whispers;

She looks like Martha Wayne.

The wife of Thomas Wayne?

She could be her daughter...

Or granddaughter.

It had started out as idle speculation, but as the days passed, the gossip only grew.

People stared, talked behind my back, and pointed at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. They didn't know me, but they had already formed an opinion. The mystery girl. The girl who had somehow, inexplicably, appeared out of nowhere. The girl who had the same smile, the same eyes, the same air of dignity and grace as Gotham’s most beloved figure. The figure whose tragic death had left an indelible mark on the city.

I had never cared for the attention. In fact, I hated it. I’m not interested in being some object of fascination, and that’s just how I was raised. I’m not Martha Wayne nor am I related to her—or at least, that’s what I’ve been told. The more people asked, the more I pushed that idea away. But the whispers were constant.

It made me think. A lot. So much more than what I preferred.

And suddenly, the buried thoughts from childhood of who and where my biological father was came rushing back.

Ever since I was a child, I had learned to bury my feelings—bury the questions about my father, and why my mother wouldn’t speak of him. There had been one conversation about it, years ago when my mother still had the time to let me in her study.

"Your father is not someone you need to concern yourself with," mother had said, her voice cold and stern. "Do not ask about him. Do not seek him. He is not a part of your life. Understand?"

And now, in the halls of Gotham Academy, that memory itched at me, more often than ever before. The bell rang, signaling the end of another school day, but I didn’t hurry to leave. I stood at my locker, staring at my reflection in the shiny surface of the metal.

Do I look like her?

————————

taglist:

@leeleecats @mariadvorak @deans-spinster-witch @rainlovewrites @xoacesgf @whiteoakoak @uknowimdumb @otterluver05

[kushamisaru]

How many more CEOs and other elites do we think have to die before these people remember that they're mortal, and more importantly that the people beneath them are deserving of basic human dignity? They seem to be pretty spooked with one, maybe it won't take as many as I initially thought.

[autolenaphilia]

God, this is so weak. Sarah McBride just caving immediately to Republican transmisogyny with this bathroom law. Like we knew she was pro-Israel, but that didn't surprise me, most democrats elected to congress are, but i expected her at least to defend her own human dignity. Like, to paraphrase The Big Lebowski, "I mean, say what you want about the tenets of zionism, at least it's an ethos.", this is just spineless cowardice.

To be fair, I doubt this was entirely McBride's decision, i'm sure she spoke with the Democratic Party bigwigs and got told to just cave, because they wouldn't back her in resisting this. But that just further implicates the Democratic Party.

Like someone with a backbone would see this as an opportunity to do some civil disobedience and disobey this rule. Make a statement, resist. But, no, the Democratic Party is so tied to law and order that they see no room for even peaceful civil disobedience.

At least not in the case of trans women's rights. The Democratic Party elite already has been talking this past november that the reason Harris lost the election was because she wasn't transphobic enough. So the democrats might have decided to just let this outrage slide in the hopes of getting more votes.

Violating transmisogynistic bathroom laws is something ordinary trans women do everyday to survive, entirely without the privileges Sarah Mcbride has as a congresswoman.

In fact, that's exactly the women she is screwing over by not using that privilege to fight. As quoted in Erin Reed's article linked above: "Transgender advocate and Harvard Clinical Instructor Alejandra Caraballo emphasized the broader implications: “This isn't just about her. These rules apply to trans staffers and interns who do not have the protections and privilege that she has.”

Women who unlike Mcbride, don't have a private toilet connected to their office to use (every congressperson has their own office with its own toilet).

And as Erin Reed quotes in her article:

"Ash Orr, a transgender organizer in West Virginia, was equally critical: “Rep. McBride’s messaging essentially suggests that if a federal ban is enacted, trans people should simply comply. While I understand the difficult position she is in, she holds a position of immense power and privilege. She should be using that power to defend and protect her community, not falling in line. Trans lives are at stake.”

Clearly the #resistance against the coming second Trump adminstration is off to a great start /s

[flametrashiraarchive]

Succor 2

Muzan x GN!reader

Content warnings: oral sex, anal fingering, prostate milking, profanity, Muzan Kibutsuji.

NSFW MDNI.

Part 1

Follow up drabble to Part 1

Taglist: @hiraethsdesires @verose-tb @blamedbisexual @tsukiran

Muzan was livid. One of his upper ranks had fallen for the first time in more than a century, and the remaining demons of his so-called elite class were nothing more than pathetic fools, serving him with nothing but disappointment. 

He let Gyokko's severed head plummet to the platform below, taking grim satisfaction from the wet thud it made when it landed. Hantengu yelped in fear, Akaza flinched, and Douma’s perpetual smile faded. Nothing could quell Muzan’s rage. Nothing. 

"Muzan," you whispered from beneath his desk. He hadn’t known you were there, and your sudden appearance was nothing short of disarming.

You were his most depraved and alluring creation; a demon who was repulsed by the consumption of human flesh, but who garnered strength from Muzan's own fluids. And what strength it was. His breath caught as your hand slowly worked its way up his thigh.

Surely you couldn't still be hungry? You'd already sucked him dry not two hours ago.

And yet, as the fools groveled below, whimpering apologies and empty promises, your hands went to the fastening of his trousers and deftly undid it. 

"Stop that," he hissed through his teeth, glowering at your pretty face. "Cease at once, you infernal slut. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a mee–"

A shuddering breath escaped Muzan's throat as you took out his cock and used the very tip of your tongue to tease his opening. 

Oh he could have torn your head off for such insubordination, and perhaps he should have, but as his knees buckled and he was forced to brace himself on the edge of his desk, he couldn't bring himself to stop you.

He fought to regain his composure as your hot, wet mouth surrounded his rapidly hardening cock and he tried to keep his voice level as he addressed the upper ranks. “I’d advise you all to act with more urgency from here on out. I suppose you’re not entirely at fault for your inadequacies.”

You swirled your tongue around the head of his cock and the veins in his forehead began to throb. He raised his voice once more to address the demons. “I’ve been too lenient with you because you’re upper ranks.”

He chanced a look down at you, and immediately regretted it. You gazed up at him with tears shimmering in your eyes as his dick grew to tease and nudge the back of your wretched throat. Oh, you were an abomination, a vulgar disgrace to demonkind, but he could not walk away from you. For all his power, he was devastatingly weak when it came to you and your depraved mouth.

He had to end the meeting.

“Gyokko, once you’ve confirmed that information to be true, you are to head over there with Hantengu at once."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a partition closed the pair of you off from the upper ranks, and he could finally let loose the growl caged behind his teeth. “You will be the death of me,” he hissed. “How many times must I feed you, my greedy slut?”

You simply sucked him harder in response. 

"Curse you." His legs trembled beneath him; his weakness and helplessness only adding to his fury. 

“Oh, fine, you licentious leech,” he snapped, putting his hands on the back of your head and thrusting into your mouth. 

He pumped his hips, brutally fucking your face as you gagged and drooled over his cock, your eyes rolling as your tongue lapped at the precum weeping from his slit. With every thrust he reclaimed a little more power, a little of his tattered dignity. His toes curled inside the butter-soft leather of his shoes as exquisite pleasure built and spilled over.

With a grunt he unloaded down your throat. Your greedy tongue lapped at his cum as a deep groan burst from his throat. “Yes… swallow it all. There. Now I truly have nothing left to give you. Leave me be.”

His eyes widened as you yanked his trousers down entirely, exposing his backside. 

“What are you– Oh I should destroy you,” he groaned as heat prickled along his cheeks and the top of his chest. He released his grip on your head to try to pull his trousers back up. “How dare you, how–” 

His blood-red eyes widened. Your strength was truly astounding as you stood, catching him off guard and spinning him around before you placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back onto the desk. The song of smashing glass and falling equipment drowned out his gasp. 

“You dare–!” Muzan’s protest died on his tongue as you slipped your finger past the barrier of his lips and laid it flat on his tongue. His pupils narrowed to reptilian slits as indignation and arousal battled for dominance. He could bite your wretched finger off– in fact, he should have, but he found himself simply moaning around it as you lowered your head to take his cock into your mouth once more. 

He licked the underside of your digit as his eyelids fluttered.

“Mmhh–” he sucked your finger, biting back a mewl as you pulled it free from his lips. “What are–” His body tensed as your finger delved between the plush cheeks of his ass, circling his hole, lubricating it with his own saliva. 

You simply raised your eyes to meet his frantic gaze. 

“You aren’t… fffuck.” His head lolled back as you continued your ministrations, your moan reverberating around his cock as you pushed past the taught ring of muscle to finger the soft flesh within. 

He was helpless then; eyes wide, mouth agape around a silent cry, chest heaving as you fingered his hole. 

“Damn… you…” he choked out, voice cracking as he lifted his legs higher, allowing you to press deeper. You hit a spot deep within him which made him see stars, “Oh… ohhpleasepleaseplease fuuuck…”

You seemed obscenely pleased as his cock started to weep, and you greedily swallowed down every drop which spilled out of him. Never in over a millenia had he been treated with such disrespect and made to feel so utterly helpless. He whined as he bore down on your degenerate fingers, furious as hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

Bringing up his arms to shield his face from your gaze, Muzan let his tears soak into the sleeves of his shirt as he rocked his hips, fucking himself on your fingers, taking you deeper.

"More, curse you. Another."

You obliged your king's request, pushing another finger past the barrier of his hole, scissoring them to widen him. His eager body responded to your touch, allowing you to push deeper and massage that exquisite spot deep within him.

His cock erupted onto your tongue as you milked him, pulsing pleasure and heat consuming him as he choked out your name. On and on, the pleasure consumed him, seemingly never ending. His mouth fell open, his lips drawn back to expose his fanged teeth as his groans turned to frantic whimpers. “I can’t I can’t I can’t I don’t… Gods, curse… you… I… oh fuck oh Gods please. Please. Please~”

His orgasm exploded then, sending sparks of scalding pleasure shooting throughout his body as you groaned in satisfaction, your wicked tongue lapping up every drop of his seed. His hands grasped at anything he could find, tearing pages from his notebooks and sending vials of ingredients flying from the desk.

“Mm,” you crooned as he lay on the desk, gasping for air, his body still pulsing with the aftershocks of your torment. “Such a good master, cumming so much for me.”

His crimson eyes widened at your praise, a muscle in his jaw leaping as he bit down the whine pressing at the back of his throat. “Silence.”

Forcing a deeper breath, he placed a hand on the back of your head and flexed his fingers in a muted show of affection. "Mmh… curse you." 

You were by far the best and the worst demon he had ever created, and in that moment, he would gladly keep you by his side for eternity. 

----------

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, you can check out my other fics on my masterlist

[kiwanopie]

A Lucky Find.

Pure luck, isn’t it? (Geto Suguru x fem!sorcerer!Reader)

cw: yandere if you squint. mention of misogyny and inappropriate work place relationships, graphic descriptions of curses and body horror, death by mutilation involving a curse (Not you), mention of religion, only specifics about reader is that she’s visibly very attractive and may have long hair (no descriptors though, it could be a lace) Suguru is out of his mind. You will not be called a monkey in this one.

wc: 3.9k

You’re not a very talkative assistant.

Granted sometimes you’re inclined to wonder if talking would’ve made so much of a difference to the position you’ve been put in, but you’ve never been a particularly choosy assistant either. You’re great at handling quick business, the calls your boss can’t be bothered to take - studious in your evening planning and you can quick work a coffee run like nobody's business. — You don’t complain about the thin heels they put you in, or the pencil skirts. Mired businessmen with filthy smirks and wondering eyes, or the routine baby talk you get from your degenerate boss. You don’t blink an eye at it. - You sit when you’re told to sit and bark when Mr. Minoru decides to hold that pretty little bone over your head.

“You could use a bonus, huh?”

Today it’s a back rub.

