#I cannot wait to start publishing

[thegreenleavesofspring]

Shrieking jumping in circles chewing drywall

[maxthetruman]

btw if ur a reader and you dont have a netgalley account. you should. you can sign up, request ARCs of books, and get early + free copies of books literally just for the expectation that you give feedback

[depresseddepot]

I hate the US grading system !!!

[kirsctein]

last chapter of if i knew you tomorrow ;;^;; i'm not ready

[persephoneflouwers]

-

[awxcoffeexno]

giving him a reason

logan howlett x human!reader

fic masterlist

summary: you've been on the run from the yakuza and are taking refuge in an old, forgotten family home. logan's been protecting you this whole while because that's just who logan is.

content: i've lifted the setting straight from the wolverine (2013). reader is taking mariko's place--reader is mariko, mariko is reader (no names are taken tho). lovemaking ensues. this fic is super tender and gentle because bitches need to remember how tender and gentle logan really is (i'm bitches). this is porn with no plot lolol. f!reader.

warnings: extremely 18+ content. MDNI. i'll kill u if you do. tender love making, logan goes down on reader like a champ, piv, reader is a virgin but logan's vvvvvvvvv gentle and caring, there's hardly any talking but there is proper consent taking, logan just wants to take care of reader, all is good in the world (at least for now), and logan's lost his healing powers so several mentions of him having bullet wounds.

word count: 3k (oops? might've gotten a teeny tiny bit carried away)

a/n: back at it again, but publishing my first nsfw fic, praying y'all don't hate me. if you don't like this, istg the nsfw version of claw worship is NEVER seeing light of day.

you hear him groan behind the door and the sound makes your heart catch.

you and logan have been on your feet all day, save for the train ride to the small village in nagasaki you've finally reached. running from the yakuza had decidedly not been your plan for the day after your grandfather's funeral but what choice did you have in coming here really?

not to mention... logan saved your life yesterday. several times. he was shot seven times per what the doctor told you.

and he is not healing. your grandfather told you that kuzuri had exceptional healing powers. he'd told you this several times. but logan is not healing at all and it makes you tic. he'd told you that this was the doing of your grandfather's doctor. you cannot imagine the agony he must be in.

you've never done well with seeing or hearing people in pain. yukio always suspected you had some type of emotionally perceptive powers but you don't think so. you just have an inherent need to help and that's that.

carefully, hopefully noiselessly, you slide the door to the bedroom open and though he has his back to the door, his neck is already craning towards you. apparently whatever that doctor lady did to take his healing powers did not dull his hearing.

he's standing shirtless, feet shoulder width apart to keep his balance, skin glistening from a sheen of sweat.

"may i see?" you ask and he takes a long, deep breath.

you stand in silence, at first waiting for him to decide and then watching him turn around, bloodied black shirt in hand and an uneasy vulnerability in his eyes.

his stitches look mostly in place apart from the ones on the wound on his abdomen that have started to bleed. you pad over and reach a steady hand out to touch gingerly around the wound.

logan's jaw tightens but he lets you examine him, his breath warm on your face.

he's burning hot and it would be startling but he'd explained yesterday that it's normal for him. his fever had started when he was 9 and it never broke. so you ignore the unnatural temperature of his skin and step away to find him a cloth and some hot water to clean himself with.

when you return, however, he has clearly already showered and is trying to tie a dark kimono on. you have no idea where he found it and his efforts on keeping it in place force you to bite back a smile.

"let me." you offer, putting the contents of your hand aside to help him.

he immediately pulls his hands away in defeat and you find yourself barely an inch away from him yet again. his breath on you makes your toes curl this time. there's something different about his stance, something... more inviting.

"you need this tied like a proper samurai," you explain as you work on the obi.

there's a moment of silence, the pitter pattering of the rain comforting in the silence. he's thinking, you realise.

"your grandfather called me a ronin." his voice is low. tentative. "a samurai without a master. he said i was destined to live forever... with no reason to live."

that's probably the most you've heard him speak.

you swallow thickly. "was he right?"

"yes," he says, voice laced with such melancholy, it makes you ache.

he has taken seven bullets for you knowing he isn't healing. dodged perhaps a hundred more whilst protecting you.

you remember how he'd stood directly in an open doorway in front of a gun-wielding yakuza man to distract him so that you could run. you'll never forget the sound of those bullets hitting his metal skeleton. like nails on a chalkboard.

he'd put his life on the line for you over and over and over again.

aren't you reason enough then? haven't you become reason enough? after everything you've both been through? together?

you muster up all the courage you can and stuff it into one word. "still?"

your eyes dart up to his for a flash before coming back down to finish up. you pull your hands away but... but after the two dreadfully long days that you both have spent together... after seeing him fight to so furiously to keep you safe the way he did... after everything, you simply cannot bear the thought of stepping back.

neither can he apparently because one of his large, warm paws comes up and cups your cheek, ever so slowly pulling you into a kiss.

something about you has been haunting him since he first looked into your eyes three days ago at your family home in the suburbs of tokyo. especially after you, like a goddamned fool, tried to jump off the roof. he cannot pretend to understand why he's been so taken with you but he knows if he hadn't stopped you from jumping that day, another part of him would've died.

he supposes it's something about the saddest eyes on some of the most beautiful women ever that draw him to them. first kayla, then jean, and now... you. and that's only in the last half-century.

so he kisses you, warm and gentle and desperate to comfort. he kisses you like that until you mewl into his mouth, soft and needy. and then his own need shifts.

still careful to be gentle, his hands slip into your hair to hold the back of your neck to angle you better for himself. he's a tall man and leaning too far down is causing him pain he isn't very used to.

you feel so small in his hold, his hand wrapped around the entirety of the back of your neck, fingers resting under your ears, soothing your tingling skin.

pulling away a little, you run a thumb across his cheek. a small, very small smile spreads across his lips.

"hey." he says, voice low and soft, making you blush.

this should feel wrong. he's the kuzuri your grandfather told you bedtime stories about. the kuzuri whose bravery and determination gave you the strength to also face your nightmares as a little girl. you shouldn't be doing this.

but maybe that's why it feels right. you feel safe around him. truly and wholly safe; something not harada or even your own father has ever made you feel. you've known this kuzuri your whole life and you know he'll protect you.

you don't even bother thinking about how you're engaged to noburo. no, you've heard enough whispers about him sleeping with other women after your engagement to him. it doesn't faze you in the slightest.

so you kiss him again, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your lips to his smile. you feel one of his hands run down your back, coming to a stop right atop the bow of your obi, sending a shiver of thrill down your spine.

you've never felt this excitement before. you and harada had never gotten this far and noburo... well, something about his predator like advances made you want to throw up, so you never even let him this close.

but here you are, in the arms of kuzuri, a literal predator, and you feel... warm. nice.

he looks at you, brows dipping in an ask for consent. when you nod, sucking your lip between your teeth, he yanks the obi open and gently slips your kimono off one shoulder.

your soft, smooth skin makes him bite back a primal growl. he'd hate to scare you off, but standing here in front of him in the glow of the moonlight, you look so edible.

leaning in, making your tummy do a backflip, he presses a hot, open mouthed kiss to your shoulder. it makes you squeak and hold onto him tighter lest your knees betray you.

"logan!" you whisper with a gasp, feeling his teeth sink in and your feet leave the ground as he scoops you into his arms and takes you to the mattress in the middle of the room.

carefully, he kneels onto the floor and sets you down, his movement so light and tender it makes your heart ache.

pressing another kiss to your throat and then your mouth, he moves to place himself onto the mattress, between your legs.

you look at him with such big doe eyes, he cannot help but bring your hands together and press a soft kiss in the middle of your palms.

he then moves to undo your kimono like a wrapped present and take you in fully.

you're beautiful. the moonlight makes you shine, so perfectly womanly and delicate in his gaze.

reverently, he bends forward, right hand wrapping around your left thigh and pulling your legs apart so he can finally claim you with his mouth. his wounds ache for relief, the position actual torture but he barely even notices, so taken he is by your presence.

you push a lithe hand into his hair when you first feel his tongue, tugging as your hips arch up and you cry out his name.

"logan, god–"

he smiles into your mound, not having expected such a reaction this quick, but it only makes sense. you've both been so wound up after everything, you obviously need this.

"i know, princess," he coos as he licks a stripe across your leaking pussy all the way up to your clit.

he brings his lips around the little bundle of nerves and sucks experimentally and he's forced to hold your hips down when you moan out loud again. he was not expecting you to be loud in bed but he sees absolutely no reason to complain.

his tongue works on you expertly, undoing you with every lick and stroke and bite and suck. his fingers squeeze into your sides painfully hard, so badly wanting to mark you as his. he runs his hands down to your thighs and gently pulls them around his neck, sitting up to relieve the pain in his wounds, pulling you up with him.

"lo–"

"i've got you, you're okay," he reassures immediately, making your tummy flip again. he's so so so gentle and it kills you to have seen him as nothing but a brute until you reached the village.

his mouth continues to perform its delicious hot magic on your nerves as your eyes roll back in your head and you unconsciously reach up for one of your bared breasts. he freezes when he notices your movement, distracted like a cat having heard a mouse scampering across a field.

your eyes fly open to finding him watching your movements with a dark and hungry lust.

"don't stop," he urges and though his voice is strained, it isn't unkind. if anything, it almost sounds pleading.

how can you possibly deny him that? especially when he says it in that voice, looking at you with that expression.

so you continue, cupping a handful of your breast and squeezing gently, making yourself moan. he groans into your heat and buries his mouth back against your pussy, eyes never leaving your hands.

he continues his good work, watching you like a hawk as you knead your breasts, biting your lip. carefully, you circle your finger around one nipple as he sucks on your clit again.

you lose yourself to it, the rhythm of playing with yourself, the beautiful way it harmonises with his mouth, it's all so delicious. just like that, you feel yourself winding up, up, up...

"c'mon, princess," he encourages, "let go for me."

and you fall. fast and slow, all at once, right over the edge. you fall and fall and fall, and he continues to do the wicked thing with his tongue around your clit, lapping at your pussy and you give your everything to him.

he works you through it, moaning your name softly, his hands bruising your thighs until you slump in his hold. gently pulling your legs off his shoulders, he sets you down and crawls over you.

his hands come to rest on either side of your head and the warmth is so inviting, the scent of tobacco and his earthy musk filling your senses.

"can you give me another, angel?" he asks, kissing you right on the mouth so that you can taste yourself on his tongue; heaven, the mix of his need and your release tastes like heaven.

you shake your head no, too overstimulated but he's already working his way down to your breasts, leaving wet, hot kisses in his wake. and when he gets to one nipple and sucks it into his mouth with a soft groan, it sparks the fire right back up in your core.

"watching you play with yourself..." he murmurs, trailing off as he licks a flat stripe up the valley of your breasts before looking up at you.

the look in his eyes and his unrelenting mouth make you whine. "logan... need you."

that makes him smirk. how quickly he's worked you out.

"yeah? don't worry, babygirl," and he's spreading your legs apart again, "i'll take care of you."

he pulls the kimono off himself so quickly, you suspect it might have something to do with the claws that retract into his hand. you didn't even realise when he took them out.

he's... glorious. every muscle in his body is taut and stretched across his body like a work of art. his tan skin is dusted with hair so fine it makes your mouth water.

your eyes cross his pecs, his wounds, his bruises, lower and lower until... fuck. he's... big. big and so red, surely it must be painful.

he brings a hand up to your face and you think he's going to cover your mouth but he simply says, "lick."

you oblige shyly, savouring the salt of his skin. he pulls it away, spitting and then wrapping his surprisingly long and thick fingers around his cock. he runs it up and down the length, watching you with such intensity, it makes you blush as he positions himself in front of your opening and you bite your lip, looking up as he crowds you again.

you feel him push into you and within seconds, he's already stretching you open so wide it makes you grab the pillow behind your head in desperation.

he stills, gauging you. he knows this feeling. he's felt it in other women before; the squeezing of walls so tight there could only be one explanation. you're a virgin. shit, he needs to be careful.

rubbing your thighs with both hands, he gently and carefully pushes in just a little bit more.

"never done this before?" he asks, leaning down to press the softest kiss to your lips.

of course he's right. you have no idea how he knows but it makes you redden that he's caught onto your inexperience. are you making it that obvious? oh god, are you not making this good for him?!

immediately noticing your agitation, he pulls all the way out and kisses you again.

"easy... easy," he says, stroking your hair away from your face. "just gotta relax."

his voice is so even, so warm and soothing, that you cannot help but nod.

"good girl," he smiles encouragingly, once again positioning himself at your entrance.

he pushes in again and this time it's easier. you aren't quite so wound up and he slides in smoother because he's already made you adequately wet. still, he goes slowly, making sure it is good for you.

until you realise he's going too slow.

