#Dorset Days Out

[rosemaryhelenxo]

Back, Neck, Shoulder and Scalp Massage: An In-depth Experience of Westover Beauty in Bournemouth, Dorset | Review - PR Event

Previously I was invited along to experience getting my nails done as acrylics for the first time at Westover Beauty in Bournemouth to get my first set of acrylics done! I was kindly invited back to enjoy a massage by their new therapist Ana! I’ve tried my fair share of salons and massages in my career as a beauty blogger, and I couldn’t wait to share my experience with others through this…

[wonder-worker]

Queens could, of course, be involved in more overtly worldly patronage, often in an intercessory role. A well-documented example is the involvement of the Mercers' Company of London with Elizabeth Woodville in the late 1470s. The queen first interceded for the merchants in 1478, regarding a "fraye" between the king's servants and some London citizens. By December 1479 the company had a much more serious problem; it owed the king an onerous sum for non-payment of its subsidy, and for its alleviation it looked to both Elizabeth and the king's chamberlain (William, Lord Hastings). From the beginning the queen's abilities were recognized as exceptional, not only by the company but by Hastings, who encouraged the merchants to cultivate her rather than himself. In January 1480, after the merchants had given "grete lawde & thanke" to their court connections, including Thomas Grey and "the lord Ryvers", they reported that Hastings had cautioned them "to be more secrete of theyre frendes and that non avaunt be made who that is frendly and laboureth for us Except the quenes good grace oonly, whiche that is, & always hath ben, oure verrey good & gracious lady in the said mater & c.". Evidently dealing with the queen alone would get the company into less political trouble than open lobbying of her relatives -- an indication, perhaps, that Elizabeth was not considered one and the same with "the Woodvilles".

By 8 January 1480, the queen had managed to convince Edward to forgive 500 marks (£333 6s. lOd.) of the fine, and the company decided that she was their most promising option; four days later the fine was further reduced by the same amount.

-Derek Neal, "The Queen's Grace: English Queenship 1464-1503"

[childoftheriver]

Another beautiful pic from Prog Magazine. I’ve gone through every episode of Hargreaves show I could find online but I can’t find this one! Caption by Regina.

[stegzy]

Trip to the seaside

It’s bank holiday and lovely weather so what better than a trip to the seaside for fish and chips, ice cream and a lovely walk by the sea. Mrs G suggested Swanage and that she would drive, so I thought why not. Let’s begin with a bit of driving past Oxford Roads were fairly empty at 9am on a Bank Holiday Saturday then typically hit traffic at Bournemouth But it’s quicker by chain ferry I see…

[blueiscoool]

Gigantic Skull of Prehistoric Sea Monster Found on England’s ‘Jurassic Coast’

The remarkably well-preserved skull of a gigantic pliosaur, a prehistoric sea monster, has been discovered on a beach in the county of Dorset in southern England, and it could reveal secrets about these awe-inspiring creatures.

Pliosaurs dominated the oceans at a time when dinosaurs roamed the land. The unearthed fossil is about 150 million years old, almost 3 million years younger than any other pliosaur find. Researchers are analyzing the specimen to determine whether it could even be a species new to science.

Originally spotted in spring 2022, the fossil, along with its complicated excavation and ongoing scientific investigation, are now detailed in the upcoming BBC documentary “Attenborough and the Jurassic Sea Monster,” presented by legendary naturalist Sir David Attenborough, that will air February 14 on PBS.

Such was the enormous size of the carnivorous marine reptile that the skull, excavated from a cliff along Dorset’s “Jurassic Coast,” is almost 2 meters (6.6 feet) long. In its fossilized form, the specimen weighs over half a metric ton. Pliosaurs species could grow to 15 meters (50 feet) in length, according to Encyclopaedia Britannica.

The fossil was buried deep in the cliff, about 11 meters (36 feet) above the ground and 15 meters (49 feet) down the cliff, local paleontologist Steve Etches, who helped uncover it, said in a video call.

Extracting it proved a perilous task, one fraught with danger as a crew raced against the clock during a window of good weather before summer storms closed in and the cliff eroded, possibly taking the rare and significant fossil with it.

Etches first learned of the fossil’s existence when his friend Philip Jacobs called him after coming across the pliosaur’s snout on the beach. Right from the start, they were “quite excited, because its jaws closed together which indicates (the fossil) is complete,” Etches said.

After using drones to map the cliff and identify the rest of the pliosaur’s precise position, Etches and his team embarked on a three-week operation, chiseling into the cliff while suspended in midair.

“It’s a miracle we got it out,” he said, “because we had one last day to get this thing out, which we did at 9:30 p.m.”

Etches took on the task of painstakingly restoring the skull. There was a time he found “very disillusioning” as the mud, and bone, had cracked, but “over the following days and weeks, it was a case of …, like a jigsaw, putting it all back. It took a long time but every bit of bone we got back in.”

It’s a “freak of nature” that this fossil remains in such good condition, Etches added. “It died in the right environment, there was a lot of sedimentation … so when it died and went down to the seafloor, it got buried quite quickly.”

Fearsome top predator of the seas

The nearly intact fossil illuminates the characteristics that made the pliosaur a truly fearsome predator, hunting prey such as the dolphinlike ichthyosaur. The apex predator with huge razor-sharp teeth used a variety of senses, including sensory pits still visible on its skull that may have allowed it to detect changes in water pressure, according to the documentary.

The pliosaur had a bite twice as powerful as a saltwater crocodile, which has the world’s most powerful jaws today, according to Emily Rayfield, a professor of paleobiology at the University of Bristol in the United Kingdom who appeared in the documentary. The prehistoric marine predator would have been able to cut into a car, she said.

Andre Rowe, a postdoctoral research associate of paleobiology at the University of Bristol, added that “the animal would have been so massive that I think it would have been able to prey effectively on anything that was unfortunate enough to be in its space.”

By Issy Ronald.

[resident-dumb-fuck]

richard iii dashboard simulator. i thought it would be funny and here we are

🐗halfhearteddickjoke

what if i caused problems on purpose <3

0 notes

🐗halfhearteddickjoke

oh no... i cant believe the king is having my brother killed... oh noooo

#FUCK YOU GEORGE

3 notes

💥ladyanne Follow

man i miss my husband and father in law

🐗halfhearteddickjoke

hey

💥ladyanne

shut the fuck up you literally killed them??? get off my post

🐗halfhearteddickjoke

can i try rizzing you up

💥ladyanne

um. sure?