You’re silent as your nimble fingers start to press little groves in his upper back, impassive when he groans. Mr. Minoru, your boss, is a very rich man. He’s the successor of a retired tycoon who was once the successor of another and so forth. He’s an amalgamation of power and fortune and a small legion of nepotism babies that regularly walk in through those mahogany doors just ahead of his desk. An investor, you think. Most conversations he has are about money and the best way to double it; fewer are the ones where he’s actually taking the time out of his schedule to distribute it.

It’s all elite talk. Big men following big men following a perv who believes he’s god. Long outstretched legs that extend as he relaxes himself in his seat and hopes that the movement is enough to encourage you to start on his shoulders.

You like to think you got this job out of pure luck. Met the right man at the right time and stumbled over the deal of a lifetime all for the small cost of a little bit of your dignity. — Not like it was much of a trade from your part time job busing tables at that high-end restaurant. Being yelled at by bratty celebrities at a fraction of the price and coming home smelling reminiscent of a meat locker. Now you’re standing on the top floor of a penthouse suite. Smelling of expensive perfume that your boss totally didn’t break worker/boss relation code for and looking down at the entirety of Tokyo from its bay windows.

Pure luck.

The creature hooked to the upper side of his shoulder unfastens its teeth with a firm graze of your fingers. The steam it emits as it fizzles away is sour.

Mr. Minoru has a pension for starting fights with the wrong people, it seems. With bitter people - scornful people. People who hate him and can’t do anything about it, other than wish him harm or hex him in some way. — Worst are the people who don’t hate him, who envy him. Step into his office with painted smiles and clenched teeth. Who curse his name the moment they leave and leave you to deal with these little “bugs.”

Your nose twitches as its rotten smell encombers. For a moment your pretty face is twisted up in a scowl.

The massages started from an offhand graze of your fingers during a dinner at your old job. Pretty little waitress bending over him in that little work dress and running your finger down his felted coat. You apologize for your familiarity, someone must’ve spilled something on his jacket. ~ But the weight on his back is gone from just that little touch and now he’s offering you a job. You don’t regularly make a habit of helping those you’ve already deemed “afflicted.” But the fucker making goo trails on his back at the time was just disgusting enough to hinder your train of thought, and there’s no way you could’ve gone through your shift without reviling every time you passed his table.

So, now you’re his assistant - and today it’s just a back rub. Thankfully not a request to play with his hair and try not to cringe at the way he shutters from it. A subtle pat on the cheek for his good luck kiss, or a request to sit on his lap while he tells you a story he doesn’t care if you’re listening to. Because you’re quiet.

His not talkative, non-fussy, no complaints assistant.

Like always he fills the empty air in place of your silence. “Ah. By the way, princess. We’ve got a guest coming around after lunch. A real traditional fella. So, we’ll need to be on our best behavior,”

“Apparently he’s got some sort of business opportunity for me in exchange for a few investments,” He sighs when your fingers dip a little under his collar. “Says that in his big fuckin’ haori. Probably cost a few thousand bucks,”

Mr. Minoru shifts his shoulders under your firm touches. “To be completely honest, I don’t really know about it aside from the gag of seeing him in person again. Guy has this weird energy about himself that gives me the creeps. — Says he’s avant-garde. — I just think he’s a weird fuckin’ guy.”

���But,” The exhale he lets out is tempered and whisky tinted, clears out the fresh space in his chest that usually frees up when you’ve got your hands on him. “My old man likes ‘em. Says he’d be good for my health if I kept him around. At the very least build some sorta relationship with him.”

“Too bad my health’s in tip-top shape! Eh, doll-baby?” Minoru twists his head to flash you an expensive smile. Faintly defined cheekbones turning rosy when you return it like you know you’re supposed to. “Got my little guru at my side!”

And your simper, although gentle, is forced. Distantly you wonder if you’re the reason these bugs have become so habitual.

——-

This man is very ill.

Though he walks in with his head held high and a particular spring in his step, your diagnosis is that he must be terminal. He must be diseased and irremediable. In a constant state of agony and so stricken with unwellness that he can’t even think straight. You’ve seen your fair share of “bugs” and rabid disfigured animals that grow out of their hosts like fungus. Some that trail behind like lost children with broken crackling legs - a stench that only accompanies the open wounds whose maggots reach out so helplessly. Disturbing things. For all of it you’ve seen, you’re lucky to say that those cases are few and far in between.

But this,

It has many hands and many faces.

Each accompanied by its own set of teeth. Curling lips that stutter as they rise, etched in lipstick and gum; you find mint leaves hidden in the valley of its tongue, coiling as it softly sings. Watching from afar as it hobbles on its haunches like a drunken man, or of fawn newly grazed. It is steady - and constantly moving. It buzzes like a million bees and yet the man standing next to it is seemingly unaffected.

And so are you.

Your gentility becomes you as you politely bow for the man who you’ve so gracefully led to Mr. Minoru’s office. A practiced curtsy is usually enough to get your usual guests commenting under their nose at your bosses taste in assistant’s, but this man is quiet as he walks past you. So above your head that it almost feels like he doesn’t even know you exist. And that feeling is… off putting to say the least.

You close the door behind him as your boss starts on introductions.

“Ah, so you’ve met my beautiful assistant!” He reaches out his hand. “Minoru. Nice to meet you.”

The genuinity in the man’s smile fastens his eyes into slits as he steps forward to return the shake. “Geto, likewise.”

“Geto, huh? I heard the old man sent you for an investment proposition. My guess is it’s something… traditional?” Minoru gestures toward his garbs.

He’s somewhat clinical in his attempt to look lighthearted, but the sigh he blows out feels trusting. “So this isn’t selling “contemporary” huh?”

Minoru laughs and the thing beside him whimpers.

Your fingers twitch against your work skirt.

You’re a distant shadow lingering behind the conversing men as you step to your post on the far side of the office wall, heels clicking quietly when you bend to fix yourself adjacent to Mr. Minoru’s desk. — You’re not expected to listen much to the conversation, or even understand the matters on which they talk about. Just straighten your back when your boss snaps his fingers and follow obediently when he coos an order.

But even if that weren’t the case, you’d say it’d be hard to pay any attention to anything other than whatever the fuck that is hunched beside the man standing just a few feet away. Singing quietly under its breath and repeating the tune like a prayer. Fearful, shaken, pleaful, dread inducing; overlapping in its many mouths. Your fingernails quietly scrape against each other in your attempt to remain neutral but from a keen eye you’re jarred. Disquietingly moving your eyes from the two men still talking adjacent from you and then it again.

It’s looking at you.

You force down a swallow when Minoru calls your name.

“Quiet thing, isn’t she?” Your boss comments amidst the conversation as you approach them. “Could almost forget she’s here if it weren’t for the eyecandy,”

You smile at him like he’s flattering you but it’s muscle memory. “Sir?”

“Gather up those papers from your desk over there, sweetpea. And hand it to the nice man.”

You almost don’t even wanna turn your back on it.

But against your own anxieties you do as you're told. Even with your nerves frayed as they are. You keep your posture as you hastily skirt to your desk and back across the room again. Nimble, slightly shaken fingers lowering to place it in Geto-san’s hand but he doesn’t acknowledge you even when you smile. Vacant eyes. Bored of you already. —- You don’t know if you should feel more offended or alarmed. But in your curtsy before backing away you decide to split the difference and go for disturbed.

Avant-garde. This guy just gives you the fuckin’ creeps.

He works in health, apparently. From what you’ve gathered in the continuing conversation, he’s a spiritual man who offers health by spiritual means. It’s not a very groundbreaking admission, especially from a man in traditional garb, but he assures that his practices have long surpassed ground theory and have been proven to guarantee actual results. From refractory diseases, mental illness, visible injury; his methods could completely eradicate the need for traditional medicine and take the health industry by storm.

But money is a long factor, longer in the doubtful and non-spiritual. “Non-worthy.” It sounds pointed the way he slips that in, but your red flags aren’t shared with your less than convinced boss.

“Spiritual healing sounds great and all, Geto buddy. But you’re directing services to a pretty biased market.” Minoru crosses one of his legs over the other from his perched position against his desk. “Even with the facts, the money’s in objectivity. You’d get more bang for your buck just saying any Yamada worth his salt can walk in and get rid a’ his sniffles for the right price. - Religion ‘ll just turn people off.”

Geto smiles patiently. “Ah, Minoru-san, we’re not religion based. Religion promotes powerlessness. Our services come from practical people.”

You watch as the creature messily swivels on its crooked legs when he invades its space by leaning back a little. “But to insert certain biases kind of sweetens the deal, doesn’t it? People like things that make them feel special. Even the most useless people should wanna prove themselves in some way, right?”

What a crooked way of thinking.

At your quiet displeasure the mass behind Geto wheezes painfully, wincing when you lock eyes with it. Its song pitches and warbles, chops a little like it’s weeping; but even in its effort to resume its discontent is palpable.

You could almost feel acknowledged by it. By its wandering eyes and its tightened misshapen shoulders. Almost as off put as you are from its spot in the middle of the room. The more you look at it, the more it starts to evoke pity. Even in its unsightliness, it looks misplaced and afraid. - Its song breaks like a cry for mercy and the closer you look at it the more recognizable its purpose becomes.

There are knots in its balmy skin so engorged they bleed and tear. Fabric mincing over fictional scabbing and prayer beads hanging out of its gashes. Every twitch it makes reverberates ricey out of rhythm beats akin to maracas and its song, as out of key as it is, is reverential. Powerlessness. Anodyne through faith. You barely find yourself pitying the afflictions of affected people but in the context of this conversation - it’s watering eyes; you feel empathetic toward this thing and by extension Geto-san.

You assume something awful must’ve started that way of thinking.

Should you even stick your neck out for this guy? You’ve dealt with bigger, more violent ones in any case. But this creature seems peaceful. Following faithfully on its hosts haunches as it waits patiently beside him. You’ll have to be fast and unflashy about it, hopefully the stench from that thing won’t make you hurl on impulse. But if not out of mercy, it would be nice to have it out of your line of vision.

Your eyes cross it again. It’s many eyes well with anguish. You decide that at your next opportunity you’ll get rid of it promptly.

As luck would have it Mr. Minoru’s personal phone rings.

He’s quick in his apologies as he fishes it out of his pocket. Passing a smile to Geto as he quickly bows and makes the few long strides it takes to step out of the door and into the hallway, and a few short snaps in your direction as he points you to the concessionaires reserved for his clients near the door.

You’re practiced as you dip for the little fridge on your left, carefully sliding out a glassed bottle of water from the door and a plastic bag of sliced apples.

“Would you like a snack while you wait, Geto-san?”

He ignores you.

Through a quietly exasperated sigh does he slide his phone out of his hakama and pointedly decide not to acknowledge your awkward stance at the far end of the room. — You know he ignores you because the silence that otherwise permeates the spaciousness of your boss's suite is momentarily disrupted by the sound of your voice bouncing off the walls; followed again by that frigid silence.

This is the guy you’re trying to help.

Even so, your embarrassment is brushed aside in favor of making your way to the small coffee table between him and the other leather seat parallel to his. Thin pencil skirt riding a little as you take wide steps to the little spot that separates him from the empty seat - and you from the thin sliver of carpet standing between he and the now quivering mass.

You bend to place the treats gingerly beside him.

And when you rise you reach for it.

There are practiced fingers circling around your wrist before you can even touch it.

Your fear is potent enough to turn its broken hums into racking sobs as you freeze in his sudden grip. Firmly clasped onto you as he raises your arm over your head and forces you to jolt back with a stuttered breath. Faint greyed markings on the palm of your hand fade but they’re caught under his watchful eye, and through your shock you watch his expression switch.

From confusion, to intrigue, to pure excitement.

Your shock teeters on horror as his pupils dilate. “Now, just what were those pretty fingers planning on doing?”