"lo–" you gasp, voice more a squeak than you'd like. "more– need more, please..."

around anyone else you'd feel pathetic. begging for something so filthy, so raw. but with logan, it's so comfortable. knowing he'll give you anything you ask for, even if you've known each other only half a week.

so he pushes himself completely into you, and he's so fucking big, so fucking much inside you as he whispers words of encouragement into your ears, kissing and biting at your neck. the ache of the stretching almost immediately gives way to a sharp pleasure that shoots through you straight from his tip and into every last nerve in your body.

it makes you wrap both hands around him, needing so desperately to be as close to him as possible.

you initiate the kiss this time as he starts moving in you. you slip your tongue into his mouth, sliding it against his, making him groan. the sound is so delicious, you roll your hips to cause it again. his hands grasp your waist, steading you, moaning your name around your tongue.

one of his hands comes up to grab the back of your neck again, taking charge of the kiss as he starts thrusting into you with more vigour.

you cannot imagine a better feeling than being right here. being held by him, being kissed by him, and being filled by him.

tentatively, you squeeze around him, realising you're reaching another orgasm quickly. he growls into your mouth at that, picking up further speed. it makes your hips buck and you're skin feel like it's on fire.

"logan, i'm... i'm..."

"me too, angel," he grunts.

and with one final thrust he presses all the way intp you, making you cry out as you come undone again. he snarls your name, a man possessed, the squeezing and fluttering of your walls pushing him over his own edge.

he fills you up, forehead coming down to rest against yours. he pants softly, never having felt tired like this before. but he realises... he doesnt mind it so much, not when he's tired because he got to make love to you.

you kiss him sweetly, breaking him out of his thoughts and he smiles at you.

"so beautiful," he murmurs, pulling out of you and lying down next to you.

he tugs you onto his chest and presses a kiss into your hair.

"logan?" you say, so spent your eyes are already drooping.

"hmm?"

"still?" you say and he realises you're repeating his question from earlier.

he hugs you tightly at that, wrapping his arms around you, warm and possessive.

"no. i don't think so."

--

wrote this at 6 in the morning before work so if there's errors, it's not my fault :))))

ik everyone hates the 2013 movie but i rewatched it recently and i remembered every last line. fuck me it's soooooo good.

really hope u like it tho.

love, d <3

--

retroactively tagging @techwrecker for being a cutie in the comments in all my other fics 🙂‍↔️

[giantkillerjack]

I am approaching the end of two extremely long-term (so so much longer-term than I thought they would be, dear CHRIST) creative projects by chipping away at my progress agonizingly slowly day-by-day,

and I'm so close now that at this point, when I talk about it, I am starting to sound like an old man yelling into the wind at the beginning of a supernatural thriller movie, like

HEED MY WORDS. ONE DAY. AND ONE DAY SOON, THE PROPHECY SHALL FINALLY COME TO PASS. THE LAST PIECES SHALL FALL INTO PLACE, AND THE STORY WILL BE COMPLETE. THEN, YOU'LL SEE. THEN YOU'LL ALL SEE.

[fumikoshi]

Hey ! Can I request for Teacher Gojo x Student reader , where she falls in love with him in her first year, and Gojo clearly notices that but didn’t say anything because it was a really a big ego boost for him when she would follow him around like a puppy. So she confessed to him on her graduation day , third year but got rejected because she was his student. She was of course heartbroken but tried to move on by dating some random sorcerer. This bugged Gojo quite a bit and confronted her, things got escalated quickly from there. As for the ending I will leave it to you, however you want.

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐞𝐭

✧ Chapter two

✧— SUMMARY; You confessed your feelings for your teacher Gojo, but he rejected you. He only saw you as a student. That's what he told himself until he saw you hanging out with another guy.

✧ — CONTENT; teacher x student

Fumi: I will publish the 2nd part soon, and I would love it if you could tell me what you think about this chapter in the comments. I love to see your comments <3

''Sensei... I-I know it is wrong b-but... I-I can't help my feelings... I-I love you... please accept my feelings''

You were standing in front of him with a box of heart-shaped chocolates, your head bowed cutely, cheeks flushed. You waited until the class was completely empty to confess to him, you were too embarrassed to confess to him in front of the other students.

You wondered if he would accept your feelings.

Meanwhile, he had a big grin on his face, of course, he knew all along that you had feelings for him, and it brought him great satisfaction.

You made it very obvious: the way you started to stutter when he was around, the way your cheeks flushed, the way you started to play with your hair, the way you followed him like an abandoned puppy...

You were so cute.

However, he couldn't accept your feelings. You were his student, and far too young for him.

"Awwwww~! Y/N-chaaan, I'm flattered that you feel this way. And who wouldn't fall in love with me? I'm rich, handsome, charismatic, and strong~''

Gently, he cupped your cheeks and pressed them together, as if you were a child "You're so cuuteee, and I care deeply for you as your sensei."

Finally he let go of your soft cheeks and put his hand on your head. And he spoke calmly.

''But, unfortunately, I cannot accept your feelings, Y/N-Chan. Aside from being too young for me, you are my student. And I'm afraid this is not appropriate.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, your eyes filling with tears. "Sensei... I'm sorry... I thought...

You couldn't finish, the rejection was too much for your young heart to bear. The tears slipped free, rolling down your cheeks as you trembled, and your grip on the chocolate box tightened.

 You felt humiliated, your heart heavy with disappointment. Gojo watched you, feeling a pang of guilt

He can predict what's going to happen. You probably will be sobbing in your bed when you get home. Even now you were trying so hard not to sob.

But he couldn't accept it, you were too young and inexperienced in love. He thought that what he was feeling couldn't even be love, just a crush. After all you are just a young girl and it is not easy to name your feelings.

Slowly, you lifted your head and looked at Gojo with tear-filled eyes

Just one last time

To beg him to accept your love.

"S-Sensei, I love you! Really... I-if it's for your career, w-we can keep it a secret... Please..."

Instead of giving you the response you desperately sought, Gojo just smiled and ruffled your head, treating you like a beloved pet.

"No is no, Y/N-Chan~!"

He tilted his head to the side and said;

''And it has nothing to do with career. If I wanted to, I could do it, no one could interfere with me. Because I'm the strongest and they need me.''

Your heart sank deeper. he doesn't want you...

He leaned down slowly and whispered in your ear as he took the box of chocolates from your small hands.

"And thank you for these sweet chocolates, Y/N-chan~ You know your sensei's weakness for sweets, don't you? How cute~"

Gojo opened the box and took out a piece of heart-shaped chocolate, examining it before popping it into his mouth. He smiled widely at you, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Wow, these chocolates are delicious, Y/N-Chan! I guess the rumor that things made with love are delicious is true."

He smirked, giggling as he closed the box. His gaze met yours, and he noticed how dejected you looked, holding your skirt, your head bowed, and lips trembling.

He smirked, giggling as he closed the box. He took in your forlorn form, he noticed how dejected you looked, your head bowed, trembling lips, and you clutched your skirt tightly.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow in class, Y/N-chan."

With a final wink, he left the room, leaving you alone in your heartbreak. 

 As the door closed behind him, you let out a sob and fled the classroom, your heart aching, and your spirit crushed.

The walk home felt excruciatingly long, the tears streaming down your face as you recall the rejection. You should have known that your sensei could not return your affection.

Back in your room, you climbed into bed and cried until you fell into a restless sleep.

Months passed, and Gojo carried on as if nothing had transpired between the two of you. His gaze never wavered, his treatment of you remaining the same as on the first day.

A part of you embraced this familiarity, appreciating that he didn't let your confession affect his relationship with you. Yet, another part of your heart ached, longing for the transformation of his eyes from mere teacher-student affection to something deeper, more profound.

Your world was shaken when a new student, Ryōta, entered your midst. Gojo introduced him with great enthusiasm, and as your eyes met, Ryōta offered you a warm smile. In that brief moment, you appreciated his handsomeness when his lips curled into a smile.

Meanwhile, Gojo noticed the way you looked at Ryōta.

He didn't know why, but suddenly a feeling of uneasiness came over him.

This feeling was not for him

He didn't like this feeling

It didn't take long for you to form a bond with Ryōta. He was kind, gentlemanly, generous, and unknowingly helped you mend the heartache Gojo had caused.

You began to like him, and naturally, your time with Gojo diminished. You'd be by Ryōta's side during recess instead of seeking Gojo's company.

One such day, the bell rang for recess, and you and Ryōta stood up, preparing to leave the classroom. However, Gojo called out to you, his tone was as cheerful and playful as ever, and he had his signature grin on his face. He was sitting cross-legged on the chair watching you.

"Y/N-Chan, aren't you going to ask your perfectly knowledgeable sensei new things about curses~?"

You flashed Gojo a smile, dismissing his inquiry. "Sorry sensei, I'm going to spend some time with Ryōta-kun. Maybe I'll ask you later!" Your gaze shifted to Ryōta, your tone brimming with excitement. "Let's go, Ryota-kun!''

You left Gojo behind, oblivious to the turmoil his rejection had caused in him. You'd rejected him in a way, your preference for Ryōta evident. Gojo realized that he no longer held a special place in your eyes, just another teacher. Your eagerness to be around him had waned, and you no longer followed him like a devoted puppy.

This feeling of being ignored gnawed at him, strange and unsettling. He didn't like how comfortable you seemed with Ryōta or how you laughed with him. The thought of holding hands, perhaps more, filled him with jealousy and a sense of loss.

Ah, what a headache.

[pollackpatrol]

Hello, I am a human medicine student from Gaza City. I am asking you for urgent help in publishing the link for my family and delivering it to people interested and able to help us. I did not want to do that, but the tragic situation we are living in is what made me have to do this. I feel sad and helpless, after we had Everything, we are now homeless on the streets, we live in a tent next to a dilapidated public toilet and there is sewage, filth and waste everywhere, we sleep on it! We suffer from terrible heat, insects and scorpions, the danger of death, bombs and missiles, in addition to hunger of course, and the danger of pollution and terrible diseases.Especially digestive, respiratory and reproductive! My younger siblings are suffering and very sick. They are terrified of everything, especially scorpions and insects. My father and mother cannot bear it any longer. You have the right to imagine that when you spend your life building for yourself and your children to live a decent life, all of this goes away in the blink of an eye, and now when you reach the age you should To rest in it, you are forced to start over !!? , but the most important thing now is to try to stay alive and protect your children from all the factors of death that surround us! I ask anyone who has humanity or conscience to feel our situation and put himself in our place. How can a person who has lived with dignity all his life accept this? We are dying slowly every day. Please, if anyone can help, even if just a little, do not delay! Your little means a lot to us!

https://gofund.me/5f12ba33

This is my art, by the way, I'm trying to escape the destruction that's happening, with art

Drawing titled, Waiting for a ceasefire !!💔

Of course I will share your fundraiser Raghad. For my followers, here is a direct link:

Raghad and her family have not raised very much so far, only £2,443 out of the £55,000 needed to evacuate to Egypt. Please donate if you can and share if you can't.

This fundraiser has been verified by @/nabulsi

[musingsofahufflepuff]

Puppy Eyes

animagus!Mattheo Riddle x gn!reader; fluff

summary: your boyfriend suckered you into becoming an animagus with him, and knowing him it was probably to cause mischief. but surrounded by the night breeze and the stars in his eyes, you know you’d follow him on any adventure.

a/n: 2 published in 2 days? maybe i am magic. i’m kinda obsessed with the idea of animagi and i cannot for the life of me find one where mattheo is one too. so i wrote one. i’m definitely down to write a part 2 or one for theo, just let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in ♡

You were ready to get this damn leaf out of your mouth. A mandrake leaf specifically, which you were planning to use in your pursuit of becoming an animagus. It had been sitting in your mouth for almost an entire month and it wasn’t getting any better. You looked up at your boyfriend, who was in the same predicament, with a scowl.

It had been his idea to start the process of becoming animagi and with those big brown eyes, who were you to say no? So here you were at breakfast trying not to swallow it and heaven forbid having to start over.

“I can’t believe you guys are really going through with it,” Pansy looks between the two of you.

“Riddle just wants to commit crimes and get away with it,” Draco smirks, “impressive he roped (y/n) into it with him though.”

Mattheo rolls his eyes before focusing his attention back on you. The smile he gives you makes your irritability fade away.

♡ ♡ ♡

Before you knew it the month was up and all there was left to do was wait for a lightening storm. Which just so happened to be tonight. Mattheo had kept the phials of potion in the shrieking shack after you had finished putting them together. That’s where you were heading now.

He was sitting cross legged on the floor when you made it inside. His eyes lit up once he saw you, a small smile finding its way onto his lips. “I was a little worried you were going to back out.”

“I thought about it,” you tease and you settle down next to him. “You sure about this?”

“Completely.” He gives a squeeze to your hand before placing the crystal phial in your grasp, the liquid inside now a blood red.

You get out your wand and say the incantation one last time and pause to watch Mattheo take the potion like he was taking a shot of fire whiskey.

With a deep inhale, you follow Mattheo’s lead and tip the potion into your mouth.

The sensation is… odd. Like your bones were all shifting at once. There’s a searing pain everywhere and that double heartbeat you had experienced while performing the incantation over the past week. Moments pass before you open your eyes.

Your perspective of the room has changed drastically, everything towering above you. Right in front of you stands a striking dark wolf, at least double your height. And those chocolate brown eyes are unmistakable.

You aren’t surprised that Mattheo turned out to be a canine. You also aren’t surprised how ethereal he looks. If anything, you were surprised he wasn’t a golden retriever, with his eager to please personality (at least for you) and puppy dog eyes.

You notice his tail wagging wildly behind him which leads you to look behind you and see a fluffy, mocha-colored tail doing similar. While you were mesmerized by your new appendage, Mattheo padded his way over to you and dropped into a laying position to not intimidate you.