🐗halfhearteddickjoke

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

💥ladyanne

i can't believe i'm saying this but this is kind of working.

🧍‍♂️gentleman-retainer

anyone else in this thread smoke weed

958 notes

🌹lancaster-official Follow

you all suck.

@/elizabeth-woodville your son will die and you will be deposed and youre gonna die SAD and ALONE.

@/river-severn @/dorset-sheep and @/billhastings you're gonna get executed

@/halfhearteddickjoke hm. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU. nobody hang out with this conniving bitch i hate him i hate him so much and i am three seconds away from killing him constantly.

🐦fuckinghim Follow

get off tumblr margaret we're in court

🌹lancaster-official

he's not gonna want you as his boytoy forever

🐦fuckinghim

WE'RE NOT EVEN IN A RELATIONSHIP??????

🌹lancaster-official

i've seen you talk to him. i know what you are

5000 notes

🗼mr-london-tower Follow

just heard george duke of clarence say "snork mimi" aloud i'm gonna [remembers that suicide jokes do nothing for my mental health] request to be moved away from guarding his cell

🗼mr-london-tower

update: so it turns out the malmsey wine is unusable, for related reasons to this man.

#fuckin. dead body in the malmsey. cant have nice things around here #i hate my job so bad

94 notes

eddie-baby-deactivated

yayyy everybody is friends now :)

🐗halfhearted-dick-joke

dude you literally killed clarence??? you cant be having other people making friends youre a murderer

eddie-baby-deactivated

WHAT THE FUCK I THOUGHT I CANCELED THAT ORDER???

🐗halfhearted-dick-joke

you killed that guy man what the fuck. you cant be doing that

764 notes

👗elizabeth-woodville Follow

I regret to inform you all that the king has died.

5 notes

✨cecily-not-sicily Follow

dude my sons GOTTA stop dying. this is so fucked.

3 notes

🐗halfhearteddickjoke

i do so love to cause problems on purpose :)

#sorry to any family members of lords rivers, vaughan, and grey. um. you will not be seeing them anymore! <3

1285 notes

🐦fuckinghim Follow

preteens are so scary for no reason??? had to interact with two for work and like. they suck so bad. "i fear no uncles dead" shut the fuck up you smartass little shit. also had to explain to them the history of the tower of london which. i don't fucking know that shit! i don't know who built the tower of london! it sure as fuck wasn't julius caesar!

7 notes

#️⃣billhastings Follow

SOMEONE has got to stop waking me up in the middle of the night to hear their dreams

#️⃣billhastings

oh what the fuck.

607 notes

🍓bishop-ely Follow

crazy day at work today

#never go outside to get strawberries worst mistake of my life #came back in the room and they were accusing hastings of witchcraft. like sure yeah i guess

20 notes

🐦fuckinghim Follow

richard duke of gloucester should be king because not only are edward v and richard duke of york illegitimate but also so was edward iv. also richard duke of gloucester is just. kind of an all around good guy! as opposed to edward iv who ah. how do i put this in a manner that isn't horribly offensive. yeah okay figured it out. not a great person! unpleasant to be around!

also if you wanna know what was up with hastings he was a traitor don't worry about it.

954 notes

💥ladyanne Follow

RICHARD. RICHARD WHEN I CATCH YOU RICHARD. WHAT DO YOU MEAN KING OF ENGLAND

2 notes

🐦fuckinghim Follow

shit dude that one vine wasn't lying. what the fuck richard

#i have to leave immediately. jesus fucking christ man.

500 notes

🐗halfhearteddickjoke

yay king of england :) i will be very good at this i feel

#everybody's always like "what the fuck richard you can't kill two kids" or "why would you do that" and never like "was it fun having those preteens killed. it looked fun"

0 notes

🌹lancaster-official Follow

@/halfhearteddickjoke FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

submitted by @/elizabeth-woodville

90 notes

🐗halfhearteddickjoke

wow everything is going so bad. what the entire shit @/fuckinghim

2 notes

🐦fuckinghim Follow

ughhh margaret was right. NOT ABOUT THE BOYTOY THING

307 notes

®️henry-twoder-or-something Follow

hi ive been here the whole time. ive done the math and i do technically have a claim to the throne :)

83 notes

🐗halfhearteddickjoke

i cant believe im saying this but i did just have an ebenezer scrooge moment. god i hate it here.

#maybe i am a bad person

54 notes

®️henry-twoder-or-something Follow

wow richard has died :) i cant believe i am the king now! yayyyy

2 notes

🚣‍♂️resident-dumb-fuck Follow

final message from op! sorry everyone. im so annoying about this forever

[newtonsheffield]

Now I can't stop imagining Anthony going to Kates office with Neddy on another occasion and getting super jealous of her after he sees her talking with one Thomas Dorset.

Oh imagine Anthony stopping dead when he goes to take Kate lunch with Neddy one day and there’s a man leaning over the desk to talk to the love of Anthony’s life. The fucking audacity.

“Amma!”

Neddy caught her attention and Anthony was a little satisfied at how quickly she dropped the conversation with the other man, kissing Neddy’s face all over.

“Hi, Baby. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“We brought food!”

Kate grinned up at Anthony and he had to bite back a smug smile over her shoulder at the other man. “Hey you.”

“Hey.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, “Little Man and I thought we’d surprise you.”

“Well, I’m glad. Always happy to flirt with you over lunch.”

Anthony couldn’t stop his smug smile this time as he put his hand on Neddy’s shoulder and held his hand out to the man. “Hi mate, I’m Anthony. Neddy’s Dad.”

“Tom.” The man smiled tightly, “Great to meet you.”

“Amma! Let’s eat!”

Kate let out a playful growl as she lifted Neddy into her arms. “Let me guess… you tricked Daddy into getting chicken nuggets.”

“Yeah!”

“Daddy and Amma have something a bit more highbrow.”

“Eh, I don’t mind chicken nuggets when a handsome boy brings me them.”