He seems to revel at the sheer bewilderment that colors in your pretty face from where you nervously stare up at him. Doe eyes lit up by headlights, and the radiative heat of suddenly being this close to his predatory gaze. You stammer. “Wh-? Y-You know it’s-“

“Brought it with me, didn’t I?” He speaks lowly as he circles his thumb over your wrist. “Can’t say I don’t appreciate your concern though, sweetheart.”

You shrink. The absurdity of intentionally carrying a burden like this is as mind boggling as it is chilling. Dread inducing, even. With the kind of bad juju that thing emits there’s no other reason to purposefully let it fester beside you than for motives deeply depraved. Deeply disturbed. The way the air around him murkens and electrifies, and a glint in his eye that makes you feel like prey. — He’s looking at you like you’re dinner right now. And something about that feels trillions of times more frightening than any typical rubbernecking.

After being treated like a ghost by this man this whole time. Now he’s looking at you like you’re a slab of meat spread out for him. Succulent and tenderized, pliant under his fingers. Your soft eyes are rigid with fear as his other hand reaches for you blithely, larger fingers dipping in your loose hair and scooping it gently forward. You glance at it from the corner of your eye.

Smoke curls around his palm.

You suppress with a quiet intake of breath.

Geto-san’s cheeks pinken as he gleefully smiles, emboldened by a genuine tinge of ardor. You do your best not to flinch but it’s futile, his chilled fingers consolingly caress your face as he tuts; and gazes at you like he’s committing you to memory.

“Be patient for me, yeah? I’ll be done in a minute.”

You can’t even begin to guess what that means.

But before you can inquire he’s shushing you with a finger up to his lips. Playfully shooing you away as Mr. Minoru’s footsteps patter closer, and you clumsily re-fit yourself into your professional mask.

“Sorry ‘bout that, pal. Forgot about another meeting I was supposed to attend a little earlier,” He pockets his phone. “No one’s fault.”

He leans against the cliff of his desk where Geto-san’s planted himself again. Minoru glances at the unopened bag of apple slices. “Ah, _____, baby. You were supposed to hand him the good stuff.”

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

“No worries.” Geto laughs airily. “How could anything look nearly as appetizing when you’ve got an assistant like that walking around?”

Your ears burn as Mr. Minoru snorts in kind. “Yeah, fair enough,”

He rolls up his sleeves. “A’right, princess. How bout you hop on over to my lounge and break open the good brandy for my guest and I. Bring us the crystal set. Can you do that?”

—-

The decanter in your hand falls with a dull thump.

There’s no… logical explanation for what you’re looking at right now — Who you’re looking at right now. In any other circumstance deep purples would be expected. Blotched boysenberries and flossy reds, dotted with strained blues. You’d expect tearing - bleeding, audible ginger snaps of tendons and extended bone. A scream even, no matter how silent; all are logically expected. Death is logically expected.

But seeing your boss stretched out like leather, not a full five minutes after leaving him alone with this man, is not.

Your eyes frantically skirt over your boss's heaving corpse from your exposed position at his closing entrance. Watching in repulsed terror as his skin tears and bruises, familiar prayer beads falling out of his flesh like stuffing. - His eyes are rolled agonizingly into the back of his head, mouth opened in a scream. His blood sizzles against the maple of his desk and you can do little but stare in horror.

You flinch as the mainline on his desk starts to go off but you’re no sooner cringing at the way his arm breaks just to reach for it. Bloody fingers pushing the receiver, and cheeks tearing just to respond.

His unchanged voice somehow makes it all the more horrifying. “Hi, Souza. Thanks for getting back to me,”

“Yeah, do me a favor,” You back into the door. “Route about ten million to Geto-san’s organization under investment. And be a dear and sign the invoice for me, would ya?”

You’re gonna be sick.

“So, you’re out of a job now, huh?” You nearly yelp.

Geto-san’s standing just over you. “I’ve got a pretty similar position opened up,” He says casually. “‘Wanna work for me?”

You can barely push out a word. Which, kind man that he is, helps you out by deciding for you. “Ah, Great! I can break you in on Sunday. Here’s my card.”

He smiles kindly as you hesitantly pluck the laminated card from his fingers. Looking at you under mirthful eyes that chill more than they comfort.

“If you’re worried about pay, I can give you double of whatever that monkey gave you. Maybe a little extra if you’re as good as he says you are.”

But before you can recoil at the thought of being stuck under the same kind of boss, with the extra caveat of being a psychopath; he adds with a hint of challenge. “That is, if you can get rid of our friend for us.”

You follow his glance to the creature wearing your boss like a hand puppet.

Do you even have a choice?

Geto-san watches with a keen eye as you warily approach the blinking, bleeding corpse behind your late boss’s desk. Heels clicking slowly against his wooden floors, skin prickling at the thought of even getting close to this thing let alone touch it. There’s a smell that you notice as you move closer. A rotten, discrepant smell that pushes as much as it pulls. Aging, airless skin, barreling toward cell death; only marginally slowed by the alkaline smell of embalming fluid. Too old. Too sour.

But there’s something about it that almost — Hypnotizes. Evokes a kind of nostalgia that almost completely disarms you. Church pews and goatskin, leather hardbacks under frilly gloves; and those damn prayer beads. You can almost hear your grandmother’s voice. The minty sweet taste of stale candies tinted by the perfume in her purse. ~ Watching worship but not understanding it. A contact high of conviction. Your boss’s blood spills and it means something sacred, something reverent. And the closer you get, the more that sacrifice feels for the better.

You flicker a glance in Geto-san’s direction. This guy had this shit on standby?

It’s clammy when your fingers finally graze its skin. Sweaty and twitching, like every touch is a pinched nerve; like every stroke stimulates. There’s movement under the first layer, a hissing under the second. It’s mania seeps off of it in droves and the more you linger on it, the more your stomach twists.

You draw back your hand and rub over the difference in texture.

The room is temporarily endowed with smoke at the snap of your fingers.

They’re both gone when the vapor quickly dissipates, blood formerly staining expensive maple now replaced with its originally polished shine. As well as his chair, his area rug, and any other evidence that could connote what truly horrific fate the man in question had suffered in this very room.

Which is enough to send Geto-san into an ecstatic flurry of applause. “H-Holy shit. Where have you been all my life?”

He’s more focused on the way the weight in your lips shift rather than that being because of a frown. Regardless, you’re still a picture despite it. “You’re gonna fit nicely. — My address is on the card. Come by nine? I’ll have breakfast ready by then.”

He turns with a relaxed lilt toward the exit. “You and I are gonna have a lot of fun.”

The door clicks as the lock disengages.

“Don’t make me come looking for you.”

reblogs are appreciated <3

[silkjade]

& IF WE’RE ALL DRESSED UP, THEY MIGHT AS WELL BE LOOKING AT US

neuvillette x reader ⤀ warnings: implied fem!reader, nothing specific + no pronouns mentioned ⤀ summary: making your debut as a couple at the hallow's eve ball ⤀ notes: wrote this last minute but i'm in one of the latest timezones, so happy halloween ! (written before 4.2 aq)

"Furina might be upset if we steal her spotlight tonight," you mutter, fingers nervously straightening the cravat resting at Neuvillette's neck for the nth time tonight.

"Let her be upset then. It’s not a storm I haven’t weathered before," he replies, wrapping his hands around yours before lowering them back down to your sides. He's sure you've fixed his cravat to be more than perfect already.

"Yes, but garnering our archon's contempt isn't exactly something off my bucket list..."

A low hum ripples in his throat as he tilts is head in earnest trepidation. "Are you having second thoughts?"

You shake your head — absolutely not. A secret relationship is no easy feat, much less one with someone as high profile as Neuvillette, who in spite of his distaste for lingering within the public eye, is still often thrust into the spotlight by those hoping for a glimpse into the chief justice’s private life.

"Just a little nervous I guess," you breathe.

To reveal the nature of your relationship, is a decision you've made as a united front. The gossip columns of the steambird already run rampant with thinly veiled monikers, and there's not much either of you can do when an 'Honorable Monsieur N' is once again spotted with a 'mystery someone'.

It'd open the floodgates to an onslaught of curiosities, but Neuvillette would have the city be his witness, for though he still has much to learn about the ins and outs of human nature, he knows for a fact that his entire heart is yours. So whilst no authority in this land can truly stop the peoples' whispers, if Fontaine wishes to talk, they can do so on your terms, without the threat scandal.

Before the two of you, stands a pair of large double doors; the only thing between you and focalor's hallows eve ball, the only shelter from the costumed elite of Fontainian society who's predatory eyes would land on you the second you step past the threshold.

To your left, Neuvillette stands with an arm behind his back, a perfect gentleman costumed in the finest fabrics, the gold metal details glinting under the chandelier's light. with a deep breath, you straighten as you exhale, carrying the weight of your own matching costume with a dignity befitting of the iudex's lover.

Coppelia and Coppelius, two individual entities, who when together, waltzes amidst a flurry of ice and wind, persevering through any storm. Gingerly, you take his outstretched hand, nodding as the doors creak open.

notes2: tbh i only wrote this cus i thought coppelia & coppelius would be a super cool couples costume HAHA anways thanks for reading, and as always, reblogs + feedback are super appreciated ^^

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[tetheredfeathers]

The beach kiss as an act of defiance.

The beach kiss is not only a pivotal moment in Katniss and Peeta’s relationship but also a significant turning point for the entire nation.

Totalitarian governments, like President Snow’s regime, often seek to suppress love and hope because these emotions have the power to inspire resistance and undermine authority. In George Orwell’s 1984, romantic love is similarly suppressed to maintain control over citizens. Love is a threat to such regimes because it redirects loyalty away from the state and towards one another.

When Katniss accepts her love for Peeta on her own terms, she subverts the Capitol’s carefully constructed narrative. The Hunger Games are designed to be a spectacle that instills fear and reinforces the Capitol’s power. The tributes are meant to be mere pawns in a deadly game, stripped of their humanity and reduced to savagery. But Katniss and Peeta refuse to conform to these roles, instead displaying love and solidarity in the face of death. To the people of Panem, they become more than just a couple; they embody a symbol of resistance and a reminder of human dignity. Snow has orchestrated the Games to portray the tributes as brutal and emotionless, but the tenderness between Katniss and Peeta disrupts this narrative. For the districts, this display of affection might be affirming, but for the Capitol elites—who are indoctrinated to view the districts as barbaric—it’s a moment that forces them to confront the humanity of those they’ve been taught to despise.

The kiss also represents a profound act of love and sacrifice. Katniss and Peeta are willing to embrace death for each other’s sake, a selflessness that is especially striking for Katniss, who has a family depending on her. Katniss’s choice to prioritize Peeta over her sister Prim—who has been her driving motivation—reveals the depth of her love for Peeta. Despite Prim being being 'the only person she's certain to have ever loved' she still chooses Peeta. Despite Prim being the very reason for her entry in the games, she now chooses to die for Peeta. This moment is astonishing to the audience, as Katniss dismisses Peeta’s plea with his locket, saying, “I need you.” Their decision to choose each other over the Capitol’s imposed narrative fundamentally undermines the premise of the Quarter Quell: that even the strongest cannot resist the Capitol’s power. Regardless of whether they survive, Katniss and Peeta have already won a moral victory by sparking rebellion and prioritizing love over fear. Their unity directly challenges the Capitol’s divide-and-conquer strategy, making them symbols of defiance and hope.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

M O O N L I G H T ™

Pulling into the lonely gas station, my eyes quickly find what I'm looking for, a pair of blue lights emanating in the darkness. The glow is coming from the gas attendant's skull: clear indication that he's a Moonlight™ employee.

"Good evening, sir," he says with the overly-endearing tone of a gracious host, "How may I be of service tonight?

I don't hide my distaste for the pathetic menial worker, leaning on his mop and waiting for my reply like he's got the best job in the world. He doesn't actually believe that. He doesn't even know what he's saying, let alone doing!

"Just fill her up," I grunt.

"You got it, sir!" he beams, tending to my car with a pep that's out of place for the late hour.