Pulling your attention to your boyfriend you see he still has the scar on the bridge of his nose, only now it rests in the middle of his snout. Instinctively, you push your head into his fluffy neck, letting out a sigh when he rests his chin on you. He still smells the same as he normally does, cigarettes and his cologne filling your lungs.

You find yourself migrating between his paws, curling into the soft fur of his chest.

You lay together for a while, the storm still raging on outside the shack. As it sounds like it’s letting up, Mattheo rises on all fours and nods for you to follow him.

The grass is damp beneath your paws and the night sky is now clear above you. It takes a few moments to get used to moving on four legs instead of two, but Mattheo looks to be a natural. Your heart warms watching him run through the grass, apparently having the time of his life.

Finally feeling confident on your legs, you take off in his direction. Seeing you sprinting towards him has his tail moving a million kilos an hour. With a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, he turns and leads you toward the forest. In any other circumstance you’d be a little nervous running off into the forbidden forest, but something about your new form takes the anxiety off your chest.

The forest at night was something otherworldly. Moonlight filtered through the trees, illuminating Mattheo’s fur. You pushed your legs faster to catch up to his longer stride. Finally getting side by side, you take a look at him and the look on his face simultaneously fills your heart with glee and sorrow.

He looks free. More free than you had seen him in your half a decade of knowing him. You desperately want to see him like this all the time.

You don’t immediately realize you’ve stopped running, lost in the happiness radiating off him. Blinking a couple times, you look around at your surroundings. You’re standing at the edge of a small lake, the moonlight sitting peacefully on the surface. To your left is, to your surprise, a unicorn resting in what appears to be its den of sorts.

Wonder in your eyes, you look up to find Mattheo already looking down at you. As you gaze into those brown eyes you adore, you can see the entire universe looking back at you.

♡ ♡ ♡

The next morning finds you in Mattheo’s bed, his limbs tangled in yours. He’s still sleeping and you can’t help but think how gentle he looks like this. You press a kiss to his nose. As his grip tightens around you, you hear him mumble in his sleep laced voice, “I love you, my little fox.”

[ganymede-princess]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ these violent delights | davos blackwood (part 9) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 ❤️‍🔥| Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ❤️‍🔥

ship: davos blackwood x fem!oc

warnings: 18+ explicit smut

summary: they fuck

word count: 5333

a/n: this chapter is long asf and I was almost going to publish it as a two parter and leave you all with blue balls once again but I decided to just wait it out until I finished it! So sorry about the extra long wait. Next chapter is the END (I hope) not counting the epilogue okay bye

written by @ganymede-princess

When Cersha returned to her chamber, she was not surprised to see Davos perched on the bay windowsill, his fingers laced around his bent knee while his injured leg stretched out beside him. She had expected him to be blistering mad at her abrupt dismissal earlier that afternoon, but he was a vision of weary resignation as his forehead rested on the glass. The watery light filtered through the fresh linen shirt he had dressed in, showing the curve of his torso and the sinewy length of his arms. He lifted his head and smiled as the door creaked shut, she saw that he was rid of the patchy beard that had grown in the twelve days since the battle. Had it really been such a short time?

“My, I’ve never seen you so clean.” She teased.

“All in service of you, my lady.” He got shakily to his feet and bowed mockingly.

“Davos, please.” She sighed, the elation of her epiphany at the sept already waning.

“What?” He cocked his head to the side and offered a slanted smirk. “I’m your sworn protector, aren’t I? Chastely sworn… we both know how that turned out, now don’t we?”

She reddened at the memory of his lips stamping wet marks across her skin. She said nothing, only rolling her eyes. He sat back heavily on the sill and clucked his tongue.

“Were you sitting on that lie for long?”

“Only since…” She drifted off, feeling a wave of residual panic at the memory of the night before. Davos’ face softened and she shied away from the earnestness of it. “Look, I’m sorry. I am. I just, I wasn’t sure how Oscar would take it if he knew who you were or that a Blackwood had killed a Night’s Watchman on his land, I thought he might…”

“Execute me on the spot?”

“No! No, he’d never kill unless he had to. I was afraid he may send you back to your family to be punished for desertion, or that he might have just thrown you in the dungeon or something for starting this whole mess.”

“’Starting this whole mess,’ is that what you think? Is that why you still don’t trust me after all we’ve been through?”

“No! You were defending your family’s honour, I cannot fault you that, but the battle began with the swing of your sword. That is the truth. I feared Oscar’s retribution, but his ire is for the lord regent who instructed the default on the assize.”

“Always trying to protect me, aren’t you? What ire could that boy have? He looks as if-”

“As much ire as I’ll have if you speak ill of him.” He just scoffed and shook his head. “Asides, it matters not. Oscar recognised you.”

“I could have told you that,” He said. “If you’d only told me of your plans.”

“I see that now.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I surmised you would not take kindly to concealing your identity from the regent high lord. I did not want to fight you.”

“Why?” His expression darkened as he pushed to his feet and limped a step closer to her. “Are you afraid of me?” A step closer. “Think I might kill you?”

Another step closed the gap between them, his hand coming to rest feather-light on her neck. Her eyelids drooped as the tickles of his callouses fizzed through her brain.

“We’ve come this far crow boy.” She looked up through her lashes, seeing him obscured behind soft focus and beige streaks. “If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it by now.” She pressed forward until there was a slight pressure on her throat. “I’ve seen the fire in you, but I’m not scared. It burns for me, does it not?”

“Aye.” He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as his pupils blew out into glossy black discs in the confines of his dark eyes. “All for you, my lady.”

That was enough to make her melt into his touch, savouring the warm, full feeling that radiated from his rough hand as it formed the perfect collar around her swan-curved neck. That feeling, not of possession but of belonging, as people sometimes belong to each other. Her hands found his neck in some attempt to mirror the experience back to him, thumbs stroking the smooth skin from his ears to his collarbones as his eyes drifted closed. His breaths grew ragged as he leaned in to rest his forehead on hers.

“I think…” His nose brushed hers, lips so close that every breath was a heady exchange of essence, hearts racing in syncopated time. “...I want to know what it’s like to kiss you.”

“Is that so surprising?” Her fingers stroking his jaw pulsed a rhythm in his veins.

“I don’t kiss.” He growled weakly, stomach fluttering like a virgin maid.

“Why?” Her breath on his lips was the ghost of a kiss.

“Brings all sorts of… feelings.” Her hands were in his hair now, scratching gently at his scalp and savouring the rabbity softness of his freshly washed locks until blissful tremors weakened his knees.

“Is that such a bad thing?” He let go of a whimper as she rubbed her nose against his.

“If I kiss you, I’ll never stand to be parted from you. I’ll have to marry you.”

She pulled back, all the silvery feeling rushing through the channel of their meeting eyes.

“Kiss me.”

In that soft afternoon light, safe at last behind the stony battlements with the dull roar of the rushing moat shielding them from silence, in a room lovingly furnished with the colours of their liege, with the perfumed steam from the bath behind the fish mural divider wreathing around them, they shook off their houses like two bucks losing their antlers in spring. It was as if there had been a levee between them, weeping water from long spiderweb cracks, and now the stones came bursting out and there it was. The torrent of feeling, the lips parting, the passion, the crush, the smelting together of two beings in this primeval ritual.

At last they broke apart, her gasping for air and him kissing down her neck, whining against her perfect skin.

“Davos.” She panted. He nipped her. She took a handful of black hair and tugged it firmly. “Davos!”

“Mm…” He tilted his head back and she saw his eyes clouded by lust.

“Behave.” She pecked his swollen lips. “I must bathe first. I stink.”

A mischievous grin spread across his face and he buried his nose in her neck, inhaling deeply.

“You smell-” Sniff. “-fantastic.”

As she lifted her arm to push him away he stuck his face right into the pit and drew in a long breath.

“Like a woman.” He sighed dreamily and began peppering kisses across her chest.

“Get away!” She laughed, lifting her arms and throwing back her head to give him more access to the skin exposed by her dress. “You foul beast.”

He just chuckled and kissed all over her collarbones, bending double as she backed away until they bumped into the tub. He whined when he realised where they had ended up.

“Sweetling.” He pouted, trying to coax her back toward the bed.

“Davos, anyone would think you’re starving.” She rolled her eyes with an exasperated smile. “Come on. Won’t you wash my hair for me?”

“You know slavery is outlawed in the Seven Kingdoms?”

“Just get in the bath.” She pursed her lips derisively, letting her hands wander up under his shirt to explore the dips and curves of his back. “Just… soak with me for a while. Please?”

He scoffed and she could see him fighting against a blissful smile as her nails raked up his spine.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” She murmured. “Was that so hard?”

He smiled in that exasperated way, peeled off his shirt and dropped his breeches and underclothes in a swift, practical motion. For an instant she was stunned by the beauty of him; the subtle dips and rises of muscle on his thin limbs and torso, the grazes, bruises and old faded scars that each served as a reminder of passionate fury roused when something he loved was at risk, and the supple pink skin of his dick that hung half-hard by his thigh.

“What?” He grinned. “Like what you see?”

“Your wound.” She pointed to the bandage on his thigh, trying to save face.

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you want me in the bath or not?”

She bit her lip.

“You can dress it again later.” He had pulled it off and clambered awkwardly into the milky water before she had the chance to protest, gripping both sides of the tub as he gingerly lowered himself down. “Gods, that’s lovely.”

“You’re always putting yourself in harm’s way for me.”

“You love it.” She did love it. “Though I hardly think a bath can be considered ‘harm’s way.’ Besides, this is far nicer than the bath they drew for me. Just hot water, a rag and a bar of soap. No…” He picked out a floating rose petal and inspected it before letting it float away like a grumpkin’s sailboat. “...luxury.”

She noticed then that she had indeed been showered in what little frills Riverrun could afford with an encroaching war. Roses from the gardens floating on water white from goat’s milk; she suspected from the lactonic, pastoral scent that it was not the cow’s milk favoured by most highborn ladies for bathing. The water was silky through her fingers, from salt and honey she assumed, and lavender oil turned the steam heavy and narcotic.

“The boy favours you still.” Davos remarked as he reached for a brown-skinned pear from the tray on the side table, cut in half and loaded high with soft cheese and a crust of walnuts, and popped the whole thing in his mouth, wiping the juice with the back of his hand.

“Enough about Oscar.” She flicked a scoop of water at him, making him sputter. “And don’t eat all those, I’m starving. Did they not feed you earlier?”

“They did, but I’m never satisfied, my lady.” He smiled sweetly. “Minnows and cress on toast, though the ones you catch are far sweeter.”

“Thank you.” She preened, though his flattery was obvious, and took a pear for herself, a little moan escaping her at the flavour. “I must confess, I have missed real food. I hope they give us lamb tonight, or veal. Something that’s fed on grass and hasn’t had to fight for every morsel-”

“Are you getting in or not?”

She huffed at his blunt tone and expectant face, and finished her pear in two irritated bites. The amusement on his face was almost enough to make her storm off, but stronger than the annoyance that was only heightened by the bubbling fear of removing her clothes in front of him was her desire to be close to him. She turned her back to him and unlaced her dusty riding gown, letting it fall in a heap at her feet. In just her smallclothes, she hesitated. His eyes burned her from behind as the air burned her from inside. She heard the water slosh and Davos’s hand found hers, dripping water on her gown.

“Hey.” He said softly, squeezing her hand gently until she turned and met his eyes. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not gonna laugh at you. Whatever you’re afraid of-” He tapped his temple. “It’s in here. I think you’re beautiful.”

She closed her eyes, letting the words settle inside her, then lifted his hand to the lacing on her top. In a few deft movements he had pulled it loose, letting her free herself from it along with the bottoms. Instinct told her to cover herself, but she balled her fists and held them at her sides, letting his gaze roam across her form. She had always thought of herself as ungainly, all sharp angles and no curves, but under his eyes she felt her jutting hip and shoulder bones held the beauty of an ancient gnarled willow, and her long sinewy arms still covered in dirt were like the wings of a falcon rising from a bath of dust. She was a dryad and she glowed.

“You are…” He kissed her hand. “…so…” Again. “...fucking…” Once more. “...gorgeous. Gods, I don’t know what you’ve done to me, woman. You’re all I ever think about.”

The haze of steam caught the candlelight and danced in wisps around him. His hair turned black as pitch in the damp, the blood rose to his cheeks, and beneath that deep grey, his eyes were so green. Green like moss and agate and beetle wings. He was made of frown lines and scars, taut muscle, crooked teeth and passion like fire.

“Davos.” Her hand found his face. “I meant to say before, but… I suppose I was frightened. But, you’re- you’re… a vision. I am so glad to have met you.”

She kissed him, and for a moment it was all lips and fig sweetness until he smiled against her.

“Get in the bath.”

“Fine.”

She tried to glower as she clambered in beside him, but the warm embrace of the water was far too enticing. The surface sloshed as he spread his knees, making room for her to sit between his legs, and the level rose so high it nearly ran over the edge when they were both settled.

“Was that so hard?” He mumbled as he kissed her shoulder.

“Shut up.”