“Me or Neddy?”

“Why not both?”

“I’ll see you around Tom.”

Anthony smiled at Tom, the unlucky prick. “See you Mate. Nice to meet you.”

And he couldn’t resist smiling at Tom once more over his shoulder when he wrapped his arm around Kate’s waist.

[lookingfts]

Thank you for your meet-cute ideas! I love them all and may write more of them, but for tonight I chose this idea from @rk19991999, so thank you!

He’d never felt more out of place.

The wedding was beautiful, of course. Dorset seemed happy, exchanging hushed words on the dance floor with his new bride. A lovely girl. Edwina – that was her name. To be fair, Anthony had only met her for about five seconds when they visited his table at dinner.

Daphne and Simon, the only other people he knew, had bowed out a bit early – Daphne’s pregnancy was making her regularly queasy. Anthony couldn’t quite recall, now, why he hadn’t made an excuse to leave with them.

Oh, right. The bridesmaid.

Edwina’s sister was very likely the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. He nearly dropped his phone when she walked down the aisle, draped in colorful fabric and heavy gold jewelry. Anthony rustled a floral decoration rather loudly, and the sister had looked at him sharply. He was torn between wanting the ground to swallow him whole and catching his breath, because really, she was fucking beautiful.

She’d recovered, and so had he, and then she had been surrounded by family all night. Anthony was certainly not above hitting on an attractive woman at a wedding, but to do it front of her relatives felt…uncouth.

After a while, he lost sight of her altogether, and swallowed down the rest of his champagne. He was happy for Dorset, genuinely, but it was long past time to make his exit.

Anthony stood, and a slim hand wrapped around his wrist. He turned to find the sister, her eyes urgent and her cheeks a little flushed. “Hi,” she said in a low voice. “Are you single?”

“Um. Yes?”

“Good. I’ll give you fifty pounds if you play along with what’s about to happen. An extra fifty if you kiss me right now.”

His first instinct was to tell this woman that he didn’t need the money, actually, and then realized that was an extremely stupid thing to lead with. Especially since he’d spent the whole night staring at her from across the room.

Tipping her chin up with his thumb, Anthony pressed his lips to hers gently. He didn’t want to push too far, but her skin was so soft under his palm and she tasted like mango and it was making him more than a little stupid.

Her nails raked through his hair, her mouth moving more insistently against his, and an embarrassing moan formed in his throat. Even more so when she nipped at his bottom lip, drawing back with dark, blown eyes and shallow breaths.

Christ, he wanted to take her home. Or – scratch that. Somewhere closer. A hotel room. A powder room. His car. This table right in front of them.

“Kathani!” He jumped at the voice behind him, forgetting for a moment that they were playing some kind of role. She tucked herself into Anthony’s side as three older woman descended on them, and he reciprocated, sliding his arm around her waist and holding her tight against him. His heart was still pounding, and he wondered if she could feel it as she placed her hand on his chest.

“This is David,” Kathani said, and he realized with some satisfaction that she sounded breathless as well. “My fiancé.”

--

“I’m sorry about that,” she sighed, linking her fingers together behind his neck. “The aunties are relentless.”

It had been quite the interrogation. Anthony wasn’t sure how to convincingly fake a relationship with a woman he’d literally never met, but Kathani had a quick answer to everything. They’d met on the tube; he was a surgeon; she wasn’t wearing her ring because they didn’t want to draw attention away from Edwina’s big day. Anthony had been happy to stare at her adoringly and hum his agreement at appropriate intervals. The aunties probably thought he was dim-witted, but they had called him handsome several times.

Finally, she’d tugged Anthony onto the dance floor, blending in with the sea of couples. “What happens when I’m not actually a surgeon named David and we don’t get married?”

Her eyes went wide. “Fuck! I never even asked your name.”

“It’s Anthony,” he said with a chuckle.

“I’m Kate,” she responded, wrinkling up her nose in a very endearing way. “Kathani, of course, but only my family calls me that. And to answer your question, I don’t care. Eddie’s wedding just brought out the vultures and I didn’t feel like being told everything I need to change about myself to attract a man’s attention.”

“Ouch. My mum kind of does the same thing, to be fair.” They shared a laugh, and Anthony felt his heart turn over in his chest. Her laugh was as stunning as the rest of her. “You don’t need to change anything, by the way. I almost disrupted your sister’s whole wedding because you took my breath away, walking down the aisle.”

She stiffened a little, blinking up at him through long lashes. Maybe it was too much, but Kate deserved to know that she was not lacking, at least not in his eyes. Whatever she did with that information was her choice.

A soft flush rose in her cheeks as she sank her teeth into her lip. “I, um…” Kate cleared her throat. “I might have chosen you as my fake fiancé because I liked the way you looked at me.”

Anthony did an internal cheer of victory. He was suddenly glad that he’d been too stubborn to leave the party early. Waiting for a chance that had turned out much better than he could have imagined. “Well, I am willing to keep up the pretense. Take you out for dinner, you know. Learn your life story so I can actually contribute to the lie next time. The aunties definitely thought there was nothing going on upstairs, if you know what I mean.”

Kate snorted, biting back a smile as her fingers played with the fine hairs at the back of his neck. “We should work on the kissing, too. A solid first effort, but I think we can get better.”

“Of course,” he agreed with mock seriousness. “We can’t half-arse it, can we?”

[fayes-fics]

Doctor’s Orders

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Someone decides to play doctor to ameliorate your bad day…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, doctor/patient roleplay, dom/sub tones, ‘medical examination’ with use of stethoscope and latex gloves, voluntary breathplay, cardiophilia, vaginal fingering, edging.

Word Count: 4.5 k

Authors Note: this is a long-awaited (9 months!) request fill for the lovely @eleanor-bradstreet. My dear, I hope this is somewhat worth the wait. To anyone medically trained, yes, I know what he does is wrong/inaccurate, but that’s the whole point: he’s a somewhat clueless but enthusiastic roleplaying boy, not a real doctor. Thank you to @colettebronte for the read-through and suggestions. Enjoy! <3

It’s been one of those spectacularly shit days at work. When you get to your boyfriend’s flat, all you want to do is shower, crash out and watch brainless TV together.