Moonlight™ was the app that revolutionized working culture forever. It allows the user to sign up for a job while they sleep. All they have to do is doze off and some insufferable AI from Moonlight™ will resume control of the body via remote connection. People like it because they get paid work without experiencing all the boring hours and insincere customer interactions. Subsequently, they always get the same unbearably eager personalities stuffed in their bodies. Even without the glowing eyes, their idiotic grins would make them stand out a mile away!

"How has your day been, sir?" he contines mopping as the gas slowly pumps.

"Don't try to chat," I snap.

"Of course, sir," he doesn't miss a beat, smiling as he returns his neon gaze to the sidewalk he's swabbing.

I just roll my eyes and wander inside. The app doesn't record memories while it's in control, so this guy has no idea how humiliated he should feel. No one should have a shit-eating grin on their face working the night shift as a gas station janitor! I'd die before I gave up my dignity to Moonlight™ like this fucking loser!

On the TV behind the register, an ad plays...

The costumed man on the left steps forward and announces, "Join the revolution. There are over forty-two-million Moonlighter's taking advantage of their sleep! That could be you!"

The statistic makes me cringe. It's nearly doubled since the last time I checked...

The man on the far right of the screen happily taps in, adding, "We're constantly expanding our scope, so check with your employer! If your job doesn't already have a Moonlight™ option, then ask your boss to give you one!"

God, they're pressuring people now? Some jobs should not be done by an AI puppeteered Moonlighter...

Finally, the man in the center steps forward to deliver his lines, "Remember, Moonlighting is a safe and healthy way to not only make money but also get a good night's rest! Why work all day, when you can do it in your sleep!" his head turns, making it seem like he's smiling at either of his coworkers, "After all, we are!"

The three men laugh in unison, like true colleagues chumming up at work, but I know the truth. These three are worse than actors, they're empty marionettes for the Moonlight™ corporation. I doubt they'd ever even met each other in real life...

"Shut up!" I groan, smashing the power button to turn it off.

This world is going to shit. Moonlight™ has grown too large over the past year for there not to be some conspiracy or ulterior motive. I don't know what it is: the elite keeping the working class in their place, our government influencing our decisions, a foreign country converting us into their slaves! It all sounds crazy, but I don't think a single theory is impossible with an app like Moonlight™.

I'm the only one probing into this mess. I may have only worked as a detective for a few years, but I never did any of it fucking asleep!

A few days later, I track down my first lead...

"Good morning, sir," the garbage man says in that unnaturally smooth cadence they all have, "Is there any trash you need collected?"

"I just have some questions," I snort.

One hand pulls the hem of my shirt over my nose while the other swats at the flies. These garbage trucks are absolutely filthy. I doubt the garbage companies even bother washing them out anymore, but why should they if their workers are soulless husks without the ability to care? The man in front of me seems completely oblivious to the mixture of rotting smells and accompanying bugs. His glowing eyes don't even blink as a fly lands on his face, crawling through the hairs of his beard. He's probably lucky that he goes home with no memory of this downright awful job.

"Are you looking for employment with Moonlight™ incorporated?" his smiling lips stir the bug on his face, but it quickly buzzes into the moist retreat of the man's dark armpit, "I'd love to help you install the app and-"

"No," I cut, "Just open the truck. I accidentally threw out something I shouldn't have."

I study the man's frozen grin for anything. It's a test. The Moonlight™ AI is designed to accept demands from free-willed customers, but I have a suspicion that the building nearby is an undocumented base for the company. If I'm right, the company would hate for anyone to root through the garbage of their secret lab...

"...I apologize, sir, but the garbage has already been compacted, and it is unsafe for non-employees to look inside. Please let me know what it is you are looking for and I will search for you."

His artificial glee didn't wane, but the blue light in his eyes did flicker just barely. This guy might be asleep, walked around by remote AI tech, but I could still tell he was lying. I'd like to see one of the Moonlight™ detectives figure that out. As I said, some things are better done the old-fashioned way...

"Well, thanks anyway," I snark, planting a slap on his sweat-soaked back. He says something about it being his pleasure as he resumes handling the garbage, flies eternally buzzing around his smiling head and glowing eyes.

Continuing my investigation, I pop down in the sewer, looking for an underground entrance to Moonlight™'s secret lab...

"Are you lost, sir? Let me help you."

I've had to breathe through a mask to put up with the heavy cloud of steaming sewage, but the Moonlight™ septic worker seems fine, smiling with an open mouth, specks of God-knows-what dried on his teeth.

"No, I'm where I should be," I dismiss him and march past.

Suddenly a muddy glove sticks out and holds my chest. "I'm afraid you cannot pass, sir," his smile is as strong as ever, but the trademark glow of his eyes intensifies.

I've never felt more sure about my suspicions. This mind controlled worker seems ready to fight rather than let me pass. I wonder if this poor soul knows he's being used as a guard as well as being a Moonlight™ sewage worker.

"Why don't you show me the way out then," I relent.

"Of course, sir," his hand removes itself from my chest, leaving a dirty print, "The sewer is a dangerous place for civilians."

I follow as he marches me out of the sewer. It's better to leave and come back later with a plan. Today, I confirmed my suspicions, but tomorrow, I'll finally see what secrets they're cooking up in that lab. I return home and end the day with the satisfaction of being close to a major discovery. Sleep finds me quickly...

Waking up in my bed, I check my phone and find an unsettling message waiting for me...

"Congratulations on finishing your first shift with Moonlight™!" the text reads, "Here is a photo of you hard at work last night!"

"What the FUCK!"

I jump out of bed, but instantly everything feels off. My back aches and my legs are more tired than they were last night! My pajamas are uncomfortable, pinching in areas like someone else dressed me in them! My mind is racing with confusion, and an overwhelming sense of self-consciousness rushes over me. My face burns from the violation, but most of my fear is focused on the strange feeling lingering in the back of my private area.

"What did they do to me?" I try to be pissed, but all I can do is whimper.

Suddenly my phone rings...

"Hello," I growl.

"Good morning, sir," a familiarly gracious man's voice rolls through the call.

"Tell me who the fuck this is!"

"Someone who noticed you snooping the other day, sir," his voice sounds like it's smiling.

Suddenly it clicks. Whoever's calling me from Moonlight™ would never use their own phone and voice. They must be using some poor schmuck that thinks he's working an honest job right now. How am I ever supposed to find who's behind all these layers of lies?

"You can hind behind your brainless puppets," I sneer, "But I will not stop looking into this fucked up company!"

"But now you're one of our puppets, sir. I'm not sure how much credibility a detective has if he spends his nights working the room at the dirtiest club in town..."

"That's sick..." I whisper, thinking about the picture on my phone. The idea of me gleefully stripping for a room of disgusting old men makes me shiver.

"Good luck with your investigation, sir," the voice continues, "But just understand that every time you sleep, your body will get up and report to that club. I have to admit that you're hiding a rather tight body under that trench coat of yours."

"You were there?" I mutter.

"Oh I had to meet the man poking his nose where it didn't belong, sir. I got very familiar with you. You were very friendly last night, so I poked something of mine where it didn't belong."

The voice on the other line laughs, and all I feel is utter humiliation. I hang up the call and stare at the photo he'd sent. It was me alright, smiling like a maniac in the gayest outfit I've ever seen. I didn't like my body being dressed like that. I hate that I was happily busting my ass for the enemy. He had to have been getting off at my humiliation last night. I'm sure he relished every second of what he did to me. I don't even want to think about the sensation left in my ass.

I need to push this investigation faster.

Because tonight, when I go to sleep, I'll be helpless to prevent this from happening again.

[f1ghtsoftly]

the whole Khelif thing is such a nightmare, like the IBA has been found to have severe ethical issues that prompted their ban by the IOC and are unrelated to the sex testing issue so perhaps this is not a credible source and a bitter IBA is using this as a pretext to damage the IOC’s reputation like please do some research 😭.

Worst case, the IBA is being responsible about raising safety concerns in the sport (doubtful) and the two boxers in question have XY DSDs, ie: they are technically biological males but are observed and have lived their lives as women and are no doubt not intentionally cheating in the sport. Caster Semeya, another prominent intersex athlete assigned female at birth, has been banned from competition due to her high testosterone levels. It remains to be seem whether or not that decision by world athletics will stand.

But why do I call these people women when they are biologically men? Because these are intersex people who were raised from birth as women. By calling them women I’m not making a statement about biology or indeed the factual definition of “woman” or female. I’m recognizing that for all and intents and purposes, these people are socially women who have a DSD. They not ethically culpable for “violating” women’s spaces and deserve to preserve their dignity. Even if their DSD means they might not be eligible to compete in elite athletics. Or maybe they will, other athletes have bodily advantages that also make them faster. It remains to be seen what will happen.

So how!! HOW!! Did the conversation become about how these women are really trans women? Was it because Trump lied about them? Was it because JKR supported an assertion from an extremely dubious organization and called a woman with a potential DSD competing “male violence”. Or was it because thousands of women have been living in an echo chamber around trans issues that encourages invasive “transvestigations” and a destructive sense of personal persecution. Controversy around female sex at the Olympics is actually not a product of the trans issue and is in fact much older. The truth is, it’s a gray area around whether or not it’s ethical to allow women or biological men who outwardly appear as women with totally naturally occurring DSDs to compete. Biological difference among elite athletes is common and natural sex variation is a difference where the science is not always settled. Michael Phelps, for example, has several biological abnormalities that make him a better swimmer. No popular movement has been launched to bar him from competition.

Please take a breath and get out of the GC echo chamber, if you seriously consider yourself a radical feminist and an ally to intersex people, women and LGBT people, this is the wrong path to go down and the wrong issue to stake your reputations on. Most importantly, Carini, Yu-Ting and Khelif do not deserve to become symbolic faces of a debate they have nothing to do with. Khelif in particular is very vulnerable in a country, which is hostile to gender nonconformity/sexual difference, the public outcry could have negative repercussions for her at home.

[deadpresidents]

Formal Presidential Proclamation Announcing the Death of President Carter

December 29, 2024

By the President of the United States of America A Proclamation

To the People of the United States:

It is my solemn duty to announce officially the death of James Earl Carter, Jr., the thirty-ninth President of the United States, on December 29, 2024.

President Carter was a man of character, courage, and compassion, whose lifetime of service defined him as one of the most influential statesmen in our history. He embodied the very best of America: A humble servant of God and the people. A heroic champion of global peace and human rights, and an honorable leader whose moral clarity and hopeful vision lifted our Nation and changed our world.

The son of a farmer and a nurse, President Carter's remarkable career in public service began in 1943 as a cadet at the United States Naval Academy. He later served in both the Atlantic and Pacific fleets before becoming a decorated lieutenant and being selected to join the elite nuclear submarine program.

After his father died, he shifted from active duty to the Navy Reserve and returned home to Plains, Georgia, to help manage his family's peanut farm. He worked hard stewarding the land while leading his community as a church deacon, Sunday school teacher, and board member of a hospital and library. His deep faith inspired a passion for public service that led him to be elected State Senator, Georgia's 76th Governor, and ultimately President of the United States.

As President, he understood that Government must be as good as its people -- and his faith in the people was boundless just as his belief in America was limitless and his hope for our common future was perennial.

With President Carter's leadership, the modern Department of Education and the Department of Energy were created. He championed conservation, and his commitment to a more just world was at the heart of his foreign policy, leading on nuclear nonproliferation, signing the Panama Canal treaties, and mediating the historic 1978 Camp David Accords. His partnership with Vice President Walter Mondale is one that future administrations strived to achieve.

Following his Presidency, President Carter advanced an agenda that elevated the least among us. Guided by an unwavering belief in the power of human goodness and the God given dignity of every human being, he worked tirelessly around the globe to broker peace; eradicate disease; house the homeless; and protect human rights, freedom, and democracy.

Through his extraordinary moral leadership, President Carter lived a noble life full of meaning and purpose. And as a trusted spiritual leader, he shepherded people through seasons of pain and joy, inspiring them through the power of his example and healing them through the power of his guidance.