They sat that way for a while, cloistered in hot silky water. She ate her pears and washed the dirt from her skin, and he hummed a ballad so sweet that she could have cried. When she was done he freed her filthy hair from the braid, lathered it with soap and washed it with deft fingers massaging her scalp. She could not help the little groans of satisfaction that escaped her at the gentle tickling touch. She could feel him pressing into her back as he fisted her wet hair tightly and let his lips rest flush against the shell of her ear, his hot breath sending tingles to her toes.

“I’m warning you, my lady, if you keep making those filthy noises I might take right here in the bath.”

“Maybe you ought to.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Would you like that?” His lips parted to kiss her ear and she felt her eyes slip out of focus at the sensitivity there.

“Please.”

His free hand found her nipple, already a hard, pink marble beneath the hot water, and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. Her hips lifted and her hand fell between her spreading legs in an involuntary response.

“Please, please,” Came his rough whisper. “Please what, my lady?”

“Please…” She gasped. “Please touch me.”

“Where? Where can I touch to please you, my sweet-” Kiss. “-virtuous-” Kiss. “-Bracken-”

A slosh of water hit the ground as she whipped around and took hold of his cock, feeling it hard, yet supple under her grasp like a lance wrapped in silk. He whimpered as she pulled her hand in slow, deliberate motions around the head.

“If you don’t stop teasing me I’ll rip it off, I swear.”

“There she is.” He relinquished his grip on her hair as he rocked his hips, letting his length slide through her hand as he gripped her thighs. “There’s the fire.”

He pulled her legs apart without another thought and ran his fingers along her slit. She was slick where the water had not washed it away, and he could feel the folds of her were swollen blooms beneath the wiry swathe of hair. She jolted when he found that little button at the top, a high keening coming from her throat at that sweet agony.

“It’s okay now, my love.” He assured her.

“It’s…” She whined. “It’s so…”

“It’s so good, sweetling, I know. I know.”

He spread her open with one hand, pulling back the hood of skin that covered that nub and rubbed his fingers in steady circles, drawing moans from her like music from a harp. Her hips pushed up against him and she lost hold of his cock, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was that beautiful rhythm of her reaching for him, reaching for that incomprehensible height. His fingers slowed, he needed her lucid for a moment.

“Cersha.” He spoke against her ear. “Are you listening darling?”

“Mm.” She nodded, desperately pushing up against the minute rotations of his digits.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

She nodded again.

“On the inside?”

“No.” She shook her head, her voice strained. “Never inside.”

A puff of breath escaped him.

“Do you…” She panted. “Like that about me?”

“Does it make me… perverse if I do?” He growled. “If I want to claim you before anyone, before even you?”

“I want it to be you.” She admitted freely.

“Then it will be me.” He kissed her cheek reassuringly, his fingers circling her bud a faster now.

He worked on her for a while, bringing her back to the peak, and as pleasure rolled through her like white-capped waves, a finger plunged inside her. It slid in so easily that she scarcely registered the change until she grew aware of a strange tightening, and a thickness that she clenched against. She gasped, earning a chuckle from her lover.

“Is that good?”

She nodded, her hand flying to her mouth as he began to slowly, incrementally pump it in and out. Just as she was growing used to the rhythm, he curled his finger inwards and seemed to hit some strange point that sent a jolt of pleasure through her. She shrieked and covered her face.

“That’s good, isn’t it, sweetling?”

He nuzzled the side of her face as his fingers rapidly fluttered against her sweet spot, his palm bumping her bud, radiating syrupy, heady sensation. She gave a little yelp and buried her face in his neck, making him grin.

“More…” She managed to say. “...please.”

“As you wish.”

She felt empty for a moment as he drew back his finger, but soon enough she was gasping against the overflowing fullness of two thick, calloused digits drawing over that sponge of mystifying bliss.

“Gods, you’re tight.” He muttered darkly, thrusting them as deeply as he could.

“Davos, I think- I think I’m...”

“Let go, my love.” He whispered, his hand moving at an impossible pace. “Cum for me.”

It was those rough-spun words that were her undoing. She seized and gripped the bathtub, rolling over the wave of boiling pleasure. It was a brief thing, a blink of bliss wherein her thoughts were entirely drowned out, clenching rhythmically around his digits until she relaxed, flopping back against his silken torso. His arms found their way around her stomach and he squeezed her tight against him.

“You did so well, sweetling.” He rocked her gently for a while, until she felt strong enough to speak.

“That thing you did for me at the inn,” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “That thing you did with your mouth...”

“I ate out your cunny, sweetling, that’s what I did.” His eyes stirred with lust and mischief. “You want more?”

“No- yes, but no. I want to do it for you. I want to- to…”

“You want to suck my cock?” He put a hand to her cheek, his expression a mix of want and concern. “You don’t have to, Cersha. It’s gruelling work, I should know.”

“What do you mean?”

His cheeks tinted and a strange flash of agony passed over his face before he shook it away.

“Well, I’m no stranger to buggery, but I always preferred the fairer sex. Let’s leave it at that.” She felt a rush of curiosity at his words, and he must have noticed as he sighed moodily. “One day, I’ll tell you about the boy. I promise.” She swallowed her questions and nodded. “Shall we move to the bed?”

She got up eagerly, splattering more water onto the floor as she went, but was slightly alarmed to find her legs were already trembling. She offered Davos her hands, and he eyed them speculatively for a moment. She thought he might try to drag himself up on his own, but he took her help and soon they stood, holding one another as the water rolled off them in rivers. He giggled impishly, kissing her all over and before either of them knew it they were flopping down on the bed, still sopping wet like two otters in heat.

“We’re getting the sheets wet.” She protested weakly.

“We’ll sleep in my chambers.” He muttered, shuffling around until his injured leg had room to stretch out. “The bed is just as soft, if not so lovingly furnished.”

“Are you comfortable?” She fussed, hating the sight of his wound without a bandage. The messy sutures she had administered had been replaced by neat little stitches since they had arrived at Riverrun; the work of a Maester, Cersha supposed.

He put his hand to her cheek, a half-mocking look of amusement on his face.

“I am not made of glass. Now, are you sure you want to do this?” She nodded eagerly, and he guided her face gently downward. “Alright, I’ll show you how.”

She settled herself by his waist and watched, almost in awe, as he spit in his hand and gently tugged his length. The fold of skin pulled back and slipped easily up and down the moist, pink tip. He groaned lightly as he worked on himself, and in a few smooth strokes he had grown stiff and engorged. Cersha felt her mouth water, and was surprised to find that she felt no shame. She knew he would be big- in the pitch dark of that night in the inn, she had felt his impossible length slide through her hand- but nothing could have prepared her to actually see a man’s naked form, and it excited her more than she cared to admit.

“Put your mouth around the tip.” He instructed, using his free hand to gather her hair and hold it at the base of her neck. “Use your lips to block your teeth, that’s it, darling.”

She had to stretch her mouth wide to take him in, but it was worth it for the salty sweetness that spread across her tongue.

“Good girl.” He growled. “Good girl. Now feel around with your tongue. Do you feel that?That ridge, just there, right- right there.”

On the tip of her tongue rested a firm seam of skin, just at the base of the head. She flickered her tongue across it in a rapid flurry, and he whimpered. His hips lifting and an inch more of his length entered her mouth triggering a gulp of surprise.

“Oh, yes. Yes, sweetling that’s it, that’s it, just focus on the head.” With his hand in her hair he tenderly guided her head up and down, up and down, never forcing himself any deeper than she could comfortably take. “Bob your head like that, just take it in and out. You don’t-” He interrupted himself with a weak grimace. “-you don’t have to take it deep. It’s lovely if you do, but… but just do what you can, darling. Keep working with your tongue, you’re doing beautifully my love.”

He relinquished his grip on her hair, trusting her to keep up the rhythm, and wrapped his hand around his shaft, jerking himself into her mouth, while his other hand found his plump stones, rolling them in his palm. Cersha gripped his thighs, growing light-headed as she moaned and slurped around the size of him. It seemed he had given up on words, and instead fell into a frenzy of… moans? No, growls. He was like an animal, half-way between deep rumbles and high keening whines, his hips rolling and thrusting upward, seeming to forget his earlier gentleness. She took him deeper, gagging as he hit the back of her throat. Before she knew it, his hands were on her forehead and he was pushing her off of him.

“Did- did I bite you?” She gasped.

“No! Darling, no, I made you gag.” He struggled to sit up and held her face in his hands, stroking her hair, his face a mask of concern. “I cannot believe I did that, I’m so sorry, Cersha.”

“You didn’t mean to!” She eagerly reached for him again, but he caught her hand and kissed them all over.

“Still.” He implored. “I’m sorry. Besides, we had to stop. I would have finished in your mouth, I’m sure you wouldn’t like that.”

She considered for a moment.

“I… I suppose not.”

His face softened sympathetically.

“I want you to… to, um, to cum, though. It’s only fair.”

He chuckled at her choice of words and kissed her forehead.

“I can use my hand, if only you kiss me while I do it.” He gauged her disappointment with an impish smirk. “Or… I could fuck you, I suppose. If you want me to, that is.”

“Oh, please!”

He tossed his head back and laughed, pulling her into his embrace.

“Oh, my girl…” He pushed her wet hair away from her eyes. “I would work for hours like a draft horse if it would please you.”

He struggled to heave himself up, but she pushed him back by the shoulders. He made a little oof sound and his puggish nose crinkled in annoyance.

“I’m not an invalid.”

“I’d rather it this way.”

A grin dimpled his cheeks and his eyes glittered.

“Oh, really?” She just smiled knowingly and set about piling up pillows behind him to prop him up. He sighed dreamily. “I feel like a princess.”

“Prince of Crows,” She murmured, straddling him. “On a weirwood throne… with…” Her fingertips found his forehead. “…a red eye.”

He noticed her eyes had crossed out of focus, half closed. He took her by the arms and gave her a gentle shake that seemed to rouse her.

“You’re a witch, Bracken.” He laughed, though his heart thundered in his chest.

“I get it from my mother.” She shook her head, giggling nervously. “Anyway…”

Her hand reached between her legs to find his cock, stroking it gently. He laughed airily, happy to forget her strange words. The calloused pads of his fingers found their way to slide along her slit, and he scoffed.

“Gods, you get wet from nothing.” He seemed almost annoyed as he sunk two digits into her with no resistance. “Soaking wet…”

He withdrew and held up his fingers to show the glistening slickness that coated them, then slid them into his mouth. She gasped as he wantonly swirled his tongue around them, and pulled them out with a pop.

“The sweetest I’ve ever tasted.” He told her. “The only one I ever wish to taste again. I suppose mine could not have been such a joy to sample.”

“It was beautiful.” She kissed him, catching the ghost of herself on his lips. “You are beautiful.”

“Ah, I’m a busted old thing.” He flushed, lining himself up with her entrance. “But, thank you all the same, my lady.”

She felt the very tip of him sliding into her, and she hesitated.

“Davos, I… I do not wish to have a child.”

He palmed her cheek, as he loved to do.

“Then no child you shall have. I will spill myself upon your stomach every night until we are married, and every night thereafter until you feel the time is right.”

“And if I do not wish to marry?”

“Then unmarried we shall be.”

“And if I never want a child?” She thought of her mother then, the screams, the smell of blood like iron…

A pained expression crossed his face, but it was gone as soon as it was there.

“Then no child you shall have.”

“Do you promise?”

“On mine honour.” She searched his eyes for a sign of dishonesty, but found none, so she nodded.

She sunk down onto him, feeling her inner muscles clench and tent out as they adjusted to the thickness prising them apart. It hurt, it could not be avoided, his girth was simply too great. At the alert of her pained whimpers, he gripped her hips, holding her up until he was sure she had taken enough time to grow used to the feeling. He held her steady as she incrementally shimmied down, down, down until he bottomed out with an inch or two to spare. She cried out as she felt him pressing his bruising tip into her roof, but by then it had become a good pain, a cleansing pain.

“My girl.” He murmured. “My sweet girl.”

She lifted up from her knees, focusing on that exquisite feeling of his veins and ridges sliding against her walls, then lowered back down. Up and down, up and down, she repeated the action until she noticed he was holding his breath.

“Is that alright?”

“Yes,” He managed to utter, panting. “Gods, you’re just so tight. I can’t… I can’t see myself lasting long at this rate.”

She giggled as he whined, his hands finding her buttocks and bouncing her up and down on his rigid length, deeper and harder until she collapsed against him, grasping him like a tree in a windstorm. She grunted as he adjusted her on his lap and hit that sweet place inside her.

“Oh, fuck!” She hissed.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” His hot breath passed across her ear. “That’s the spot.”

“Oh, gods, Davos…”

He pumped upwards as he bounced her, and she felt his tip rubbing across her sweet spot before it punched against her roof, every single time. It was brutal, yet tender, and she could feel his restraint. She knew then that this man could fuck like an animal if she set him loose.

“You’re my girl.” He insisted. “Say you’re my fucking girl.”

“I’m y-your…” She spluttered. “I’m…”

Suddenly it stopped. He held her up, nothing but the tip left in her. She wriggled in his grasp, desperate for that overwhelming in-out-in-out-in-out.

“Say it, sweetling.” He cooed.

“I-I’m your girl.”

“Fuckin’ aye, you are.”