“Bad day?” Benedict intuits, wandering over from the kitchen, casual in shorts and a t-shirt, as you drop your bag like a tonne of bricks near his front door and pout.

“Hate my job,” you whine, burying your head into his shoulder as he chuckles affectionately, pulling you into his arms and busses a kiss onto your temple.

“No, you don’t; you love your job. You just didn’t love it today,” he smiles into your hair.

“Urgh, fine, yes, Mr EQ, yes, that's true,” you huff his neck, enjoying his clean scent.

“Come with me, my stressed-out noodle,” he offers good-naturedly, withdrawing from the embrace and lacing your fingers with his. He backs up, pulling you along with him further into the flat.

“Where are we going?” you pout again.

“To eat, I made us dinner,” he smiles, something melting in your chest at the sweet gesture. 

“Do I have time to shower first?” you ask, wanting to remove all physical traces of this workday from your skin.

“Of course, be my guest,” he nods towards his room, with the en suite bathroom beyond, and you drop a kiss on his cheek as you go.

—

Fifteen minutes later, you emerge freshly showered and wearing some of his clothes- a t-shirt that swamps you and jogging bottoms you have to roll up at the waist. You take a seat at the kitchen island and tuck into the amazing-smelling food he has laid out, even giving you a comedic bow as you reenter the room.

The food tastes like heaven, and you can't stop the appreciative moans at the flavour explosion on your tongue.

“Fuck Ben, this is delicious,” you assert as you swallow the mouthful.

His face lights up with that beguiling smile that hooked you in the first place all those months ago, and you can't help but lean in and give him a quick peck.

“So do you want to talk about the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day? Or is this more of a big glass of wine and stfu sort of deal?“ he hedges amiably, assessing your needs.

You sigh as you finish your next bite. “Honestly? I don't know. I’m so stressed about it all I sort of don’t want to talk about it. I feel like I need to be one of those Regency ladies who is prescribed a trip to the seaside for my nerves, you know?” you jest, circling your empty fork in the air to highlight your point.

He barks a laugh. “Funny you should say that; I was just reading a book about hilarious historical cures.”

“Yeah…?” your interest piqued.

“Dorset left it out,” he explains, referring to his roommate, a junior doctor at Guys Hospital. “It's hilarious. But I don't think they would diagnose you with a trip to the seaside, at least not based on what I’ve read.”

You swivel on your stool to face him. “Oh no? Then what would I have been prescribed, Dr Bridgerton?” you jest, leaning your chin on your hand and arching a challenging brow. But you don't miss how his pupils dilate a fraction as you address him such.

He turns towards you with a laconic smile. “You likely would have been prescribed a course of pelvic stimulations.”

You are glad you hadn't taken another bite of dinner, as you would have sprayed him with food with that spit take.

“What?!? No!” you laugh incredulously.

“Don't believe me? Go look,” he challenges, gesturing to the book on the coffee table.

“So… Is that what I think it is? Women would literally be told, medically, to masturbate?” you giggle, disbelieving.

“Oh no,” he corrects. “You wouldn't do it; the doctor would.”

“What the…??”

“Yup… ‘to alleviate the female hysterics’,” he chimes, affecting an old-timely announcer voice.

“With what?” you ponder aloud, still utterly perplexed.

“Hands, I would assume,” he breezes. “Why? Would you like a helping hand?” he winks, wiggling his eyebrows comically.

“I mean….” you trail off, still laughing but feeling a tiny buzz between your legs at the idea. “I'm not going to say no… Doctor Bridgerton,” you banter back.

Benedict puts down his fork, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his bite of food and turns slowly towards you, an enigmatic glint in his eye.

“Well, now, you will need a thorough medical examination before I can determine if such a prescription is even the correct one,” he throws out, still with a jovial air, but the dropped octave is decidedly suggestive.

“How long until I can get an appointment?” you shoot back, feeling the atmosphere in the room shift, the dynamic between you playful but with a definite undercurrent of heat now.

“The doctor is always in… for you,” he answers, a hand landing heavily on your knee. “If you are ready, please go wait in the exam room,” Benedict responds, signalling to the sofa, that hand squeezing slightly. “The doctor can be right with you.”

You giggle and shoot him a ‘Are we really doing this?’ look. When he nods, you wiggle off the stool and drift over to the sectional as he disappears down the hallway, your half-eaten dinners now very much abandoned. Little butterflies in your stomach as you perch, eagerly awaiting his return.

When he re-enters the room, you almost forget how to breathe. He has obviously raided his flatmate's room and come out wearing a white doctor’s overcoat, his shapely calves bare beneath the hem, a stethoscope slung casually around his shoulders. He has also dug out his reading glasses to complete the look. He is so utterly convincing you don't know what to think, except…. Oh fuck yes.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n,” he greets, stepping effortlessly into the roleplay. “I'm Dr Bridgerton. Tell me, what ails you today?” 

He sits on the coffee table right in front of you, looking at you expectantly for your response.

“Hello, doctor,” you begin, stilted, still a little discombobulated by his appearance and how utterly aroused you are by it. “I… I am overworked in my job and don't know the best way to relieve the stress I feel….” 

“Well, I am sorry to hear that. Let us do a basic examination so I can rule out any possible physical ailments and go from there.” Before you can respond, he produces disposable gloves from his overcoat pocket and snaps them on, your tummy fluttering at the sight of them pulling taunt around his long fingers. 

Oh, he means it.

He leans in, his hands cupping your jaw, warm even through the latex. You whimper quietly, realising he is pretending to feel the lymph nodes beneath your ear for swelling. But he doesn't let go; he just stares you down, his eyes glittering in the lamp glow. 

“Say ahhh,” he prompts.

You open your mouth instinctively, just like at the doctor’s. He pivots a hand so his thumb gently presses down on your tongue as he peers into your mouth.

“Hmm, I see no evidence of an oral infection. But I should check via other means too, to be thorough,” he murmurs, pupils dilating as you cheekily close your lips around his thumb and suck on it suggestively. The powdery flavour on the glove somehow just heightens the heat you feel spreading inside.

“Behave please, Miss,” he rebukes, but his actions say otherwise - extracting his thumb and trailing your saliva in a line down over your chin, your neck, resting it in your suprasternal notch as his fingers curl around your neck and tug you towards him.