As we mourn the loss of President Carter, we hold the memory of his beloved Rosalynn, his wife of over 77 years, close in our hearts. Exemplifying hope, warmth, and service, she and her husband inspired the Nation. The love Rosalynn and President Carter shared is the definition of partnership, and their devotion to public service is the definition of patriotism.

May President Carter's memory continue to be a light pointing us forward. May we continue to be guided by his spirit in our Nation and in our world.

Now, Therefore, I, Joseph R. Biden Jr., President of the United States of America, by the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, in honor and tribute to the memory of President James Earl Carter, Jr., and as an expression of public sorrow, do hereby direct that the flag of the United States be displayed at half-staff at the White House and on all public buildings and grounds, at all military posts and naval stations, and on all naval vessels of the Federal Government in the District of Columbia and throughout the United States and its Territories and possessions for a period of 30 days from the day of his death. I also direct that, for the same length of time, the representatives of the United States in foreign countries shall make similar arrangements for the display of the flag at half staff over their embassies, legations, consular offices, and other facilities abroad, including all military facilities and naval vessels and stations.

I hereby order that suitable honors be rendered by units of the Armed Forces under orders of the Secretary of Defense.

I do further appoint January 9, 2025, as a National Day of Mourning throughout the United States. I call on the American people to assemble on that day in their respective places of worship, there to pay homage to the memory of President James Earl Carter, Jr. I invite the people of the world who share our grief to join us in this solemn observance.

In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand this twenty-ninth day of December, in the year of our Lord two thousand twenty-four, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and forty-ninth.

JOSEPH R. BIDEN JR.

[stillnaomi]

World War III and the Fall of Imperialism

A speech by Booker Ngesa Omole, The National Vice Chairperson of the Communist Party of Kenya

As we gather here at the 7th International Conference of the World Anti-Imperialist Platform, we stand at a critical juncture in our shared struggle against the scourge of imperialism. Today, I want to discuss a stark reality that looms over our world: the inevitability of World War III, driven by the unrelenting aggression of imperialist powers. This war is not a distant possibility but a present danger, rooted in the insatiable greed of monopoly capital.

Imperialism, in its various manifestations, poses an existential threat to the sovereignty of African nations. Initiatives such as AFRICOM serve as instruments of this imperialist agenda, undermining our autonomy and reducing our countries to mere pawns in the geopolitical chess game orchestrated by Western powers. These military strategies are designed not to protect our people but to secure the interests of the imperialist elite.

In Kenya alone, we host three foreign military bases, a glaring testament to the erosion of our sovereignty. These bases are not just symbols of military presence; they represent a direct violation of our independence and dignity. They subjugate our military and intelligence agencies to the whims of U.S. imperialism, turning our institutions into extensions of foreign powers. This scenario is replicated across the continent, where foreign military presence is a common thread in the tapestry of imperialist domination.

The spectre of World War III is already haunting us, as conflicts rage on multiple fronts. In West Asia, the struggle against Zionist aggression is an anti-imperialist, antifascist war. In Eastern Europe, we witness the brutal realities of NATO-backed conflict in Ukraine. And in East Asia, tensions simmer around Taiwan and the Korean Peninsula, echoing the same imperialist ambitions.

Lenin, in his classic work “Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism,” eloquently articulated the dynamics of imperialism and its inevitable contradictions. He described how imperialism seeks to escape internal crises through external wars. Today, we observe this in the provocations and military exercises conducted by the United States and its allies, which serve not just as a show of force but as desperate attempts to maintain their declining hegemony.

Yet, amidst this chaos, the anti-imperialist camp is rising, united in its struggle against oppression. Comrades in Russia, China, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, Iran, and various resistance movements across the Global South are not seeking war; they are prepared for a just struggle against imperialist aggression. The unity and operational strength of the anti-imperialist front underscore a powerful truth: we are not alone in this fight.

The reliance of imperialism on proxy wars and economic sanctions reveals its strategic limitations. The imperialist powers fear direct confrontation, knowing the consequences of nuclear escalation. This hesitation will be their downfall. While they aim to exhaust nations like Russia, China, and Iran, we can turn their war of attrition into decisive victories across multiple theatres of conflict. These victories will not only weaken imperialism militarily but will also trigger a political and economic collapse. The fragmentation of NATO, the decline of the U.S. dollar’s hegemony, and the emergence of BRICS and other alternative institutions signal the end of the US imperialist order.

The eventual defeat of US imperialism will pave the way for a new global order defined by national liberation revolutions and the defeat of all neo-colonial projects across Africa, Asia, and Latin America. This new order will also see the inevitable resurgence of socialist revolutions and the establishment of people’s democracies. Additionally, there will be a true commitment to peace, independence, and self-determination as guiding principles for global governance.

As we face the challenges of our time, let us reaffirm our commitment to the struggle against imperialism. The victory belongs to the people. The end of imperialism will not only reshape global politics but empower nations to pursue socialism, democracy, and peaceful coexistence.

In conclusion, as we confront the spectre of World War III, let us remember that this is a final confrontation between the forces of imperialism and those of anti-imperialist resistance. Together, we shall emerge victorious, heralding a new era of hope, freedom, and progress for all.

Death to Imperialism!

Long live International Socialism!

[footballfanficwriter]

Hi!!!! I love ur work!!!! So watching bridgerton has inspired me a lot!! So imagine Jude and reader in regency era!! Like them maybe meeting at a ball at first, then they slowly start to court each other, fall in love etc! u can add ur own twist and spice and work ur magic!!!!!

Love's Redemption

A/n: I wanted to release this the day after of Season 3 pt2 and It's quite long, longer than my others but I hope you enjoy, pls comment at the end

The grand ballroom of Hartfield Hall sparkled with opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the assembled guests, their jewels glittering in the soft light. Ladies in resplendent gowns of silk and satin whispered behind their fans, and gentlemen in finely tailored tailcoats stood in small clusters, discussing the latest gossip or political intrigue.

Among these elite, Jude Bellingham, a young and dashing duke, stood out with his broad shoulders and an air of confidence that turned heads wherever he went. Despite his high status, his demeanor was approachable, his smile disarming, and his dark eyes keenly observant.

On the opposite side of the ballroom, I stood with my family, feeling slightly out of place amidst the grandeur. My dress, though beautiful, was simpler than most, a testament to my family's modest means compared to the aristocracy surrounding us. However, I held myself with a quiet dignity that I hoped would draw admiration from those who took the time to observe.

As the evening progressed, the time came for the first dance, and the Master of Ceremonies called for partners.  The Duke of Ross's eyes scanned the room, finally settling on me. There was a spark of curiosity and recognition in his gaze but I quickly averted my eyes.

With a determined stride, The Duke made his way across the room, bowing slightly as he reached me t'was not until he was right in front that I noticed his presence as I was conversing with my Brother "May I have the honor of this dance?" he asked, his voice smooth and inviting.

I felt a flutter in my chest but managed a composed smile as I accepted his hand. "It would be my pleasure, Your Grace."

The two of us moved gracefully onto the dance floor, and as the music swelled, we began to waltz. The world seemed to fade away, and for those few minutes, it felt as though the duke and I were the only two people in the room. His touch was gentle, his movements confident, and I found myself drawn to him in a way I couldn't quite explain.

After the dance, he led me to the refreshment table, where we engaged in conversation. We spoke of our interests, our families, and our dreams, and he listened intently. The evening passed in a whirlwind of dances and conversations, and by the end of the night, I knew I wanted to see him again.

The next day I break my fast in the drawing room with a copy of Lady Wistledown

"Ladies and gentlemen of the ton it seems as though we have a new arrival in town the young Duke of Ross Jude Victor William Bellingham has come to take over  his estate and claim his inheritance, he  made his first appearance last night at Lady Danbury's first ball of the season, which was exquisite to say the least

The young Duke immediately caught the eyes of the Young ladies and their Mammas as they fought over his attention but it seemed he already had his eye on another, young Lady Y/n Berth, who was conversing with her brother at the time, did not seem to notice the Duke when he approached 

As he asked for a dance she gracefully accepted and they took to the dance floor staring intently into each other's eyes as if they had been longing to find one another  for a long time

The whole Ton had their eyes on them as they danced and  Waltz on the dance floor so elegantly

Could this be the couple of the season or is it far to early to tell, one things is definitely for certain, they make a beautiful couple"

I smile at the paper remember and thinking about the events of the previous night how he held me, how softly he spoke when adressing me, when he refused to let my hand go after I tried to pull away, his grip gently tightening on my hand, as a silent plead to not let go, how he was so polite and kind towards me, the way we spoke about many things that we related to and how easy it was for the both of us to converse about many things

"Good morning My Darling, are you well?"

"Oh mamma, I am far from well I am splendid" I say smiling

"Am I correct to assume that you feel this way because of a certain Handsome Duke"

"Well mother your assumptions are quite correct, I cannot get him out of my mind, he is all I think about"

"Be careful now dear, you have only just met the Duke, get to know the person he is first before making any confessions"

"Of course Mamma"

Over the following weeks, Jude made every effort to court me. He sent me flowers, invited me for walks in the gardens of his estate, and attended every social event where he knew I would be present. With each meeting, I found myself falling for him a little more, charmed by his sincerity and kindness.

One sunny afternoon, as we strolled through the blooming rose garden at Hartfield Hall, Jude paused and turned to me, taking my hands in his. "I know we have not known each other for long, but I feel as though I have known you forever," he said, his voice filled with earnest emotion and  got down on one knee. "You have captured my heart completely, and I cannot imagine my life without you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

I nodded, unable to find the words to express my happiness. "Yes, Jude. Yes, I will."

Lady whistledown

Dearest reader as it seems that as of this Afternoon the Duke of Ross has taken a bride, During the early hours of the Afternoon The Duke of Ross  proposed to Miss Y/n Berth and she has accepted, the two were having an afternoon stroll when the Duke suddenly  stopped walking and got down on one knee I would assume that he spoke a heart felt of words as it was a happy moment for the two, we congratulate the happy couple and wish them all the best

The wedding was a grand affair, attended by all of high society, hosted by Lady Danbury as she insisted that she wanted to be the one to host it, and who were we to decline such a gift, Jude and I were happy throughout the day and we could not take our eyes of each other amidst the splendor and celebration, the most important thing was the love between Jude and I.

The first few months of our marriage were blissful. We traveled, hosted dinners, and enjoyed the admiration of our peers. However, as time passed, whispers began to reach my ears. Gossip of Jude's past indiscretions and rumors of a former lover began to circulate.

One evening, at a particularly opulent ball, I noticed a strikingly beautiful woman across the room. Her eyes were fixed on Jude, and there was a familiarity in her gaze that sent a shiver down my spine. I approached Jude, intending to ask him about her, but before I could speak, she made her way over to us.

"Jude," she said, her voice dripping with confidence and a hint of malice. "It has been too long."

Jude's eyes grew bigger , and he took a step back. "Lady Laura" he said, his voice strained. "What are you doing here?"

Lady Laura smiled, a predator's smile. "I simply had to see the woman who captured your heart so completely."

I stood there, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. "Jude, who is she?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jude hesitated, his eyes filled with guilt. "She is... an old acquaintance," he said, but I could tell there was more to the story.

As the weeks went by, the tension between Jude and I grew. The whispers of scandal became louder, and I felt the weight of society's judgment. I confronted Jude one evening in the privacy of our home.

"Jude, you must tell me the truth about Lady Laura," I demanded, my voice trembling with frustration.

He sighed, rubbing his face with both his hands. "She was... she was my lover before I met you," he admitted. "I ended things with her when I realized I loved you, but she has not taken it well."

I felt a pang of betrayal. "Why did you not tell me?"

"I wanted to protect you from the scandal," he said, his eyes pleading. "I did not want our love to be tainted by my past mistakes."