He plunged her back down, filling her in one thrust. Wave after wave of pleasure built up inside her, pump after pump, after pump until she had to bite into his shoulder to contain the half shrieking moans that had taken over her speech. It was this that broke his restraint, and as his thrusts grew sloppy, he slammed into her, fingers digging into her bony frame so harshly that they would have drawn blood were his nails longer.

“I’m c-”

The climax struck her dumb and she let out a guttural snarl as it seized all sense and reason from her. She clenched on his cock, still incessantly moving inside her, again, again, again, her eyes rolling, white fishes shimmering across her vision, until finally-

“Fuck!”

He pulled out, furiously rubbing his cock as he reached his own peak, his body stiffening and writhing as he spilled his hot seed onto her stomach. When he was done, he paused for a moment, eyes glazed and staring at nothing, until he noticed her and a flash of feeling passed across them. He did not hesitate to pull her to him, the strength of his arms evident as he crushed her against his torso, caring nothing for the stickiness there. It was then that she realised she was weeping. For what, she did not know. Perhaps, just the beauty of it all.

“Shh, shh.” His voice was flute soft again. “My beautiful girl.”

When she had regained some composure, she cleared her throat, forehead resting against his.

“I fear we need another bath.”

Thanks to my lovelies @aemondslove @disillusioned-phantasma @anaviieiraaa @deepestlovert @flordiakilos @kitty2984 @kpopfanfictionfantacies @sometings @nikkilsworld @gladiatorgladiator @borislava17 @oshun22 @spider-stark @marvelenthusiast10 @itsyagirl01 @nixtape-foryou @giggles-andkicks @benijbol @darlingcharling-blog @writervaul-t @kayrakhan @unicorntrooper @frogoerson @aphroditeanadyomene @councilofcastamere @ellxpsismm @teapomp @fuckalrighty for your reblogs and comments! I'm doing it for you guys :)

[ilysmcoups]

hi guys !

this is a plea, a call for help from one student to another.

I know you are all waiting for the Rental Romance Mingyu fic to be published and I can't lie, so am I.

HOWEVER, I physically cannot post when my brothers and sisters are dying on the streets. The country i live in has practically announced war on its students. I can't fit the whole thing here so I'll just say it in short even though I'll be missing out on a lot of details.

Bangladeshi students started a protest for the reformation of the quota system in Bangladesh. What started as a peaceful protest turned into a warzone across Bangladesh when the police started shooting at the unarmed students. This quota system is a system that has an effect on government jobs, which gave 30% quota on the govt. jobs to the children and grandchildren of those who fought the liberation war of 1971.

That's right. 1971. 53 years. However, most of the freedom fighters did not accept this quota system or the "allowance" they got, claiming that "we fought for independence, not for this."

Now, instead of having this 30% quota reformed, they opened fire on unarmed students, killing over 1000. Though the official body count is 250, countless eyewitnesses state the count is much more. I, myself, doubt how can the official count be 250 if there are 80+ unidentified bodies that had to be buried without anyone claiming them.

This has turned into a war of getting the dictatorial reign of our Prime Minister, Sheikh Hasina, to step down from her position as she has made no effort to stop the police or even once, admitted to her faults. In fact, 40% of the deaths are caused by the student political wing under her, Student League.

To this date, 4th of August 2024, we suspect the death count to be over 1500. This includes 10+ kids, starting from age 4. These kids were shot with bullets, from helicopters flying low, in their own homes. The safety of their own homes. On the balcony, through the window and even, one bullet piercing through the metal of the grills of a window.

Remember, I said that this isn't even half of it so if this seems long to you, imagine the rest. There are countless videos on social media. With all this happening, I am sorry but as a student myself, I cannot keep quiet.

I'm sorry if this shows up on tags you do not want it to show up on, but my country is burning. Please, please, please, spread awareness. International coverage is what we need the most right now. My brothers are dying, my sisters are dying.

Will I be next?

[lynnlovesthestars]

Hi! I’m new to your blog and have been loving all of your works!

If you’re comfortable with it, I was wondering how you think Astarion would react/feel about a virgin tav/reader who went through SA when they were younger, and wish to wait until they are both completely ready and comfortable with being intimate?

Hii, I can definitely do it, though i will merge it with another ask I received- asking to write hcs about Astarion learning Tav is a survivor.

I will say, making it with the hc has been a little easier on me, usually when i write about SA i spend an insane amount of time making sure i'm comfortable and you (readers) are as well, and i hesitate a lot before publishing it *(queue up scars and blood, that I wrote on an impulse after a nightmare, and it took me a solid week before publishing it)*

ANYWAYS.

ofc I hope this will be of comfort to you, and it won't trigger you.. sometimes all we want is to find solace into our favourite characters, so i wish tonight this will in a way comfort you...

and if anyone needs to vent, or talk, feel free to hit up my dm's, they are a safe space for anyone and i'll always offer up comfort.. we don't need to struggle alone, and sometimes being heard is what we need to make a new step forward<3

As always, my little stars, excercise kindness! we don't know who's gonna pass by this, and we don't know how hard it can be for them.

This being said, I hope you'll like it!

Headcanon: Astarion learning Tav is a survivor.

Pairing: Astarion x reader. Warnings: mentions of past trauma and SA. wc: 1.7k

-He starts suspecting something about it around the time of the tiefling party. He had offered to sneak out while everyone was asleep to "enjoy yourselves", but you refused right away. He definitely picked up some involuntary movement you did that told him there was more to the "I'm not ready". You probably flinched or jerked away, usually it would go unnoticed, but Astarion could recognize the subtle harshness hidden behind your reaction.

-He doesn't want to pry into it, as much as he needed to know as much as possible about you- he says for the sake of his undead skin- he wasn't entirely confident you trusted him enough to share your past. Also he wasn't sure he could handle someone confiding in him, but he would never admit it. At the end of the day, all he knew about social interaction were faint memories of his magistrate life, or means to survival. He simply wasn't sure he could have the empathy to deal with someone else's emotions, both in good and in bad.

-When you meet the gur, and you start peering into his past, he can't hide the very obvious rock in the shoe, Cazador and his spawn life, and it is because of the gur that you actually open up to him. When he starts going deeper and deeper into Cazador's orders to him and his repulsion towards sex, you do feel like you can share something so intimate, that's been heavy on you, well since it happened. 

-The first time you mention it though, you are very blunt.

-"And honestly I don't know anything else besides disgust for it" He'd admit as he bit the inside of his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Astarion" You'd start, you wanted to hold his hand to comfort him, cause that kind of pain you knew. "I understand how you feel though. If you need—" He cut you short, anger was bubbling quickly in his stomach. You swore his face almost reddened in anger as he raised his voice.

"No, you don't" He was one sound shirt from hissing at you. "You cannot understand what it feels like" He'd sneer at you. "No one can understand what it feels like to be stripped of your bodily autonomy". In a way the harshness in his voice was like a slap to your face, cause you did in fact know. From the other, you didn't expect your brain to beeline directly towards that sealed drawer in your brain where you tried to hide the haunting memory. 

“I went through it myself, you shithead” You got up, uncaring of whatever reaction he could have in that moment, and you just left.

-He was taken aback, on different levels, both because of your sudden shift in mood, because of the blunt reveal, and deep down because he was sorry, though again he’d never admit it out loud.

-You ignored him for the rest of the day, avoiding his stare and disappearing in your tent right after you were done setting camp, and that unsettled him so much that he was weighing the possibility of apologizing cause, of course, he didn’t know.

-You skipped dinner, and even when everyone else was asleep, you didn’t come out from your tent to take your usual nightly walk. The pang of guilt was becoming more like a stab as he saw the light in your tent still burning, and the faint shadow of you moving around restless.

-He prepared a peace offering, a bowl of the leftover stew, as he had to muster the guts to apologize. 

-”Sorry, I was an asshole earlier, I brought you food” He blurted out right after he knocked on the wooden support of the tent, and he was surprised when you still let him in.

-Initially it was awkward, cause you were eating and not saying anything, but after a while he mustered up the courage to offer his shoulder to you. “If you even wish to talk” He’d say.

-You told him a bit of what happened, without going too much into detail, since you were still shaken from the memories that resurfaced.

-Since then he started to learn your boundaries: how to catch your attention without startling you, what were triggering topics for you, how you liked physical touch, and how it triggered you as well.

-In a way he becomes very protective of you, especially if you open up more often about your trauma, and you can see it.

-He made sure everyone respected your boundaries, whether it was Gale with his weave thing pulling you too close, or a stranger breathing on your neck, he was always ready to remind them of their place. 

-”Don’t you see our dear captain doesn't want to be that close?!” “Keep your hands to yourself, they don't like being grabbed by the wrists” “Get away from her, before I stab you” 

-He noticed how you always double checked the perimeter of the camp before the sun would set, and before getting in your tent you’d always look around in the distance, trying to spot if something was out of place. So he joined you in your routine, helping you check around and make sure you were ready in case anything could have happened.

-As you get closer, and you both open up more to each other, he even suggests he moves his tent closer to yours. “I can keep an eye around” Was his explanation, when he first brought it up. 

-And it helped so much with your sleep, you felt a little safer.

-If you didn’t feel safe at night, he’d suggest putting your tents together into one. Maybe it was a way to keep you closer, or he needed reassurance, but he made sure you knew you could place your bedroll anywhere as far or as close to him as you liked.

-Eventually as your bond would deepen and deepen, and you’d grow fond of each other, you found yourselves rediscovering your touch together. It started with your fingers tapping on his arm as you were walking, or a strand of your hair being pulled behind your ear. Some nights you’d sit close in your tent, and would hold hands, caress each other’s cheeks, and slowly even reach out for a kiss or two.

-It was a slow process, where you really got to know each other like no one else ever did. You could read each other like a book, yet you never shied away from asking each other for consent for anything.

-”Can I hold your hand” “Can I kiss your cheek” “Can I rest my head on your chest”

-The thing you both struggled with the most, was falling asleep holding each other. You’d panic very quickly when you would feel your chest becoming tighter. He’d move away as quickly as possible, and give you the space you needed.

-When he confesses he has been falling for you, it’s time to approach the very delicate topic of sex. You opened up about the fact that you wanted to wait ‘till you were ready, and he agreed without hesitation. Of course because he understood where you came from, he never asked for any help either, if he’d feel like he needed some release, he’d disappear for a bit and deal with it himself, without making you feel like a burden.

“I just want to make sure we are on the same page on this” You’d say as you crossed your arms, almost as if you wanted to fold yourself in and away. “If you want to have sex, I can’t right now” You’d start saying, but stop on your tracks for a second. “Wait, not that I can’t. I don’t want to have sex at the moment” You’d correct yourself, confident in your statement, he wasn’t even thinking about it, though he respected completely.

“I get it, and it’s okay my love” He’d say, patting your shoulder, and wondering whether he wanted to hold your hand or kiss it, he wanted to let you know he truly understood. “I don’t want to either” He smiled, and in that moment it was like both you two finally breathed. You’d reach for his hand to hold it in yours.

“It’s not because of you though” You wanted to explain to him, you were so close it was something you were ready to share, especially since you were slowly walking towards a different level of intimacy together, he had to know. “I want to do it when we are both ready” 

“I understand, my sweet, there’s no need for explanations” He’d smile again, one of his fangs slightly poked out against his lip. “You said you don’t want sex yet, so it’s no” 

“I’m a virgin” You’d blurt out, and that was something he didn’t entirely expect.

“Oh” He’d say at first, but as he noticed your cheeks slowly warming up, he pulled you closer to him, his forehead against yours. “It’s okay, I don’t care about it” He’d exhale. “As long as it’s you, I don’t care about anything” 

-When you reach Baldur’s Gate and finally you settle in the elfsong tavern, you made sure you always had a corner of time dedicated to helping each other relearn touch. 

-You'd lay next to each other in different levels of nakedness depending on how you felt at the moment, and you'd spend your time tracing each other's features. Whenever you'd feel comfortable enough to venture into a new thing, he'd ask for permission. 

-"Would you feel comfortable if I touched your hips?" "Can I trace your scars with my fingers?” “May I pull you closer?”

-You didn't fight time, you didn't rush towards sex. It came slowly and it was a process full of ups and downs. Some attempts ended up with you both sobbing, too overwhelmed. Other's ended up with panic attacks. Eventually though, after a lot of work together, you reached a point where you'd be able to make love.

-it was a very soft moment between you two. It involved a lot of comforting, kisses and patience, but it was something so profound, it wasn't only about shared pleasure, but it was about connecting your bodies and your souls. In a way it was like a wedding for you two it was the peak of trust you could have with each other. 

-He'd whisper so many times how proud he was of you, how much he loved you, and how glad he was that you were the one that would spend their life with him.

-Tears eventually arrived, they were the tears of two souls that finally had reclaimed a bit of their freedom. It was the cries of someone that was finally healing. 

[sophieinwonderland]

Debunking Anti(-endo's)Misinfo. AKA: How are anti-endos so bad at sources????

(The original)

Oh, well good on you for trying to cover everything! Nice of anti-endos to finally start trying to use science to prove their arguments. I'm sure these sources will totally be reliable and will prove your points beyond a shadow of a doubt, and that you won't just be falling flat on your face with every single attempt at basic reading comprehension, and end up repeatedly make a complete fool of yourself.

Let's go!