His kiss is deep and breathtaking. His tongue unfurls into your mouth and probes yours as if this, too, is a thorough examination. You follow his lead, letting him dictate the terms, wanting to follow wherever he is going with this.

“I think we can rule out anything in your mouth being the problem,” he opines drolly over your lips. 

“Thank you, doctor,” you respond coquettish.

“Let me listen to your lungs to ensure there are no respiratory problems. Remove your clothing, please,” he orders brusquely, sitting back.

“All of it?” you inhale sharply.

“I suppose just your top for now,” he revises, looking a tad impatient.

When you whip off the top to reveal you are without a bra, his eyes flash, and the tip of his tongue pokes out as your nipples pebble in the cool air of the room. A wave of something behind your ribs as he unfurls the stethoscope from around his neck and places it in his ears.

“Please keep your hands at your sides at all times. And beware, this may be cold,” he warns.

You squeak as the cool metal is placed onto the flesh above your left breast, your hands curling around the sofa edge by your thighs so you keep them as told.

“Breath in deeply for me,” he instructs, and you do, taking a deep inhale, feeling your body bloom with his proximity as his face squints in concentration. When he doesn't say exhale, you hold, unsure what else to do, your lungs feeling tight. It seems much longer than necessary. “And out”

He drags the bell over your sternum to the same spot on the right side. 

“Again” he orders. You follow the instructions, taking a deep breath. “Hold it,” he alerts, as you start to feel the struggle for air. You do his bidding, feeling that trademark ache under your ribs under the exertion. “And release,” he instructs just as you want to disobey.

“Good,” he rumbles, “just one more.”

You pant lightly as he drags the scope down between your breasts, then jump as he presses it low into the sensitive spot where your ribs meet on your diaphragm. 

“In and hold.”

As you do, he tilts forward and suddenly seizes a nipple between his teeth. You make a strangled noise in your closed mouth, a zipping thrill right down to your clit. The surprise makes air escape out your nose, fingers grasping the cushion.

“No,” he gruffs into your breast, not looking up at you. “I told you to hold. You hold your breath until I say you can release,” he lectures. “Now breath in and hold it,” his voice taking on a steely edge that makes your pussy constrict.

Wordlessly, you do as told, and this time, he swaps to your other nipple, biting down, then lathing with his hot tongue as you struggle—tight lungs, intense pressure behind your cheeks. The thronging pleasure around where he teases you makes it an almost impossible task; starting to struggle a little, your body twitching, fingers and toes flexing.

“Let it out,” he permits, and you open your mouth, the air escaping in a loud ‘pahhhh’ sound.

“Well, I think your lungs sound very healthy,” he breezes nonchalantly as if this is just how a doctor does an exam.

“That’s good,” you defer to his faux expertise even as you feel his saliva drying on your areola. 

“Now, let's test your heart,” he proceeds, pulling the stethoscope from his ears so it rests around his neck. “Remove the rest of your clothing now, please, Miss.”

“Is that strictly necessary, doctor? Just to listen to my heart?” you waver, even as your hands go to the ties at your waistband.

“I am the doctor here, am I not?” he counters, raising a brow.

“Yes,” you demure, a pulse around your clit at how thoroughly he inhabits this role.

“You may find it easier to stand,” he chuckles as he watches you shuffling, struggling to remove your bottoms while seated. 

So you do as he suggests, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin around your belly button as you push the loose jersey material over the swell of your hips. He growls at the other surprise lurking—you wear no underwear, your bare slit inches from his face as the clothing pools around your feet, now utterly naked.

“Is this okay, doctor?” you simper, looking down at him sitting on the coffee table as he finally tilts his head to look at your face.

“Lay down on the exam table,” he commands, his pointer finger jabbing towards the chaise.

“Make me…”

Your tongue rebels before your brain can engage, wanting to see how much he will take control if you act out. He springs to his feet, towering over you, inches from you, and grasps the nape of your neck, forcing you to look up at him.

“Are you questioning my methods?” he interrogates, his hold strong but not hurting.

Oh, yes, Benedict, well done.

“No, Doctor,” you simper, attempting to look innocent but knowing your eyes must be fully dilated by now, distracted by the pulse you see in his throat.

“I need to be very thorough before I can diagnose you accurately, Miss,” he cautions. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, doctor.” 

“Good. Now lay down,” he instructs brusquely, releasing his grip.

You drop to the sofa and lay out for him, a thrill zipping over your skin. He places a large cushion beneath your neck and head so you are tilted up and can see down the plain of your naked body.

“Now be very still and be very quiet. Keep your hands at your sides. Whatever I do to you is to ensure your heart is healthy. Do you understand me?” he tutors, his eyes roaming your body covetously.

“Yes, doctor,” you confirm, knowing your chest is rising and falling rapidly, the anticipation burning in your being.

He places the stethoscope directly over your heart and loops it back into his ears, the cool metal now a balm against your flushed skin.

“You have a good strong heartbeat,” he states casually, “But it is a little slow for my liking….”

His gloved hand loops around the leg closest to him and hauls it wide into his lap, your knee brushing a prominent bulge under the overcoat that makes your insides clench at the very thought of his cock.

“Stay still.” 

His clipped reminder is delivered as he trails his fingertips along your inner thigh, his other hand still holding the stethoscope against your chest. Your breath stutters as his latex-covered fingers nudge your folds, already weeping.

“Well, I see there is certainly no problem with your ability to get aroused,” he intones smokily with a tantalising brush over your clit. 

His moves are unrushed, his touch maddeningly light, not nearly enough, barely a glance over your soaked flesh, making you ache for more. After a few moments, you whine and defiantly attempt to push into his touch.

“Did I not tell you to be still and quiet?” he arches an eyebrow, and you pout but still yourself and fold your lips inwards under your teeth. “That’s better. Now let's see what happens when I….”

He expertly plunges two long fingers into your pussy, your arousal leaking over his gloves as he does so. He hisses his approval at your heated cling, pushing deep as you swallow your gasp, biting your lip to prevent any more sound from escaping. His fingers hook, and his wrist twists in slow corkscrew turns, dragging thoroughly over your walls as if giving you an internal exam. You crave more: more fingers, movement, friction, more of anything, your fingernails scratching against the fibres of the sofa, keeping them at your sides as told, even as you itch to grab his wrist and direct his motions.