Despite his words, the doubt lingered in my heart. The rumors continued to swirl, and Lady Laura's presence became a constant reminder of Jude's past. It was not long before a particularly vicious piece of gossip reached my ears: a letter, supposedly from Jude to Laura professing his undying love and regret over their separation.

I confronted Jude with the letter, my heart aching. Walking to our shared chambers and enter the room

"Jude is this tru-"

Rather then seeing my husband reading in bed like he usually is I find him on my vanity with Laura, shirtless and Laura half dressed in nothing but her under garments

They quickly jump and let go of eachother

"I should have listened to mother" I say and walk out and pack my things in a haste

"Darling, please listen"

"Leave me"

"Just listen"

"I cannot stand the sight of you right now"

I leave in the carriage and go to my mother's house

When I arrive I tell my mother everything that happened, Laura's arrival, the letter and what I saw them doing and her face hardens and she tells me that I can stay for as long as I wish

3 days later

I'm sitting in my room reading a copy of Lady whistledown

"I am here to see my wife" I hear just outside the window

It's him, I slightly peak my head just enough to see him

His hair is a mess, he's in nothing but an untied shirt that slightly shows his chest and trousers

"Apologies your grace but we have been given strict orders not to let you through" I hear one of the guards say

"By who?"

"Miss Y/n Berth"

"That is not her name, her name is y/n Bellingham the Duchess of Ross and she is my wife"

He fights his way past the guards and makes it through into the house

"Where is she"

"Where is my wife"

I slightly walk down the stairs just to see the encounter but making sure I am not seen

"What is the meaning of this" my mother asks as she approaches Jude

"I need to see her"

"She needs time" she replies firmly

"I have given her time, I have given her 3 days"

"Give her more then"

"Please I need to see her"

My mother pulls out a portrait of me from her pocket and shows it to Jude

"There you have seen her, now take your leave"

"I refuse to leave without seeing her, I want her to tell me as she looks at me that she does not wish to see me, then and only then will I take my leave" he says with tears in his eyes

"My goodness"mother says

I walk further down the stairs

"Tis alright mother I shall converse with him" I say

"Very well but I will still be in the room as a chaperone"

"She is my wife, I do not need a chaperone when I am with her"

mother is about to protest when I reasure her

"Mamma I will handle this"

She leaves the room and for a moment I feel sorry for Jude

"My love, oh how I have missed you"  he says walking towards me but I step back and that stops him from walking

As Jude's silent  plea echoed through the room, I stood there, my heart torn between love and betrayal. His disheveled appearance, the anguish in his eyes—it was almost enough to make me reconsider. But then I remembered the letter, the damning evidence of his infidelity, and my resolve hardened once more.

"What is it that you want?" I asked, my voice cold and distant, betraying none of the turmoil raging within me.

Jude took a step towards me, his expression pleading. "I want to explain, to make things right between the both of us," he said, his voice trembling with emotion.

I held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Explain what, Jude?" I demanded, my voice tinged with bitterness. "That you were caught with Laura in our chambers, half-dressed and shameless? That you wrote her a letter professing your undying love, while your own wife lay in bed, oblivious to your deceit?"

Jude's eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he searched for words. But before he could respond, I continued, my voice growing stronger with each passing moment.

"I trusted you, Jude," I said, my voice trembling with anger. "I believed in our love, in the promises we made to each other. But you betrayed that trust, in the most hurtful way possible."

Tears welled up in Jude's eyes, his hands reaching out to me, but I stepped back, out of his reach. "I cannot forgive you, Jude," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Not now, not ever."

As Jude's tear-filled eyes pleaded with me for understanding, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. But sympathy could not erase the hurt, the betrayal that had cut me to the core.

"What of the both of us?" Jude whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "What of our life together?"

I met his gaze with a steely resolve, my heart hardening against the pain. "There is no 'both of us" anylonger" I replied, my voice cold and distant. "Not after what you have  done."

Jude's shoulders slumped, his heart breaking before my eyes. "But where will you go?" he asked, desperation creeping into his voice. "What will people say if they are to find that my wife is living with her mother?"

I sighed, knowing that there was no easy answer to his question. "I will return home in two days time," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "And when I arrive, you will not refer to me as your wife. The only time we will play the role of husband and wife is when we are in public. Behind closed doors, we are merely people who stay together, nothing more you shall not disturb my peace and I shall do the same, you are free to seek solace in anyone in the ton, you have already been unfaithful, you might as well continue the streak."

Jude's eyes widened in shock, his heart breaking all over again. "But what about children?" he asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "Who will bear the children, make the heir?"

I met his gaze head-on, my resolve unwavering. "Take a second wife" I said, my voice cold and distant. "Someone who is willing to bear your children, to fulfill the duties of a wife. I have no desire to bear your children, to be tied to you in such a way."

Jude's face fell, his dreams of a family shattered beyond repair. "But what about your dream?" he asked, his voice filled with desperation. "To be a mother, to care for our children, to love them wholeheartedly?"

I shook my head, a bitter smile playing on my lips. "That dream will never be fulfilled" I said, my voice hollow with grief. "I have come to terms with that fact."

Jude's eyes filled with tears, his heart breaking at my words. "But would you treat my children badly, with hatred?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

I met his gaze with a steely resolve. "No, Jude," I replied, my voice cold and distant. "I cannot punish innocent children for the decisions their parents made."

With that, Jude wiped his red eyes and turned away, his heart heavy with regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible as he made his way to the door.

The minute he closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with my shattered dreams and broken heart, my facade crumbled, and I collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks as I mourned the loss of the life I had once known.

2 days later

Two days later, as I returned home, the air was thick with tension, the weight of our fractured relationship hanging heavy in the air. Jude awaited me in the grand foyer, his posture stiff and formal as he greeted me with a curt nod.

"Your Grace," he said, his voice cold and distant, the warmth that had once filled his words replaced by an icy reserve.

"Your Grace," I replied, my own voice tinged with bitterness as I returned his greeting with equal formality.

For a moment, we stood there, two strangers in the grand expanse of our once-happy home, the silence stretching between us like a chasm too vast to bridge. I could see the longing in Jude's eyes, the desire to reach out to me, to hold me close and make everything right again. But he held himself back, the weight of our past mistakes too heavy to bear.

With a sigh, I turned away, making my way up the grand staircase and down the hallway towards my chambers. But before I could disappear behind closed doors, Jude's voice cut through the silence like a knife.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.

I paused, turning to face him with a cold stare. "To my chambers," I replied, my voice laced with bitterness.

Jude frowned, confusion clouding his features. "But your chambers are this way," he said, gesturing towards the hallway that led to our shared bedroom.

I shook my head, a bitter smile playing on my lips. "No, Jude," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your chambers are that way. Mine are this way."

Jude's eyes widened in realization, the truth of my words hitting him like a blow to the chest. "You did not think I would go back there," I continued, my voice filled with venom, "after the events that took place in those chambers."

With that, I turned and walked away, leaving Jude standing there in the hallway, his heart heavy with regret. And though I knew that our relationship was beyond repair, a part of me couldn't help but wonder what might have been if things had been different. But as I disappeared behind closed doors, the weight of my decision settling over me like a shroud, I knew that there was no going back, no undoing the damage that had been done.

The following day I received an invitation from Lady Laura for tea, after receiving the invitation from Laura, I hesitated for a moment, feeling a knot of unease tighten in my stomach. The thought of facing her again, of enduring her taunts and jibes, filled me with dread. But curiosity, and perhaps a hint of defiance, won out in the end, and I found myself making the journey to her estate.

As the carriage got in front fo the grand mansion, my apprehension grew. The imposing gates swung open with a creak, and I stepped out of the carriage, steeling myself for what lay ahead. The servants greeted me with forced smiles as they ushered me inside, but their eyes betrayed a sense of apprehension, as though they knew what awaited me within those walls.

Laura was waiting for me in the drawing-room, a triumphant smile playing on her lips as she greeted me with false warmth. "Ah, Duchess, how lovely of you to join me," she purred, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Do come in and make yourself comfortable."

I forced a polite smile, though every fiber of my being longed to turn and flee. "Thank you, Lady Laura," I replied, my tone carefully neutral as I took a seat opposite her.

As the servants brought in tea and refreshments, Laura wasted no time in getting to the point. "I'm sure you're wondering why I invited you here today," she began, her eyes glittering with malice.

I arched an eyebrow, though inwardly I braced myself for whatever barb she was about to unleash. "I must admit, the thought had crossed my mind," I replied coolly.

Laura's smile widened, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "You see, Duchess, I believe in honesty above all else," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "So I will not mince words. I invited you here today to gloat, to revel in the knowledge that I have won."

I felt a surge of anger rise within me, but I forced myself to remain composed. "Won what, exactly?" I asked, though I already had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Laura leaned forward, her eyes locked on mine with a chilling intensity. "I heard your footsteps approaching the chambers that day, Duchess," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I had known you were coming, and I saw an opportunity to secure my place by Jude's side once and for all."

I felt my eyes grow bigger as her words sank in. "You... you threw yourself at him?" I whispered, unable to conceal the horror in my voice.

Laura's smile turned into a smirk, devoid of any remorse. "Oh, please, Duchess, spare me your shock and indignation," she said dismissively. "You may have had his heart once, but now it belongs to me. And there's nothing you can do to change that."

Her words were like a dagger to my heart, each one twisting deeper than the last. But amidst the pain and betrayal, a fire ignited within me—a determination to fight for the man I loved, no matter the cost. With a steely resolve, I met Laura's gaze head-on, refusing to let her see the depth of my pain.

"Is that so, Lady Laura?" I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside me. "Well, forgive me if I refuse to accept defeat so easily. Love is not a game to be won or lost—it is a bond that transcends time and circumstance. And mark my words, I will fight for Jude with every breath in my body, until the day I draw my last."

With that, I rose from my seat, every inch the proud Duchess, and made my exit, leaving Laura to stew in her own malice. Though the road ahead would be fraught with challenges and heartache, I knew one thing for certain: I would not rest until Jude was mine once again, body and soul.

As I raced home to find Jude, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling of uncertainty gnawing at my soul. Every step felt like an eternity as I hurried through the grand halls of our estate, my mind consumed with thoughts of what awaited me at the end of my journey.

"Where is my husband?" I demanded, my voice tinged with panic, as I interrogated servants and guards alike in search of any sign of Jude's whereabouts.

But no one had seen him, and my anxiety only grew with each passing moment. It wasn't until a guard reluctantly approached me, his expression grim, that I finally received the news I had been dreading.

"Your Grace," he began, his voice hesitant, "Lord Bellingham has left the estate. He... he said he would return in a week's time."

My heart sank like a stone, the weight of his absence crushing me with its finality. But amidst the despair, a flicker of determination burned within me—a resolve to find Jude and make things right, no matter the cost.

With a steadying breath, I turned on my heel and made my way to my chambers, my mind racing with thoughts of how to reach him, how to let him know that I forgave him, that I still loved him despite everything that had transpired between us.

As I sank into a chair, my hands trembling with emotion, I couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency coursing through my veins. I needed to find Jude, to make him understand that I was willing to start anew, to rebuild what we had lost.

But as the days stretched on without any sign of his return, the weight of his absence bore down on me like a heavy burden. And though I longed to reach out to him, to let him know that I forgave him, that I wanted to begin again, I knew that time was running out.

With a heavy heart, I penned a letter to Jude, pouring out my thoughts and feelings in words that I hoped would reach him wherever he was. I begged him to come back to me, to give our love a second chance, to believe in the power of redemption.

But as the days went , and still there was no sign of him, I couldn't help but wonder if our love was truly strong enough to withstand the trials that fate had thrown our way. And though a part of me clung to the hope that Jude would return to me, I couldn't shake the nagging fear that our love had been lost to the winds of time.

A week later, the anticipation of Jude's return had me on edge. I had rehearsed my words countless times, determined to convey my forgiveness and my willingness to start anew. When the door to the drawing room opened, and Jude walked in, my heart leaped with a mix of hope and trepidation.