Off to a pretty strong start, acknowledging that many endogenic systems don't have DID or OSDD. Sadly, that basic fact is something that seems to escape most anti-endos. So with this in mind, I think it's safe to say the goal of this post is going to be to prove...

You can't possibly have DID without trauma.

You can't possibly have OSDD without trauma.

You can't be a system without DID/OSDD.

Let's read through and see how they'll do at proving their points by the end. I promise you, the results... won't surprise you. 😉

Well, there goes that strong start.

The source here is a Carrd and so-called "common sense."

Meanwhile, in the World Health Organization's ICD-11, alters or dissociative identities are described as "distinct personality states." In the same page, it's stated that you can have multiple "distinct personality states" without a disorder.

This is information from the World Health Organization affirming that you can be plural without a disorder. And I think that prevails over your so-called "common sense."

See also these screenshots from the plurality chapter of Transgender Mental Health, a book published by the American Psychiatric Association:

Finally, I really want to put a focus on this line of logic: "you cannot have alters without having a disorder, this is common sense as it's not normal to have alters."

Normal has multiple meanings in different contexts. The ICD-11's boundary with normality uses normal to mean "non-pathological." But this post seems to be using "normal" in the lay way to mean "common."

And that makes this particular rhetoric extremely dangerous and harmful to many communities. "If it's not common, it's a mental illness," was the basis for homosexuality and being transgender being listed as mental illnesses. "Most people don't think this way, so there's something wrong with them."

This could also easily be used to pathologize Otherkin and other alterhumans as mentally ill because it's not "normal" to identify as an animal.

The modern World Health Organization and American Psychiatric Association recognize the fact that simply thinking unusually or differently isn't an illness or disorder.

Statements like yours do not exist within a vacuum, but harken back to decades past when any non-typical thinking would have you labeled as having a disorder that needed treated.

Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.

Let's be thankful to live in a world today where our differences aren't considered disorders. And let's not resort to ideologies that threaten to return us to those days past.

Wait... who suggests this? Who are they? I think I need more info...

So... "some researchers."

Also, can we talk about how this starts off with "sometimes called multiple personality disorder." I checked to see if this was before the name changed in the ICD (which I believe was 2015) and it doesn't seem to be! Oldest archive I can find is 2020!

Rethink.org is a charity.

These are not peer-reviewed papers.

The page references "some researchers" without names or sources.

I have no idea who authored this or if they're qualified at all in this field.

This is a terrible source. A web page by an anonymous author citing other unnamed authors with no reason to think anyone who wrote this had any idea what they were talking about!

This says DID is caused by many things, and lists trauma as only one that's included. This doesn't back up the idea DID/OSDD can only be caused by trauma, and suggests the opposite.

Oh, and "it's also known as split personality disorder." 😔

Go home WebMD.

Usually associated with doesn't mean it's a requirement, and in fact implies that it isn't always.

"Is associated with." "Can be a response to trauma."

Reiterating that the first two goals here were to prove you can't have DID or OSDD without trauma. And these aren't doing that.

An association doesn't mean there's a causation, and it doesn't mean that association is there in 100% of cases.

"often develop."

Like with "usually", you wouldn't use the word often if if something always happened. The choice of wording implies you can have dissociative disorders without trauma.

Are... they messing with us right now???

I swear, you can't have a post that sets out with the goal of disproving the existence of endogenic plurality, and then use quotes that seem to consistently imply there can be other causes for DID and not pick up on that theme!

Oh, yay! We finally got a quote that's actually trying to argue the point we started with.

But, again, this runs into a similar issue to the ReThink.org one. This is a random independent organization. There is no author for this article. It hasn't undergone peer review like an academic paper would.

There is no evidence the person who wrote this article is actually educated in dissociative disorders.

And finally back to "usually."

You must be so proud...

Source Round-Up

There was a lot here, so let's just recap.

6 out of 8 of these sources only say that DID is "usually" or "often" or "can be" caused by or associated with trauma. These actually imply there are cases where it's NOT caused by trauma, going against the original goals of this post.

Finally, there were two sources, Rethink and Mind.org, which did suggest DID is just caused by trauma, full stop. But both of these are extremely questionable as sources.

Neither named their authors. There's no indication what the review process is for their websites. And "Rethink" merely said this is what "some researchers" believe.

So let's double back to those goals set at the beginning.

You can't possibly have DID without trauma: One source says this, but the reliability of that source is questionable. Another source says some researchers are saying this but doesn't name any researchers or cite those sources. Meanwhile, the other six sources imply that it IS possible for DID to exist without trauma.

You can't possibly have OSDD without trauma: Neither of the two sources that suggest DID can only be caused by trauma mention OSDD at all.

You can't be a system without DID/OSDD: None of the sources suggest you need DID/OSDD to be a system or to be plural.

So far, you've failed to prove you can't be a system without DID or OSDD. You've failed to show you can't have OSDD without trauma. And the case for DID being exclusive to trauma frankly looks weaker than before you started talking.

Incredible work so far!!!

And I mean that in the way that nothing about this is remotely credible!

Ugh. There is SO much wrong here. First, no sources for their claims about tulpamancy.

Now, tulpamancy draws its name from a Tibetan Buddhist practice called sprul pa.

This is not the same practice though. And the Tibetan Buddhist practice is NOT CALLED TULPAMANCY.

Something which should be obvious to anyone who knows even the most basic facts about language, with the -mancy suffix being derived from Latin. And tulpamancy as a practice generally isn't religious.

From Dr. Samuel Veissiere of McGill University:

The community is primarily divided between so-called psychological and metaphysical explanatory principles. In the psychological community, neuroscience (or folk neuroscience) is the explanation of choice. Tulpas are understood as mental constructs that have achieved sentience. The metaphysical explanation holds that Tulpas are agents of supernatural origins that exist outside the hosts’ minds, and who come to communicate with them. Of 118 respondents queried on the question, 76.5% identified with the psychological explanation, 8.5% with the metaphysical, and 14% with a variety of “other” explanations, such as a mixture of psychological and metaphysical.

When discussing the research into tulpamancy, we're not discussing a religious or spiritual practice that's been validated by psychologists.

We're talking about a primarily psychological practice that's been validated by psychologists.

And as for the DSM quote, it confirms that religious practices aren't a disorder. Cool. But it also implies that religious practices can result in multiple distinct personality states. Hence why they needed that criterion. It's not stated as explicitly in the DSM as in the ICD, but the implication is there, especially when taken together.

Whether you call these "alters" or not is up to you. Most endogenic systems aren't using the word "alter" to describe their headmates.

But regardless of the word, what the research is showing is that there are multiple phenomena which can result in people having multiple self-conscious agents sharing the same body.

I mean, you've still done a really bad job at showing DID and OSDD form purely from trauma, with many of your sources straight up saying the opposite.

And remember, a lot of mixed origin systems will say that their other headmates aren't caused by or related to their disorder. And there are documented cases of people with DID both having alters associated with DID, and having non-aversive entities they commune with outside of that, as Kluft references in this paper:

The woman he describes here, who experienced ceding control to another entity who talked through her, would qualify as a mixed origin system in the modern plural community.

SIX OF YOUR EIGHT SOURCES LEFT THE DOOR OPEN FOR DID TO FORM WITHOUT TRAUMA!

NONE CLAIMED OSDD COULD ONLY COME FROM TRAUMA!

NONE CLAIMED YOU NEEDED DID OR OSDD TO BE PLURAL!

Your sources are NOT claiming what you think they're claiming!!!!!!!

If this is "all the proof you need," to say endogenic systems aren't valid, it's clear you were only ever interested in confirming your worldview.

But surely you can't seriously think this will convince anyone who isn't already indoctrinated!

Not even addressing this in full. It's such a blatant strawman that it's not worth my time.

There are similarities between plurality and being LGBTQ. Especially to the many trans systems out there who are seeing anti-endos use the same rhetoric that transmeds have. Or like you did earlier, are endorsing the same types of views that led to homosexuality being pathologized until the 70s. But nobody is saying it's the exactly the same!

I'm not sure what this is specifically referring to. But it might be about the line in the differential diagnosis for DID in the PTSD section where it's stated DID may not be preceded by trauma or have co-occurring PTSD symptoms.

It does also say in another section that DID is associated with trauma, but it never actually says that's the only way to get DID.

This is a straight-up lie. Most sources used by endogenic systems are less than a decade old, with some being as recent as 2023.

Here's the breakdown of some of the dates in @guardianssystem's doc, for reference:

I mean, I feel like part of the reason nobody has been able to disprove it is because a lot of its more specific claims have been really hard to test.

But that's neither here nor there.

The bigger issue you'll run into is that the creators of the theory you're citing have stated that there may be other ways for people to be plural. Or as they phrased it, having "conscious and self-conscious dissociated parts."

The above quote is from two of the three authors of The Haunted Self, the creators of the theory of the structural dissociation.

The TOSD is made to propose a way trauma can cause dissociative disorders to develop. But it does NOT suggest you need to have dissociative disorders to be plural, and I doubt the authors appreciated their work being twisted like that

Final Grade:

F-

This started with three goals.

Let's look back at them one last time.

You can't possibly have DID without trauma.

You can't possibly have OSDD without trauma.

You can't be a system without DID/OSDD.

By the end of this, have any of these claims successfully been proven?

I don't feel they have.

The first claim is what all the sources tried to focus on. But most of the sources didn't say that and didn't support it. All but two implied that DID could possibly form other ways.

And for the others? Nothing suggests OSDD can only be caused by trauma.

And you failed to provide any sources that suggested you couldn't be plural without DID and OSDD.

You completely and utterly failed to find decent sources to back up your claims, and to make a compelling case for them, at every conceivable juncture.

If I were you, I would be embarrassed to have put out something of such poor quality.

What have we learned:

Non-disordered and endogenic plurality has been supported and validated across the psychological field, including the World Health Organization's ICD-11 and Trasngender Mental Health which has been reviewed and published by the American Psychiatric Association.

The creators of the theory of structural dissociation believe it might be possible that "self-conscious dissociative parts of the personality" might form without trauma and that this needs to be further researched.

Tulpamancy is a mostly psychological practice that has been studied and validated by psychologists.

Anti-endos are really bad at sources.

Conversely, the majority of endogenic sources are actual peer reviewed academic papers. And contrary to false claims here, many of the papers are actually very recent.

(Tagging some tags from the original post)

[pinksturniolo]

Biggest Fan: Part Three

Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader

Summary: The one in which a fan gets rear ended in a car accident by none other than Christopher Sturniolo during her stay in Los Angeles.

A/N: This is my first series I will be publishing on here! There will most likely be 3 or 4 parts. I hope you like it and I’m really excited to share with you all. :)

Content Warnings: smut, oral receiving/giving, fingering, raw penetration, swearing, throat fucking, bondage (if you are not comfortable with that please don’t read), mentions of a head injuries, mentions of a car accident

word count: 4,423

side note: sorry for the long wait!! it was a crazy day lol but here it is <3

inspired by this song:

You ended up needing three stitches.

Apparently, you had underestimated the cut on your forehead and if it wasn’t for Isabel, you would’ve just left it with the bandage Chris had put on for you. After you left the triplets house, she insisted that you go to an urgent care and get it checked out. You explained the details of the whole night to her, starting from when you left your hotel room to get Wendy’s up until the moment Matt knocked on Chris’ door.

“Holy shit. Our first night in L.A. and you manage to get in a car accident with Chris Sturniolo which ends up in him eating you out? What kind of black magic have you been doing?” Isabel jokes as you look out the car window, avoiding eye contact with her. You were on the way back to your hotel after leaving the urgent care. You groan, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.  “Let’s never talk about this again, please.” You reply.

At the same time, your phone rings, Chris’ name flashing across the screen. Your heart immediately jumps, and you look at Isabel in fear, showing her the name.

“Oh my god. Answer it!” She says, her eyes wide, glancing at you and to the road, trying to focus on driving.

“Fuck no! I cannot talk to him right now… How did he even get my number?” You wonder aloud. The call goes to voicemail and almost immediately after, you receive 2 text messages from him.

Hey. I got your number from Matt. Just wanted to make sure you’re good.

He called the tow place so they could get your tire fixed and take it to your hotel. Lmk when they drop it off.

You read the messages but don’t reply, putting your phone back down and leaning back in your seat. Exhaustion was beginning to set in. You hadn’t slept in almost 24 hours. “Why didn’t you answer?” Isabel asks.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him… I just feel utterly mortified from what happened. It was an amazing night, don’t get me wrong. He’s cool as fuck. I guess I’m just being insecure, but I feel embarrassed about it. It’s not like me to do one-night stands. What if he just regrets it?” You tell her, really starting to question everything that happened last night.

 “Y/N. Stop. You seriously need to get out of your head and give yourself some credit. He’s obviously interested in you if he’s calling and texting you. You’re hot okay. Any guy would want you.” She says, making you smile.

“Besides, we came to L.A. for a reason, right? To let loose and have fun. This is best case scenario Y/N, might as well make the most of it.” She adds, turning into the hotel parking lot.

Isabel was one your best friends, one of the reasons being she always gave the best advice and knew what you needed to hear while not sugar coating anything. You had always appreciated her for that. She parks and you both unbuckle your seatbelts, grabbing your things and getting out of the car. “You know what, you’re right. I need to stop overthinking things so much.” You say as you walk into the hotel lobby, getting into the elevator. She smiles at you and gives you a hug. “Exactly.” She replies. You both head to your rooms and once you hit the bed, you knock out, unable to keep your eyes open for one more second.