“Interesting,” he mutters, his fingers swirling slowly, probing inside as he drags the scope fractionally on your sternum.

You utter a silent curse, your body already quivering. The room filled only with the sound of your ragged breathing and the sodden noise from between your legs as he leisurely rocks his gloved fingers into and out of your pussy, you suctioning around his knuckles, the stretch with each stroke making you want to beg for him to make you come.

“Your heart is definitely strong,” he declares, “but I think we need to put it to the test properly.”

His thumb presses onto your clit, and it's like a lightning bolt through your being. Something about the fact it's not his skin on yours lends an extra frisson. You can feel the warmth of his pad behind the latex barrier as he flicks against your swollen nub.

“More, please, Doctor Bridgerton, please,” you entreat desperately, attempting to tilt your pelvis to ride his hand.

He groans at your use of his name, not chastising you for vocalising. His rigid cock brushes your knee held in his lap as he surges his hips fractionally, your legs spread obscenely wide as he finger fucks you, his stethoscope leaving a circular imprint on your chest, almost bearing his weight into your skin. God help you both if his flatmate cuts his night shift short.

“Your bpm is rising,” he reports as his fingers move faster, wringing filthy noises from your body now, pushing harder with every stroke, his thumb circling your clit with unerring pressure. You just moan a litany of ‘Dr Ben’, and ‘yes’ and ‘please don’t stop’ as you spiral higher.

“That's it, yes, that's what I like to hear,” he encourages, “it's like music.” 

Even you can tell your heart is thumping now, hearing it loud in your own ears as the blood rushes to your head. Just as you are about to crest, he suddenly stops his ministrations and withdraws his fingers. You cry out as he rests the soaked glove on your lower belly, pressing down softly from the outside on that spot that aches for more, your own juices dripping down between your bum cheeks.

“Shhh shh,” he pacifies, the scope he still holds with his other hand feeling heavy on your flesh as his prideful gaze travels up your panting body, gleeful at his ability to do this to you. 

You plead with your eyes as his eyes finally reach your face, silently asking him to finish.

“Wonderful, your heartbeat is so strong in my ears,” he sounds almost wistful, dreamy. 

Your breathing slows, even as you feel the burn of an orgasm so denied, your pelvis throning, your clit painfully engorged.

“Hmm, let’s go again, shall we?” he smirks.

That’s all the warning you get before he plunges his fingers back inside, this time using three, the latex glove squeaking slightly around his palm. You scream and cant your body up off the sofa to the point he briefly lets go of the scope; his glove presses down on your diaphragm, forcing you back flat so you cannot ride his fingers like you want to.

“Please, doctor…” you beseech, voice reedy and wanton, uncaring about anything but being hurled over that divine edge.

“The more you ask, the less I am inclined to deliver,” he menaces. “I will just edge you all night and listen to your heart thumping so hard for me it sounds like it wants to break out from under your ribs.” he jerks the scope pointedly over your breastbone. 

You close your eyes and bite your lip, resigning yourself to obey. That he might keep you on edge for so long, you cannot bear—you need to come like you need air.

His handsome face is smug as he once again probes your body from inside, almost experimenting based on the tiny whimpers you make. He jabs a spot that makes your entire body spasm, and a crooked, dangerous smile spreads over his features.

“Oh, look what we have found,” his chest resonant with pitch, the tone dark and sweet.

Once again, you beg silently, but he indulges in the tease. Tapping gently on the spot rather than rocking into it, a slow, gentle touch that makes every nerve jangle, like an itch you cannot scratch hard enough.

“I love to see you like this,” he admits breathily as he keeps us at that vexing pace. “So strung out and desperate to come. You would do anything I told you to right now, wouldn't you? If I just promised to let you over the edge.”

You are nodding vigorously before he even finishes his sentence, his triumphant expression almost galling if not for the desire writ large on his face.

“Good,” he snarls and starts to jab on that same spot. Desire roars fire in your veins, and you scream, your body trembling. He leans over and captures one of your nipples in his wet, warm mouth, and you scream again, uncaring what any of his neighbours may think.

You are dangling on the edge, reality bleeding into pleasure when once again he stops, and the noise that escapes your lungs is feral—a wretched groaning wail as an inferno licks around every edge of your being.

“Listen,” he growls, roughly yanking the tubes from his ear and placing them over yours. The noise is almost deafening, a thumping rhythm so fast it is virtually interpolating and looping upon itself. It's fascinating and life-affirming even as your body cries out, your clit pulsing in tempo with the thrumming beat. Greedily, he grabs them back and places them over his ears again, moving the bell to the right, his breath gusting hard.

“Touch yourself,” he orders gruffly.

It doesn't take moments for your hand to slide between your legs and catch your clit, a hardened, searing nub so wet you can hardly find grip and so distended it doesn't even feel like your body.

He leans possessively over you, a vein in his neck pulsing as he listens intently, his eyes pinging between your face, the scope on your naked chest and your hand between your legs, rubbing vigorously.

When his fingers sink back inside you, your knuckles cradled in his palm as you strum your clit, it hurtles you instantly over. You grasp his bicep as you crest the wave, your whole body held taught then snapping, shuddering and pulsing forcefully around his fingers as you tumble down that abyss, his stethoscope almost bruising your breastbone as you writhe, him singing your praises. You don't recall the next few moments, floating far away as everything is fuzzy, as if behind a gauzy filter. 

“Oh, that was perfect,” he attests sotto voce as you return to yourself, shaking with tony aftershocks. “You should hear how alive your body sounds when you come like that. Fuck that was amazing…” he seems almost dazed, his fingers dormant inside you.

As he withdraws from you, you emit a mewl, overwrought and shaking from the intensity. 

“Well, Miss,” he begins, slipping back into his roleplay. “I can say without a doubt you are very healthy, so no concern there. I can also tell your stress level is much lower now. Thus, I shall be prescribing you a minimum of two orgasms a day. Purely for your health, you understand,” he adds with a knowing smirk.

“Yes, doctor,” you nod drowsily, slurring slightly. “Should I administer them mysel…?”