"Jude!" I exclaimed, standing up quickly, a genuine smile spreading across my face. "I have something to tell you—"

But his demeanor was somber, his eyes avoiding mine. His lack of enthusiasm made my heart sink.

"Your Grace," he interrupted quietly, his voice laden with resignation, "I have something to tell you as well."

I paused, my smile faltering as I searched his face for any sign of the man I had fallen in love with, the man I hoped to rekindle a life with.

"I will be  taking Lady Laura as my second wife," he continued, each word like a dagger to my heart. "She will be the mother of my children."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as his words sank in. I felt a cold wave of shock wash over me, my smile fading into an expression of disbelief.

At that moment, Laura entered the room, her smug smile widening as she took in the scene. The sight of her, with her triumphant air, made my blood boil, but I forced myself to remain composed.

"Oh, how lovely that will be for the both of you," I said, my voice strained but controlled. I managed a brittle smile, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing my pain.

With that, I returned to my seat and picked up my sketchbook, my fingers trembling slightly as I resumed my drawing. The lines I had been so carefully crafting now seemed meaningless, the vibrant colors now dull and lifeless.

As I focused on my work, I felt Jude's eyes on me, but I refused to meet his gaze. The silence between us was heavy, fraught with unspoken words and lingering regrets. Laura's presence only intensified the tension, her smug smile a constant reminder of the betrayal that had shattered my world.

Yet, despite the turmoil raging within me, I forced myself to maintain my composure. I would not let Laura see the depth of my pain, nor would I let Jude see the cracks in my facade. In this new reality, I had to find strength in my resolve, even if it meant burying my true feelings deep within.

The weight of the silence in the drawing room was oppressive, the air thick with unresolved tension and unspoken words. Just as I resumed my drawing, the quiet was broken by the arrival of a servant, holding a fresh edition of Lady Whistledown’s society papers. He handed it to me with a respectful bow before quickly retreating from the room.

Curiosity piqued, I unfolded the paper, my eyes scanning the familiar, elegantly penned words:

Lady whistledown

"Dearest Readers, it appears that the Duke of Ross has been seen entering his estate with Lady Laura, raising many an eyebrow among the ton. This unexpected development has left society abuzz with speculation. Is the once enviable union between the Duke and Duchess of Ross in jeopardy? Lady Laura’s presence at the Duke’s side has led to whispers of a potential shift in the household’s dynamics. What could this mean for the Duchess, a woman known for her grace and poise amidst adversity?

Rumors suggest that Lady Laura has been remarkably bold in her pursuits, capitalizing on the Duchess’s recent absence. Could it be that the Duke, faced with mounting pressures to secure his lineage, has found solace in Lady Laura’s calculated charms? Or is this simply a ploy to stir the pot

One thing is certain: this scandal will be the talk of every salon and drawing-room from here to Grosvenor Square. And, as always, I shall be here to document every delicious detail for your reading pleasure. Stay tuned, dear readers, for the drama is only just beginning."

The words stung, each sentence a bitter reminder of my current predicament. I glanced up to see Jude’s reaction, but his face was inscrutable, a mask of controlled emotion. Laura, however, seemed to relish the attention, her smile growing even more smug.

"Well, it appears Lady Whistledown has taken quite an interest in our affairs," Laura said, her tone dripping with mock concern. "It must be difficult, Duchess, to see your private matters aired so publicly."

I met her gaze evenly, refusing to be baited. "It is indeed unfortunate, Lady Laura. But I have always believed that one’s actions speak louder than any words written on a page."

Laura's eyes flashed with irritation, but she quickly composed herself, a saccharine smile plastered on her face. "Of course, Duchess. And I’m sure your actions will be watched very closely by everyone in the ton."

I forced a smile in return. "As will yours, Lady Laura."

With that, I turned back to my sketchbook, determined to ignore her presence. Yet, I couldn't help but notice Jude watching me, a mixture of regret and longing in his eyes. His gaze lingered, but I refused to acknowledge it, focusing instead on the lines and colors before me.

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. Finally, Laura stood, her voice cutting through the tension. "If you’ll excuse me, I believe I shall take a tour of the gardens."

She left the room, her exit as dramatic as her entrance. I remained seated, my heart heavy with the weight of our fractured relationship. The reality of our situation had never felt more painfully clear.

"Your Grace," Jude said quietly, breaking the silence. "I—"

"There's nothing more to say, Jude," I interrupted, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "You've made your decision, and I must live with it."

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but I turned my attention back to my drawing, signaling the end of our conversation. The silence returned, thicker and more oppressive than before.

As the afternoon light waned, casting long shadows across the room, I knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges and heartache. But I also knew that I would face it with dignity and strength, determined to reclaim my happiness, even if it meant forging a new path alone.

As the days passed, Laura's presence in the house became increasingly unbearable. Her taunts and jabs seemed endless, each one more cutting than the last. One afternoon, as I sat in the drawing room, trying to lose myself in a book, Laura sauntered in, her smug smile firmly in place.

"Ah, Duchess," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Still lost in your books, I see. How quaint."

I didn't look up, determined not to let her get under my skin. "Yes, Lady Laura, I find solace in literature. Something you might consider."

She ignored my comment, seating herself on a nearby chaise lounge, her eyes never leaving me. "You know," she began, her tone casual, "I've been thinking a lot about the future. About the Bellingham legacy."

I stiffened but refused to give her the satisfaction of a response.

"It's quite exciting, really," she continued, undeterred. "Jude and I have talked at length about it. The children we will have, the heirs to the Ross estate. I can already picture myself with a little one in my arms, the next Duke or Duchess of Ross."

Her words were a knife to my heart, but I kept my expression neutral, my eyes fixed on the pages of my book. "How lovely for you," I said flatly, turning a page with deliberate slowness.

Laura's smile widened, sensing my discomfort. "Indeed. It’s a great honor to bear the next Bellingham heir. I imagine it must be difficult for you, knowing that your own dreams of motherhood will never come to fruition."

I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening on the book. "My dreams are none of your concern, Lady Laura."

"Oh, but they are," she said, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "You see, I will be fulfilling the role you failed to. Jude deserves an heir, and I am more than capable of giving him one. It’s only a matter of time before the entire ton knows of our joyous news."

She placed a hand on her stomach, as if already envisioning herself with child. "Can you imagine? The entire town celebrating the announcement of our firstborn. Such a wonderful occasion it will be."

I forced myself to remain calm, though my heart was pounding in my chest. "Congratulations, Lady Laura. I wish you all the best."

Laura's smile faltered for a moment, as if my lack of visible reaction had disappointed her. "You’re very gracious, Duchess. But I can’t help but wonder how you truly feel, knowing that another woman will bear your husband’s children."

I finally looked up, meeting her gaze with cold detachment. "I feel nothing, Lady Laura. Your provocations are wasted on me."

She laughed, a brittle sound that echoed through the room. "We shall see, Duchess. We shall see."

Unable to endure any more of her taunts, I rose from my seat and made my way to the door. "If you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to."

As I walked down the hallway, the weight of Laura’s words pressed heavily on my heart. I didn't notice Jude until I nearly collided with him, his strong arms catching me just in time to prevent a fall. The proximity was startling; I could feel his breath against my skin, his eyes searching mine with a mixture of concern and longing.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice soft and earnest.

For a moment, the world seemed to pause, and the anger and hurt between us faded into the background. It would have been so easy to close the distance, to let myself fall into his arms and forget everything else. But the reality of our situation came crashing back, and I stepped away, breaking the spell.

"I’m fine," I said, my voice colder than I intended. "Please excuse me, Your Grace."

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but I turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the hallway, a silent witness to our fractured relationship.

A few days later:

In the bustling halls of Ross House, tensions simmered beneath the surface as Lady Laura's shrill voice echoed down the corridor. I followed the sound, my curiosity piqued, only to find her berating one of the maids for a trivial mishap.

"You imbecile!" Laura screeched, her face contorted with rage as she loomed over the trembling maid. "How dare you break my favorite vase? Do you have any idea how much it cost?"

Before I could intervene, the dutiful maid stammered out an apology, her eyes brimming with tears. "I-I'm sorry, my lady. It was an accident, I swear!"

But Laura was relentless, her tirade growing more vicious by the second. "You're nothing but a clumsy oaf! If it were up to me, I'd have you thrown out on the streets where you belong!"

Unable to stand by any longer, I stepped forward, my voice calm but firm. "That's enough, Lady Laura. It was just a vase. There's no need for such cruelty."

Laura's eyes flashed with fury as she turned her venomous gaze on me. "And who are you to speak to me like that? You're nothing but a lowly duchess, barely fit to lick the dirt from my shoes!"

Her words stung, but I refused to back down. "I may be a duchess, but I will not stand idly by while you mistreat those beneath you. Everyone deserves to be treated with dignity and respect, regardless of their station."

Before Laura could launch into another tirade, Jude's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "What's going on here?" he demanded, his brow furrowed with concern as he entered the room.

The dutiful maid seized the opportunity to explain, her voice trembling as she recounted the events leading up to Laura's outburst. Jude listened intently, his expression darkening with each passing moment.

When the maid had finished, Jude turned to me, his eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment. "Is this true, Y/N? Did Lady Laura really behave in such a manner?"

I nodded, my heart heavy with sadness. "Yes, Jude. I'm afraid so. She was shouting at the maid for accidentally breaking her vase, and when I tried to intervene, she insulted me."

Jude's jaw clenched with barely contained fury, and he turned to Laura, his voice cold and unyielding. "Lady Laura, this behavior is unacceptable. You owe the maid an apology, and you will show the duchess the respect she deserves."

But Laura's face twisted into a mask of defiance, her eyes blazing with rage. "I owe them nothing!" she spat, her voice filled with contempt. "They're both beneath me, just like everyone else in this wretched house!"

Jude's expression darkened at my words, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "That's enough, Laura," he admonished, his voice firm and commanding. "You will not mistreat our servants, and you will certainly not speak to my wife in such a manner."

Lady Laura's eyes narrowed, her defiance evident as she retorted, "She is not your wife, I am. She is merely a woman who resides in our house."

Jude's jaw clenched at her words, his resolve unyielding. "She is not just a woman, Laura. She is my wife," he asserted firmly.

With a huff of indignation, Lady Laura stormed out of the room, leaving Jude and me in an awkward silence. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over our exchange.

Before Jude could break the silence, I turned on my heel and left the room, the tension too thick to bear. As I made my escape, I could feel Jude's eyes on me, a silent plea lingering in the air.

But I couldn't face him, not now. Not when the wounds inflicted by Lady Laura's taunts were still raw and stinging. So I retreated to the solace of my chambers, seeking refuge from the storm that raged within me.

After the tense encounter with Lady Laura and the incident with the maid, an awkward silence settled between Jude and me. I found myself unable to look him in the eye, the weight of his betrayal heavy on my heart.

In the days that followed, I made a conscious effort to avoid him at all costs. I broke my fast outside in the tranquility of nature, seeking solace in the gentle rustle of leaves and the soothing chirp of birdsong. But when Jude approached, his footsteps echoing softly on the path, I couldn't bear to stay.

Certainly! Here's the extended scene with more excuses:

"I... I forgot something in the house," I stammered, hastily rising from my seat and fleeing before he could utter a word.

In the halls of Ross House, I found myself turning the other way whenever I caught sight of him, my steps quickening as I tried to put as much distance between us as possible. I knew he wanted to talk, to explain, but I couldn't bring myself to listen, not when the wounds were still so fresh.

At mealtimes, I either took my food outside, where the open sky provided a welcome distraction, or retreated to the solitude of my room. I couldn't bear the thought of sitting across from him, the weight of his betrayal hanging heavy in the air.

And when Jude dared to approach me in the library or the drawing room, I made excuse after excuse to escape his company.