When you finally wake up, it’s 6 p.m., the sun starting to set outside. You had slept the whole day. You yawn and stretch, getting out of your bed and heading to the shower so you could wake up.

You still have Chris’ clothes on and can smell the scent of his cologne lingering as you take them off. You remember that your wet clothes are still in a pile on his bathroom floor, silently cursing to yourself for forgetting them there. Now you had a reason to see him again.

You decide to go wash his clothes at the hotel laundry mat once you finish in the shower. You still haven’t called or texted him back, a feeling of guilt washing over you. You know that you should, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it yet. What were you so afraid of?

You were afraid of how good it felt being with him. The connection you felt scared you and you hadn’t even gone all the way with him. But you couldn’t get him out of your head. Last night played over and over in your head like a broken record.

The way he made you laugh. The lustful look in his eyes. The feeling of his hands gripping your waist. The way his lips felt on your neck. The feeling of his hair tickling the insides of your thighs as he licked and sucked and fingered you until you were whimpering his name. The way his voice sounded…

“Anything to get you in bed next to me, princess.”

“You look so pretty like this.”

“Cum for me sweetheart.”

His words played repeatedly in your head as you lay in your bed, a movie playing on the tv, but you couldn’t pay attention. All you could think about was him. You burned a hole into your phone as you stared at it.

Stop being a pussy. Just call him. You think, picking up your phone and dialing his number.

Your heart races as it rings, and you almost change your mind and hang up at the last minute when he finally picks up. “Y/N?” He says. “Hey.” You respond, the cheesiest grin appearing on your face the minute you hear him say your name.

“I was starting to think you ghosted me.”

“Well, I actually was until I remembered you still have my clothes and I have yours.”

“Funny joke. I washed your clothes earlier, you can come get them anytime. Unless you want me to bring them to you?”

“Uh… I’ll let you know. Me and my friends planned a hiking trip for tomorrow.”

“…. Okay. No worries. Hey, did you get your car back?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you so much for that, and please tell Nick and Matt thank you for me as well.”

“Of course. How’s the cut?”

“I actually ended up going to urgent care and getting three stitches. But they were pretty small, it was no big deal.”

“Damn. I’m sorry, Y/N. I knew we should’ve called the ambulance.”

“Chris, it’s okay, I promise. How’s the Kia? I was too in shock to even ask last night.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. The bumper is a little messed up and one of the lights broke but I think your car ended up taking most of the damage… Sorry again.”

“Well at least it’s not worse. You do owe me a frosty though.”

“Hm, I would argue a McFlurry makes up for it way better.”

You and Chris end up talking and laughing almost the whole night about anything and everything. Everything except the things that occurred in his bed. You’re too hesitant to bring it up and he seems to take the hint, not mentioning it either.

The next day, you and your friends take a trip up to Big Bear, hiking for most of the day. You enjoy the views and spending time with them. You still can’t help but realize that you’re not a hundred percent in the moment, counting the minutes until you could get back to the city and talk to Chris again.

Chris’ mind hadn’t stopped racing since the morning you left his house. His heart ached as he watched your friend drive off with you in the passenger seat, feeling like a love drunk fool.

He immediately asked Matt for your number from when you had exchanged information after the accident, a knowing look in his eye when he gave it to him. “Gonna ask her on a date or what?” Matt teased him, which he ignored completely.

“Don’t pretend like I didn’t hear some interesting noises coming from your room last night!” He shouts as Chris runs downstairs to be alone in his room.

His heart sank when you didn’t answer his call and he chalked it up to the fact that you were probably just tired and needed sleep. Which he desperately needed as well but he couldn’t help and wait for you to text or call him back as he made himself busy, cleaning up his room and washing your clothes when he found them still lying on his bathroom floor.

After a couple hours passed though, he lost hope of getting your phone call and finally laid down, deciding he should get some rest. He tossed and turned for a while though, unable to get the memory of last night out of his head.

The look in your eyes when you told him to touch you. The way your lips felt on his, your hands in his hair. The sweet sounds you made as he tasted you. The way you clenched around his fingers as he made you orgasm, the way his name sounded as you screamed it.

Fuck. He was down bad and he knew it.

There was an infectious energy between you two and he craved more of it. He finally fell asleep thinking of you and when he woke up, the sun was setting.

Matt and Nick forced him to come out of his room and eat something. He talked with them for a while, avoiding mentioning you. He took a shower and was about to turn on a TV show to try and get his mind off you when you called. He couldn’t help the goofy smile that plastered his face as he answered, grateful to hear your voice again.

Hours later that night, when you and him had finally hung up, he already knew. It had only been a day, but he just knew he wanted more time with you, to take care of you in all the ways you deserved. When you told him you would be on a hiking trip the next day and wouldn’t have service to text him, he couldn’t ignore the way it made his heart sink.

He was falling for you, head over heels.

As soon as you got back to your hotel, you were exhausted and your feet ached. You took a shower and lay down, sending Chris a quick text message.

Hey :) Just got home, I think my feet might fall off lol. It was great though, I’ll send you pictures in the morning. Sorry I can’t talk tonight but call me when you wake up!

The next few days passed incredibly fast. Chris had to go to Boston unfortunately, but he told you he would be back the day before you left to go back home.

You and your friends spent time at the beach, walked the Hollywood Walk of Fame, danced at the club, and did all the things you had came to do. It truly was the best vacation you had been on.

You and Chris texted nonstop and stayed up talking on the phone when you could. He was one of the sweetest people you had met, and the more you got to know him, the more you wanted nothing but to spend every second with him. How could your feelings grow so strong in such a short time?

The night Chris came back home, you were in your hotel room, most of your belongings packed and ready to go. You were in your nicest set of silk pajamas, brushing your hair for the hundredth time as you waited for him to arrive.

You both agreed that he would come over with the clothes you left at his house, and you could give him his. But you both knew it was more than that. There was unfinished business, and as eager as you were to finish it, you were still a bit nervous.

Chris arrived a few minutes earlier then he said he would, a soft knock sounding at your door that summoned those damn butterflies again.

You took a deep breath, opening the door to reveal him there, cheeky smile as always, both of his arms resting on the door frame above him. He was wearing jeans and one of his fresh love t-shirts. Does this man ever not look good?

“Fancy seeing you here.” He says as you step aside, allowing him to walk in. You laugh, going over to grab his clothes for him.

He sets a bag with yours in it on the table in your room. As you go to hand the clothes to him, he doesn’t take them right away.

You hold it out awkwardly, an expectant look on your face as he raises his eyebrows at you. “Are you not gonna take them?” You ask, lowering your arms down.

“Is that it then?” He responds, giving you a look that has your heart starting to beat faster. “What do you mean?” You say, dragging it out longer. You couldn’t just jump his bones the minute he walked in, could you?

“Don’t play stupid with me, Y/N.” He speaks lowly, making your heart feel like it’s doing flips inside your chest. He pushes the clothes in your arms down to the floor and moves closer to you, now inches from your face.

“Do you know how crazy you drive me? I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left.” He says quietly. You feel his breath across your lips as he moves even closer, smirking at the obvious effect he has on you, as a deep blush fans across your face. He places his hands on either side of your face, his thumbs stroking softly. “You have no idea of all the things I wanna do to you…” he breaths, his lips brushing yours. “Then show me.” You whisper.

He wastes no time placing his lips on yours as you kiss him back, your mouth opening to allow his tongue to tangle with yours as your arms go up to wrap around his neck. He moves his hands down to your hips as they slip under your thin shirt, the feeling of his hands on your bare skin giving you tingles down your spine. He slips his hands to your ass, squeezing tightly, making you moan in his mouth. “Jump.” He instructs and as you do, he picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

He walks towards your bed, your lips still joined in a sloppy kiss, setting you down on it and hovering on top of you.  You can’t control the moans that slip from your mouth as he leaves spongy, wet kisses down your neck and chest, removing your shirt and his in the process, and you allow your body to respond to his commands, and to his satisfaction he discovers you don’t have a bra on so he can leave more love bites on your breasts.

He takes his time sucking on them and rolling his tongue slowly over each of your nipples. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling how hard he is, and you can’t help but buck your hips up into his, causing him to moan out, his mouth travelling back up to your neck which seems to be his favorite spot to kiss you.

He notices the hickeys he left on you the first night you spent together and smirks at you as he pulls his head up, whispering in your ear. “Do you like seeing my marks on you? Does it make you wet knowing that you’re all mine baby?” Fuck. This man will be the death of you.

“Yes, Chris.” You breath out, again bucking your hips up onto his rock hard dick currently straining through his jeans. He hums in satisfaction, grabbing your wrists in one hand and holding them above your head. “If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.” He warns, his fucked-out expression as he looks at you, making your already wet center soaking.

Of course, this makes you grind on him again, the feeling of it too good to stop. He grips your wrists tighter in his hand, undoing his belt and taking it off his jeans. He then wraps it around your wrists, belting them together tight enough to where you can’t move them but not too tight to where it’s uncomfortable for you.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pausing to look into your eyes, searching for any hesitation. “Yes.” You respond, your heart racing and pussy throbbing so much it almost hurts. “Promise? Just tell me to stop if you need me to.” He says, sliding your silk shorts down your legs, discarding them on the floor.

“Yes, I promise.” You say back, anticipating his next move. He bites his lips, his eyes taking in your naked body, your lace panties the only thing left. “So beautiful, princess. Just for me.” he whispers as if he’s saying it to himself, but you hear him and you think you just might pass out from how sweet it sounds.

He pulls you slightly down the bed, your hips on the edge as he leans down, knees hitting the floor, his head now level between your legs.

His blue eyes burn into yours as he wraps your thighs around his face and wastes no time pulling your panties aside to let his tongue slick through your wet folds, up and down, side to side on your clit and then back down to tease your entrance. You cry out loudly, throwing your head back and squeeze your thighs around his head relentlessly which only makes him hold you in place even tighter, ensuring you’ll have more bruises in the morning.

The position he has you in and the constriction of his belt around your wrists is enough to send you over the edge. The feeling is indescribable, and your whole body is ablaze with euphoria.

It doesn’t take long until you feel yourself close to an orgasm as he moans dirty words against you. “Fuck baby, I missed you. I touched myself so many times remembering how good you taste.” His voice sends deep vibrations through you. “Are you gonna cum for me princess? I want you to cum all over my tongue.”

He then grabs your hips, guiding them to thrust against his face as you ride his tongue. “Oh my God, yes Chris!” You scream, letting him use your body to get off on him.  You cum hard, your body shaking as you continue to moan his name. He helps you ride it out, his hands gently rubbing your legs and thighs and he gets up to take the belt off, rubbing your wrists as well.

He kisses you softly as you catch your breath. You feel fueled by lust, the need to make him moan your name strong when you look him in the eyes, an idea popping into your head. “I want you fuck my throat.” You say, the surprise in his face makes you laugh but you’re serious as you sit up to unbutton his jeans and pull them down his legs.

“Yeah?” He responds, a playful fire in his eyes. “Mhm.” You hum, biting your lip and the innocent look in your eyes almost makes him lose it then and there. He stands up at the edge of the bed and you turn your body the opposite way, laying down flat so now your head hangs off the edge.  

“Tap my thigh if you need me to stop, okay?” He says, his breathing heavy as he pulls his dick out of his boxers and from the view you currently have, it looks huge, veins running along his shaft and precum oozing out of the tip. He brings it to your mouth, and you open to wrap your lips around it, your tongue swirling around him teasingly. “Fuck…” He whimpers lowly, trying to contain himself as he slides it further slowly, your saliva coating him.

 Your cheeks hollow around him and he pauses halfway, letting you adjust to him. He waits a few seconds before going deeper, brushing the back of your throat, making you slightly gag. He moans loudly at the feeling, which makes you hum around him. You are enjoying every minute of this.

He starts to slowly thrust himself down your throat, careful to pause every now and then when he feels you gag. But you quickly get used to it and reach up to grab his hand, motioning for him to continue. He picks up the pace, loud moans now leaving his mouth which only makes you wetter. “Fuuuuckk… Y/N. Feels so good.” He breathes out. He wants to cum down your throat so badly but at this point he needs to feel himself inside you more than he’s ever needed anything.

He pulls out and helps you back into an upright position on the bed, laying you down against the pillows. “Please tell me you’re on the pill.” He says, pulling your panties off and discarding them somewhere along with the pile of clothes forming on the floor. “Yes.” You respond, grateful you were because you wanted nothing more than to feel his bare skin against yours.

He takes your legs, spreading you open for him again and rubs his cock against your entrance teasingly. “Please, Chris. I need you.” You whimper, gripping his arms and wrapping your legs around his lower back. “No need to beg, sweetheart. You got me.” He responds as he pushes himself inside you.

You both moan in ecstasy at the feeling, your eyes rolling back as he continues to sink himself all the way into you. “God, Chris…” You say, a slight burning as you adjust to his size.