“No,” he cuts in. “I'm afraid it requires a medical professional such as myself to ensure correct dosage,” his tone gravelly, snapping off the gloves from his hands, balling them up and tossing them aside. “You will need to see me morning and night for at least a month until I can properly assess whether the treatment plan is effective.”

“Yes, Doctor Bridgerton,” you purr sibilant, too strung out to do anything but languidly agree to everything he says.

As you go to close your legs, he grabs your kneecap, preventing you.

“Oh no, we are not done here,” he intones with a tinge of menace.

“No?” you stutter.

“No, I need to be very thorough,” he counters, his voice rich like velvet. His bare fingers trail ticklish patterns over the crease of your knee as he smiles perilously, enjoying keeping you on tenterhooks. “I am nowhere near done with your treatment for the day. You have only had one climax, and I do believe I said you need a minimum of two per day," he reminds you, his stare blistering. 

You watch, almost stupified, as he removes the stethoscope and swivels to kneel between your legs, grabbing them and pushing them high and wide apart, the burning stretch along your inner thighs making you gasp.

“Now, are you going to do exactly what your doctor tells you to do this time?” he grills, his fingers digging into your flesh, his gaze intense.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Good,” the word resonates through his being as his hungry stare slips over your body, down between your legs. “Now I think you need something more substantial than fingers, don't you?” he smirks playfully.

“Please, yes, please, Doctor Bridgerton,” you implore, canting your breasts up towards him, your eyes covetously sliding down his body as he hovers over you. Your breath quickens when you see the clear outline of his cock bulging against the overcoat. Oh god, is he naked under there? The thought makes you clench again.

You raise your hands and tug at the collar of his overcoat until the first popper opens, revealing his constellation of freckles. When he doesn't stop you, emboldened, you pull again, each popper relenting, a larger slice of his naked torso revealed with each ping. By the time you are down to the last two, you see the trail of hair from beneath his belly button and moan.

“You have been naked this whole time, doctor?!” your voice hitching almost scratchy.

He grabs your hand away, pressing it into the cushion above your head as he bears you into the sofa with his weight, one of that last fastened poppers snagging cold metal against your swollen clit.

“I cannot ask my patients to be naked if I am not as well, surely?” he rumbles, hot in your ear, his warm chest covering yours. He grabs your other wrist and guides it to the same place. “Now, hold onto the cushion under your head and don't move your hands until I say so,” he orders, his smoulder turning lethal as you do as told. 

He pulls up slightly and yanks the rest of the coat open, throwing it aside, giving you only a fleeting glance before surging his leaking, heated cock right over your slit.

“God, Ben, fuck me,” your errant internal monologue slips from your tongue before you can stop it.

“Who is Ben?” he quips duskily, rocking in a distracting manner, his tip glancing into your folds. “There is only Doctor Bridgerton here tonight.”

“Doctor Bridgerton,” you amend, fingers curling into the seam of the throw cushion, fighting the urge to grab him, “please fuck me.” 

He smiles triumphantly and lowers himself over you so you are swamped by him. 

“Well, as you asked so nicely…” 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

Dividers credit: @/firefly-graphics

[pizzabaekanthony]

I know for most of the fandom, their favorite Jealous Anthony frame is this -

But mine is -

Like, the 1st one is very unhinged, and he looks like he's plotting Dorset's murder in his head. But the 2nd one is just comical to me, like he was facing the OTHER WAY talking to Edwina, who he is ENGAGED to!! Laughing with her about something and out of nowhere, his spidey senses start tingling as soon as Dorset approaches Kate, and he turns around and looks at them like they pissed in his tea. He keeps glancing at them, as if telepathically telling Kate "Why tf are you talking to Dorset?!" telling Dorset "I forgot you existed. Why are you here?! And WHY are you talking to Kate?!!!" and also simultaneously telling Lady Danbury "Stop them, can't you see how improper this is? They are TALKING to each other, in BROAD DAYLIGHT, the audacity!!! Why are you not hitting them with your cane???"

Also, adding another layer to this clownery is everything that follows, how he looks like he's gonna drown Dorset in the lake, manages to make a fool of himself in front of Kate, falls into the river, pretty much tells his mom he doesnt wanna marry Edwina, goes on to throw the Sheffields out of someone else's home, does the whole YATBOMEATOOAMD. All in a day. The guy was really going THROUGH it!!

[rosemaryhelenxo]

Patisserie Luxe in Poole: Aesthetic Café Experience with Indulgent Cakes and Delicious Coffee | Review - PR Event

If you’re looking for an aesthetically pleasing, truly enjoyable and Instagram-able café experience with indulgent cakes and delicious coffee – look no further than Patisserie Luxe in Poole. On Saturday, I was invited to stop by along with my fellow Bournemouth Bloggers to review this new café which has opened in Poole, a stones throw away from the Quay. The first thing that caught my eye was…

[canmom]

Portland, Dorset Miku: absolutely terrified of r*bbits, and even the word r*bbit

well today i learned a thing!!

Rabbits have long been associated with bad luck on Portland. Use of the name is still taboo—the creatures are often referred to as "underground mutton", "long-eared furry things" or just "bunnies".[102] The origin of this superstition is obscure (there is no record of it before the 1920s) but it is believed to derive from quarry workers. They would see rabbits emerging from their burrows immediately before a rock fall and blame them for increasing the risk of dangerous, sometimes deadly, landslides.[103] If a rabbit was seen in a quarry, the workers would go home for the day, until the safety of the area had been assured.[102] As of 2006, older Portland residents were said to be 'offended' (sometimes for the benefit of tourists) by the mention of rabbits;[103] this superstition came to national attention in October 2005 when a special batch of advertisement posters were made for the Wallace and Gromit film, The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. Out of respect for local beliefs the adverts omitted the word 'rabbit' and replaced the film's title with the phrase "Something bunny is going on".[102]

[thekatebridgerton]

Today on another episode of aus I'm too sleep deprived to write here's some Bridgerton Vampire au

Kanthony: Anthony as the literal king of vampires masquerading as a Viscount with his family and Kate as the Vampire hunter who trained for ages to take him down. They have come to blows over the years and while Kate has managed to send him into hiding a time or two, she’s never actually landed the killing blow even when she once had the opportunity, which made Anthony realize that as much as Kate wants to kill him, she doesn’t have it in her. Not that Anthony is any different, at first when he was younger, yes he very much wanted to kill the newbie Vampire hunter that was houding his steps everywhere, but as he rose in the ranks and Kate herself became the leader of London’s most feared Vampire hunting organization, they grew to respect each other. To the point of almost working together to target Vampires that go rogue. But Anthony’s tenous truce with Kate is broken, when he finds out that Kate has done the unthinkable: She’s decided to retire and get married to her long time partner, Thomas Dorset. That’s what sets Anthony off on a rampage London has never heard of.