"I just remembered an urgent letter I need to write," I would say, hastily gathering my belongings and making a hasty exit.

Or, "I left my favorite book upstairs. I must retrieve it at once."

Each excuse felt flimsier than the last, but I clung to them desperately, unwilling to confront the truth of our fractured relationship.

"I... I must check on the flowers in the garden," I would mumble, casting a quick glance towards the nearest window before hurrying away.

Or, "I think I left the kettle on in the kitchen. It wouldn't do to let it boil dry."

"I'm feeling quite fatigued. I believe I shall retire early tonight," I would murmur, pretending to yawn and covering my mouth with my hand.

Or, "Oh, look, I seem to have dropped my handkerchief. I must go back and retrieve it."

But no matter how hard I tried to avoid him, Jude was always there, a constant presence in my thoughts and my heart. And as much as I tried to push him away, a part of me still longed for the day when we could mend the rift between us and find our way back to each other once more.

The soft rustle of pages turning and the faint scent of aged parchment enveloped me as I lost myself in the world of my book. The Library provided a sanctuary of solitude, a refuge from the tumultuous emotions that swirled within me.

Lost in the narrative, I didn't hear Jude's quiet footsteps as he entered the room. It was only when he stood before me, his presence demanding attention, that I reluctantly tore my gaze away from the page.

"Y/N," Jude's voice cut through the silence, his tone firm yet tinged with a hint of desperation. "I require a moment of your time."

I blinked, taken aback by the sudden interruption. "Jude, I... I was just..."

But he didn't let me finish. With a determined stride, he reached out and gently closed the book in my hands, his eyes locking onto mine with unwavering intensity.

"Y/N, I implore you," he said, his voice softening slightly. "You've been avoiding me at every turn, and I cannot endure it any longer. We must converse."

I opened my mouth to protest, to make another feeble excuse and flee the room, but before I could utter a word, Jude's hand closed around my wrist, holding me in place.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and steady. "I shan't release you until you have heard my words."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I reluctantly met his gaze. There was a raw vulnerability in his eyes, a silent plea for understanding that tugged at my heartstrings.

With a resigned sigh, I allowed myself to be led to a nearby chair, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts and emotions. But as Jude began to speak, his words filled with sincerity and remorse, I found myself slowly letting down my guard.

He sat in front of me and taking my hands in his. His touch was warm and firm, yet trembling with emotion. "I simply cannot stand Laura, nor the distance that has grown between us. It's tearing me apart," he began, his voice filled with raw honesty.

I met his gaze, my heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. "Jude..."

"Every morning, I wake up hoping to see your face, to see your smile." he continued, his voice trembling. "But all I find is an empty space beside me, a reminder of what I have lost. I miss you, Y/N, more than words can express. I miss the way you know exactly what I need, sometimes even before I do. The way you would bring me a cup of tea just the way I like it when I'm buried in work, or the way you'd remind me to take a break when I'm pushing myself too hard and you taking over my work even though you had your own duties that needed to be taken care of

I listened to his heartfelt confession. His words cut through the wall I had built around my heart, each one resonating deeply within me.

"Do you know how much I hope every day that you will change your mind, that you will forgive me and come back to me?" Jude's voice broke, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. "I sometimes stare at you when you're not looking, hoping that one day you'll see the love in my eyes and decide to give us another chance."

He paused, his eyes searching mine for any sign of forgiveness. "I want you to be the mother of my children, Y/N. Not Laura. I want our children to grow up in a home filled with love and warmth, not the coldness and spite that Laura brings. She is not the kind of person I want raising my children. I want you. I needed you and I grew desperate to get you back on my side, Laura was simply a ploy of attempt to have you be my wife again,I had thought if you saw what Laura was taking from you, you would wake up and fight for our love."

His grip on my hands tightened, his eyes filled with tears. "Y/N, you are the light of my life, the reason I wake up every morning. Without you, I am nothing. I am lost. I know I have made mistakes, that I have hurt you in ways I can never take back, but I swear to you, with every fiber of my being, that I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, proving to you how much you mean to me. Please, Y/N, give me another chance. I cannot bear the thought of losing you forever."

His words hung in the air, filled with a raw, desperate sincerity that took my breath away. For a moment, there was only the sound of our breathing, the tension between us crackling like electricity.

Gathering my courage, I looked up and met his eyes. "Jude, I found out something... something that changes everything. Laura threw herself on you because she heard my footsteps approaching that day in our chambers making it the perfect set up to make it look like the both of you were in a compromising position."

His eyes widened in shock and anger. "What? She... she planned it?"

I nodded, my voice trembling. "Yes. She had told me when she invited me for tea the day I arrived. She practically gloated about it."

Jude's hands clenched into fists,  "I was oblivious to her game," he said through gritted teeth. "I thought I was doing what was right, protecting our honor... but all the while, she was manipulating me, us."

I reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Jude, I wanted to tell you the day I had come to realise, to let you know I forgave you and that I wanted to fix our relationship. But you had been gone for a week, and when you returned, you brought Laura, presenting her as your second wife. I thought you had fallen for her."

He shook his head vehemently, tears forming in his eyes. "No, Y/N. I have  never loved her. It was always you. I was blind and foolish, but my heart has only ever belonged to you and will always belong to you."

the weight of our misunderstandings and lost time pressing heavily upon me. "Jude, you must understand how much it hurt, seeing you with her, thinking you had chosen her over me."

Jude's expression softened, his voice breaking with emotion. "I am so sorry, my love. I know I can't undo the past, but I swear I will make it right. Laura will be gone, and I will spend every day proving my love to you."

The atmosphere in Ross House was tense as Jude and I waited in the drawing room for Laura's arrival. The soft glow of candlelight cast eerie shadows on the walls, adding to the solemnity of the moment. I stood by Jude's side, my hands clasped tightly together, feeling a mixture of apprehension and determination.

When Laura entered the room, her expression was one of smug confidence, as if she believed she held all the cards. But the steely resolve in Jude's eyes made it clear that he was not to be trifled with.

"Jude, darling, what is this about?" Laura asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

Jude's jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin. "Laura, we need to talk," he said, his voice firm and authoritative.

Laura's facade of innocence faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. "Of course, darling. What is it?" she asked, her eyes darting between Jude and me.

Jude took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Laura's. "I know the truth about what happened that day in the chambers," he began, his voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "I know you threw yourself at me because you heard Y/N's footsteps approaching."

Laura's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly masked it with a scoff. "Oh, Jude, whatever are you talking about? I would never—"

Jude cut her off, his patience wearing thin. "Enough, Laura. I know what you did, and I will not tolerate it any longer. You have caused nothing but pain and suffering in this house, and I will not allow it to continue."

Laura's mask of indifference cracked, her eyes narrowing with anger. "You can't just throw me out. I am your wife."

Jude's expression hardened, his resolve unwavering. "No, Laura, you are not my wife. You never were, and you never will be.You are nothing but a liar and a manipulator. I want you out of this house. Now."

Laura's face contorted with rage, but before she could protest further, Jude spoke again, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

"You have caused nothing but pain and suffering to my one and true wife, the woman who will bear my children," he declared, his words laced with a raw intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

Laura's eyes widened in shock at the harshness of his words, but Jude was not finished.

"Every moment you've spent in this house has been a torment for her, a relentless onslaught of manipulation and deceit. You have tried to tear us apart, to poison the love we share, but you will not succeed. Not anymore."

As Laura stood before us, her arrogance slowly giving way to defiance, Jude's patience wore thin. He stood tall, his eyes ablaze with a fierce determination to rid our home of her toxic presence once and for all.

Jude's voice was like steel, cutting through the tense silence of the room. "You have caused enough damage. It's time for you to leave."

Laura's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she squared her shoulders in defiance. "And if I refuse?" she retorted, her tone dripping with contempt.

Jude's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You have no choice," he growled, his voice low and menacing.

For a moment, Laura hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. But then, with a defiant sneer, she straightened her spine and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not going anywhere," she spat, her voice laced with venom.

The air in the room grew thick with tension as Jude's anger simmered just beneath the surface. I could see the muscles in his jaw twitching with restraint, his eyes darkening with a dangerous intensity.

"Leave, Laura," Jude's voice was a low rumble, barely contained rage simmering beneath the surface. "Before I make you leave."

But Laura remained unmoved, her gaze defiant as she stood her ground. "You wouldn't dare, leave m for such a thing,?" she taunted, a cruel smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

Jude's temper flared, his control slipping away like sand through his fingers. In that moment, his anger was palpable, a living, breathing force that seemed to fill the room with its sheer intensity. Even I, standing by his side, felt a chill run down my spine at the raw power emanating from him.

"You have no right to speak to her like that," Jude's voice was a thunderous roar, echoing through the room like a gunshot. "She is my wife, and you will show her the respect she deserves."

Laura's smirk faltered, her confidence wavering in the face of Jude's unrelenting fury. But before she could respond, Jude continued, his words dripping with contempt.

"You are nothing but a manipulative, conniving woman who has brought nothing but pain and suffering to both of us, especially to my wife," he spat, his voice filled with venom. "You treated her as if she was nothing, as if her feelings didn't matter. You used her, Laura, and I will not stand for it any longer."

The room seemed to tremble with the force of Jude's rage, the air thick with the weight of his words. For a moment, Laura looked as though she might argue, but then, with a defeated sigh, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

As the door slammed shut behind her, Jude's shoulders heaved with the effort to control his temper, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. I reached out to him, my hand trembling as I gently touched his arm.

"Jude," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are you okay?"

As the echoes of Laura's departure faded into the distance, leaving behind an eerie silence, Jude stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving with the remnants of his anger. I approached him cautiously, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his arm, a silent gesture of support.

"Jude," I murmured softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are you alright?"

His shoulders tensed at my touch, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began to relax. He turned to me, his eyes still burning with the fire of his fury, but there was a hint of something else there too - a vulnerability, a rawness that made my heart ache.

"I'm fine, Y/N," he replied, his voice tight with emotion. "But she had no right to speak to you like that. No right at all."

I nodded, my heart swelling with gratitude for his unwavering protectiveness. "I know, Jude. But she's gone now. We do not have to worry about her anymore."

Jude's expression softened slightly at my words, and he reached out to gently cup my face in his hands. "I'm sorry my love" he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "I did not mean to scare you."

I placed my hand over his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "tis alright, Jude," I whispered, my voice filled with tenderness. "I know you were only just attempting to defend me. And I appreciate it more than you know."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Jude's lips, and he pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest. "I love you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

I nestled into his embrace, feeling the tension slowly melting away as the warmth of his love surrounded me. In that moment, as we stood there, united in our victory over Laura's tyranny, I knew that together, we could face whatever challenges lay ahead. And as Jude pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, I felt a sense of peace and safety wash over me, knowing that he would always be there to protect me, no matter what.

Months passed, and as the seasons changed, so too did our lives. The echoes of Laura's departure faded into distant memory, replaced by the joyful anticipation of a new life entering the world.

In the quiet stillness of our home, Jude and I eagerly awaited the arrival of our little one. The nursery had been lovingly prepared, filled with soft blankets and tiny clothes, each piece a testament to the love that had blossomed between us.

And then, one crisp autumn morning, our prayers were answered as our baby made their grand entrance into the world. The sound of their first cry filled the room, a symphony of new life and boundless joy.

Jude's eyes brimmed with tears as he cradled our precious bundle in his arms, his heart overflowing with love and wonder. I watched him, my own eyes misting over with emotion, as he pressed a tender kiss to our baby's forehead, his voice trembling with awe.

"Welcome to the world, little one," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "You are the most precious gift we could ever ask for."

And as I nestled into Jude's embrace, our baby nestled snugly between us, I knew that our journey was only just beginning. Together, we would navigate the ups and downs of parenthood, cherishing each moment as if it were our last.

In that moment, as the soft glow of dawn bathed our little family in its warm embrace, I felt a sense of peace wash over me, knowing that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, bound by a love that was stronger than any storm.