He groans loudy, thrusting into you slowly, the sight of your blissful expression and the way your tits bounce with each movement almost sending him over the edge. You meet his hips with yours each time, uncontrollable moans pouring out of you. “I love making you sound like this baby. Tell me only I can make you feel this good, Y/N.” He says, his breath shaky but his grip on your legs strong.

“Yes, Chris. Only you can do this to me. Feels so- ah- so gooood.” You respond, at this point ready to do anything he says. The feeling of him inside you is like no other. He moves harder and faster, hitting your g spot with each thrust.

You clench around him and he feels your wetness drip down his cock. The pleasure you give him is unmatched but the way he feels being close to you like this, your bodies becoming one has him in a state of bliss. He knows you’re close and wraps you tighter around him, his face falling to yours, one hand pressing into the mattress, the other hand pressing down slightly on your abdomen.

You cry out at the sensation, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging his hair.

“Can you cum again for me baby? Please… I wanna fill you up while you scream my name.” He says, his hips slamming into you, pounding you over and over again. “Please baby. Please cum for me.” The needy sound in his voice and the pace of his thrusting brings you to your second orgasm, clenching around his cock and releasing all over him.

Your whimpers are swallowed by him as he kisses you, his orgasm shortly coming after yours, spilling himself inside you. You both gasp for air, completely spent, and he stays there for a few minutes, holding you as you both catch your breath.

Once you both have settled down, he grabs a damp towel and cleans you up. You lay together, Chris rubbing circles on your back as you hold him. “Goodnight, princess.” He whispers and you both drift off to a peaceful sleep.

The next morning you and Chris spend exploring each other’s bodies in every possible way in the time you have left before you have to check out of the hotel.

Under the sheets, he covers every inch of your body in kisses. In the shower, he fucks you up against the glass, pulling your wet hair from behind you. On the couch, you ride him until your legs shake, while he whimpers in your ear.

When it came time for you to leave, you tried not to cry but it was bittersweet. You and Chris had shared something special, and you both agreed there was more between you two then just amazing sex.

He made you promise to call and text him anytime you could, and the good thing was, your hometown was on the East Coast which would make it easier for you guys to meet up when he visited Boston.

And you kept your promises while he kept his, each time you got to see each other was better than the last. You couldn’t get enough of each other, and he made you feel so comfortable in your own skin. You silently thanked the universe for putting the events of that night of the accident into motion because if you hadn’t met Chris, life wouldn’t be the same.

chris & y/n:

a/n: and there it is!!! my first series completed :) pleaseeee let me know what yall thought! matt series next???

[margowritesthings]

The French Are Glad To Die For Love

A Bridgerton x Moulin Rouge crossover

pairing: Colin Bridgerton x ? word count: 2.1k words warnings: 18+ minors DNI, un-beta'd, mentions of sex, spitting, lots of debauchery authors note: surpriiise! i have been sitting on this since part 1, so to celebrate part 2 tomorrow here's my new mini-series! i have never written for Colin before, so i'm nervous, but i loved writing this.

i also need your help! i cannot decide if this mini series should be Colin x reader or a Polin fic, where Penelope is Satine. I have created a poll here for you to vote, so please let me know!

and as always, enjoy! it's been a hot minute since I last published, so thank you if you're still here.

Bridgerton Masterlist

The stars sparkle especially brightly tonight, the crimson lanterns guiding Parisians and tourists alike through the winding streets, and Colin Bridgerton stands in awe of it all. 

He’d read stories, heard tales of this place during long nights at Whites, but nothing could have quite prepared him for what lay ahead of him, a long string of lights hanging in the sky leading the way to his destination. 

The Moulin Rouge. 

A house of debauchery and sin, of freedom and truth, filled to the brim with bohemians and artists and beautiful women unlike anything or anyone he’s ever seen before. Even now, 30 feet away from the illuminated windmill, he can hear the music and the joy spilling out from the building. His senses are filled with the perfume of hundreds of women passing him by the minute, all with real, toothy grins he rarely has the pleasure of seeing back home. It is far too impolite to be so happy in London society. 

Colin steps forwards, his boots crunching against the gravel and his coattails flying in the breeze. His shoulders brush more wonderfully merry, positively inebriated partygoers on his way in, catching odd fragments of conversations that would have scandalised him and his whole family were he elsewhere. 

But he wasn’t elsewhere. He was here, in the city of love, away from anybody who had ever known the name Bridgerton. His clean slate clutched close to his chest, waiting to find out what will be written on it next, Colin feels the fresh air on his face for the last time before his life is changed forever.

The heat hits him first, a symptom he knew all too well of too many people packed into a small space. But unlike every ball he’s been to, this doesn’t feel claustrophobic or fusty. It feels alive. 

There is a feast for the eye wherever one looks. Burlesque dancers showing off stockings and garters by kicking their legs up, toes pointing towards the aerial hoops holding acrobats hanging from the ceiling. Gentlemen, if you can call them that in this state, wearing top hats, arm in arm with their glasses raised high, spilling their contents all over the wooden floor. 

The music blasts loud from each instrument the band masterfully pluck or blow or bang, but laughter and conversation buzzes amongst the melodies. It is a near overwhelming amount of joy, one Colin certainly could use a drink to wash it down with. 

If he could just find the bar…

Bodies fill his view, so entangled in each other it is difficult to tell where one starts and another ends. Frilly skirts flow over the knees of suits as ladies dangle from the necks of patrons, sharing cigars and passing around bottles of an unknown green liquid. Rosy cheeks as far as the eye can see, wether from too much of that green stuff or the exertion of all that dancing, Colin can’t be sure. Between them all, in tiny empty spaces, he can just about make out rows of bottles and glasses. 

Weaving through the crowd is like treading through water, but their energy and joy seems to rub off on him. There isn’t a dance card in sight, women choosing their partners themselves whenever they like with a freedom Colin isn’t sure he’s ever seen before. Is this truly what people are designed to be when they are free?

Eventually, his hands find the sticky wood of the bar, quickly lifting themselves back off it on instinct at the sensation. When Colin looks to his left, he sees a woman pouring a shot of liquor between her breasts, a man knelt below her waiting to lick it back up, and he quickly realises why the bar feels so tacky- every surface here seems to be host to someone’s revelry. 

“Welcome to the Moulin Rouge, monsieur. Can I get you a drink?”

Colin’s attention is quickly pulled by the welcome, his gaze snapping to a tall French woman dripping with red jewels that compliment her rich brown skin perfectly. She is captivating to be sure, deep hazel eyes commanding Colin’s attention, competing with the most incredible curls of hair he has ever seen. Ladies of the ton are welcome no matter their race back home, but Colin has never seen a lady allowed to wear her hair so beautifully natural before. The Afro framing her face has more tiny rubies that sparkle under the cabaret lights, and Colin is speechless. 

“I…uh, pardon me, Miss, I-“ he sighs, giving up entirely at his failed attempt at decorum, “Is it so obvious I have never been here before?” 

She laughs, gems twinkling as her head shakes with mirth. 

“Not at all, but most gentlemen who have been here before know to wear a top hat. And there’s that look in your eye…” 

As she speaks, she pours out one finger of the green liquor Colin has spotted a few times already, sliding it along the wood towards him. 

“Wonder. Drink this. It will help with the nerves.” 

Colin looks down, finding himself fascinated with a drink that seems to glow of its own volition. He has smoked blends and meditated with world weary travellers from across the globe, drank tea containing unknown substances that left him staring at blades of grass as if they held the worlds secrets, and yet this… whatever it is, seems to terrify him.

The barmaid laughs again, that melodic sound with the real joy Colin very much enjoys. 

“It’s only absinthe, monsieur. Loosens the inhibitions, relaxes the body…” she explains, pouring a second out for herself and lifting it to him as if to prove her credibility. 

“Santé.” He toasts to health.

“Amour.” She toasts to something far greater.

It leaves no room for argument, and all Colin can do is lift his own glass and tap it against hers. 

It burns his tongue, leaving a fiery trail down his throat as he swallows and tries not to cough and splutter. A bitter yet herby anise flavour fights with his taste buds and seems to seep straight into his mind, teasing at those tense knots that held him back from fully immersing himself here. 

When his eyes eventually reopen, he finds the barmaid beaming at him, unphased by her own potion. Rather used to it, if she shares a glass with every newcomer, he should think.

“Be careful, though, monsieur. Many a man has spent a night with the stuff and swears he fell in love with a fairy dressed all in green. Ruined him for any other woman for the rest of his life…” She speaks words that belong in fairytale, with a tone containing such severity Colin is inclined to take every single one of them as gospel. 

“I dare say I should be careful, then. I do not think this green fairy would want to join the rest of my travels when she can instead entice all of Paris’ men to sin…” 

The residue of the liquor smells just as strong as the full measure, which Colin tries to blink out of his senses when he puts the glass back on the bar.

Almost as if society itself had cleared its throat at him, Colin remembers himself, remembers just where he is. Undoubtedly the most unique establishment he had ever set foot in, but an establishment all the same. 

“I beg your pardon, miss, I seem to forget myself. How much do I owe you for the drink?”

She considers him.

“Hm,  the absinthe I think… for you, a kiss.” 

Colin, already pulling coins from his breast pocket, pauses, a little grin tugging at the corner of his lip. The francs clink together when they fall back to the bottom of his pocket, a long forgotten currency of the past. It’s a perfect reminder of just how different things are here, how easily walls crumble between strangers and connection is offered so freely. He has never kissed a woman he has not paid for back home, so afraid of getting too close to another in case they ruin each other. Here, a beautiful woman leans over the bar, offering her flushed cheek for him to softly press his lips against. 

And he does. 

And it is lovely. 

“If any more handsome men capture the eye of Mademoiselle Belle, I will surely be out of business!” A loud, hearty voice pulls Colin from one blissful moment back into the party.

He regards a rather large man, clad in a red tailcoat and stunning golden waistcoat. His top hat, near the same to all the other gentlemen in the room but somehow grander, tops wild orange curls that match a fantastic handlebar moustache. A true ring leader to this wonderful circus of debauchery Colin has found himself in. 

“Harold Zidler, at your service. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge.” 

“Colin Bridgerton.” He replies, offering a hand that Harold seems bemused at. Unsurprising, considering what passes for currency around here. Nonetheless, Harold shakes the offered hand. 

”I must say, your establishment is rather…” he hesitates, unable to find a word in any language he has picked up along his travels that quite captures the Moulin Rouge. Perhaps he could blame the absinthe, or the intoxicating hedonism he feels rooting its way through his mind, hidden in the brass notes from the band and thrown with each cancan kick of one of the dancers that surrounds him. 

Luckily, Harold seems well used to this phenomenon. 

“Isn’t it? And you have seen nothing yet! I assume you are not from around here?”

”It is rather obvious, I have been told.” Colin adds a glance to Miss Belle, who’s skirt frills bounce in the lights while she shakes up a cocktail. He adds, “London.” 

”Well, Monsieur Bridgerton, I promise you that what we have here in the Moulin Rouge is unlike anything you have back home in London.” 

Colin’s eye is caught again across the room, as a beautiful woman with blonde tumbling waves spits a drink into a man’s mouth. 

“I am inclined to agree with you there.” 

It truly is unlike anything back home. Colin has travelled across Europe and back again, seen incredible sights and met wonderful people. He has felt that ease that distance from London society and its unwritten laws and social rules that bind him back home can bring. He’s seen beauty and felt freedom and thought he might have found truth somewhere along the way, but it pales to whatever is contained within these four walls. 

In truth, it couldn’t be farther from London society.

”Just wait until you see my Diamond, Monsieur.”

… Perhaps not. 

Intrigue hits Colin as Harold pulls out a pocket watch on a brilliant gold chain. 

“Your diamond?”

”My Sparkling Diamond. The main attraction of the Moulin Rouge, my most sought after little chickee.” He speaks proudly, with a mist in his eye Colin normally finds on ambitious Mamas at grand balls, secretly trying to auction their daughters off to the highest rank. 

“I do not believe she is booked yet for tonight…” Harold adds, that mist darkening, disappearing, leaving a shiver stuck between Colin’s shoulder blades.

Not because this Diamond is a courtesan. Colin is hardly a stranger to the profession, and he bears no judgement. In truth, he admires the women he has been known to spend the night with, finding the courage of living outside society so freely quite brave indeed. No, that shiver came from Harold entirely, Colin just cannot figure out why. 

Harold excuses himself, though makes sure Colin knows to stay for the show, and Colin orders a whiskey on the rocks, insisting on paying in cash this time. Though singular in person, he has never felt less alone in his life. Looking around, there isn’t an empty chair in the house. If there were, there wouldn’t be room to put it down for all the dancers and patrons enjoying every ounce of the world they can. Music played straight from the soul ringing in his ears, Colin could make out every instrument. The lights dazzled in his eyes and the spot caught him every so often, lighting his drink up in his hand like golden ambrosia. 

And then, darkness. Silence. 

A single spot, though the mirrors scattered around catch the light and illuminate the faces of the people around him. Everybody is looking upwards, as if they all know she is coming. 

Even if he did know, Colin could never have prepared himself for what he saw when he looked up.

Who he saw.

The Sparkling Diamond, shimmering high on a swing hanging from the ceiling. 

The most beautiful, breathtaking, person he has ever seen. In any city, on any continent in the world. 

Crimson lips part as each and every person hangs on the breath she takes.

”The French are glad to die for love…”

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