Polin: Colin has known little Penelope all her life, they've been friends since she was small and Altough he always knew she had a small crush on him, because he's a vampire and she a human he never expected it to go very far. That is at least until his sister Eloise, makes a mistake that almost kills Penelope and begs Colin to save her friend. And so Colin, very much against his will turns Penelope into a vampire. He thought Penelope would have a hard time adjusting but on the contrary, his little sireling takes to vampirism very well. Too well. Turns out being a vampire is perfect for the woman behind Lady Whistledown. Penelope finally feels free in ways she never thought before, being herself without restraint, she feels strong and powerful and violent Not just for blood but also for Colin. Sometimes she swears she can feel his hunger from across the room. And from the moment she woke up she's never seen Colin so possessive of her. But the more Colin gets to know who Penelope really is behind the mask of civility, the more he's drawn to her. He wants to protect her, feed her, devour her. Could this be a side effect of being her maker or something of a darker nature? And will Penelope understand exactly what it means to be sired to Colin Bridgerton

Benophie: Benedict Bridgerton has never forgotten the lady in silver who saved him from a rogue vampire hunter during a masquerade ball years ago. And Years later in an effort to pay it forward he saves a kind young woman from assault by killing her attackers. Only to be faced with the most delicious smelling blood he's ever scented on a human.

Sophie Beckett always knew her half gypsy blood was a magnet for trouble, but when the Vampire who saved her life offers protection in exchange for keeping his secret, she has no choice but to accept. On the condition that she won't give Benedict her blood in payment, no matter how much he pleads for it. Sophie watched her mother become a vampire's blood mistress as a child and she swore she'd rather endure Araminta's abuse than become a plaything for Vampires too. And while Benedict accepts her decision, it doesn't mean he's not constantly temping her to give in. She won't let him use her! No matter how much she's growing to love him.

Benedict has self control, he's only second to Anthony in age and he's never gone on a rampage before. But Sophie's scent is a trial to his goodwill. Every day it gets harder and harder to stay away from her sunny presence. Because she's kind and good and even without her blood her smile could feed him for days. How can he let Sophie have a normal human life when all he wants is to drink her blood and make her his. Just as much as he wants to make her happy. For Benedict, Sophie is the sun and he's the vampire who is fated for a world of shadows, unless she's with him

Philoise: Phillip Crane is an old vampire, too old really. Who swore to protect his family from beyond the grave as long as they kept his secret. So when Lady Marina died seven years after giving birth, leaving the family's very old and reclusive vampire in charge of the last two heirs of the Crane bloodline Phillip knew he needed help. Which is why he wrote to Colin and begged him to send someone with good self control. Sadly Colin was more interested in getting rid of his sister than in helping Phillip because the next thing he knew, the prettiest vampire princess he'd ever seen was knocking at his door and eating his kid's nursemaid. Eloise Bridgerton was a sight to behold in her self righteous glory, not only was she confident and vibrant and alive, but she also made him want to stop being a recluse and become part of a family again. Eloise Bridgerton could tell Phillip was deathly afraid of accidentally hurting the little human children who believe him their father. And truthfully she'd never met a vampire as big and intimidating as he was but, for all his age, Phillip seemed remarkably shy around her, which only made her want to tease him more. Colin had merely asked her to bring Phillip to London so he could be with their kind while he raised the children, but Eloise found that she didn't want to share him with the world. He was too trusting and too soft, she needed to protect him from danger.. maybe this is what Benedict meant when he talked about falling inlove. Eloise was halfway there already

An: like it?

[stars-of-kyber]

Lost, Drifting - Chapter 4 - You can't predict the end

"That was all to say he had all but forgotten about Doctor Dorset's visit, much too busy with other important things, until he walked into the Sharma's drawing room halfway through the morning the day before the festival to find the man seated in one of the sofas, happily sipping on his tea and making not very subtle eyes at Kate.

Anthony hated him." ___________________________________________________________ A certain doctor comes to town, stirring in Anthony a myriad of feelings, none of them good, and forcing him to consider his future and Kate's.

HELLO Y'ALL! DID YOU MISS ME?! (Is anyone even still reading this?)

I was feeling sad and pouty and dramatic last night and kinda fueled those feelings into working on Lost, Drifting.

I'll confess, this part of the chapter was already written, but as I went the chap kinda got way too big (over 12K I need to be stopped) and I decided this needed to go apart.

The good news is that the second part of this (and this kiss I promised) is coming on Friday, so keep an eye out for it!

I hope you like this chapter (I don't love it but I'm very mean to myself) and please understand Anthony's having a difficult moment? Is he being dumb? Yes, but cut the man some slack, it's probs not easy for him rn.

Happy reading!

Enjoy!

[psycheswrathsposts]

Once peace was signed Antoinette again saw her English friends, including Georgiana and her mother Lady Spencer. One day they were arguing about the most refined English word for culottes.

'Small clothes’ said Lady Spencer decisively.

‘But the dictionary gives "breeches",’ objected Antoinette.

‘Not a polite word. But you can say "inexpressibles"?’

'I like that better.'

In came the Duke of Dorset, Edward Dillon and several other Englishmen; as they were going to the King's hunt, they wore new, rather loud buckskin breeches. Antoinette decided to try the new word, and came out with:

‘I do not like dem yellow irresistibles.’

The Princesse de Lamballe, who tells the story, says that Lady Spencer nearly fainted, but that she and the Queen laughed till the tears ran down their cheeks.

[broomsick]

Hi! I’m an agnostic with an interest in learning more about Norse polytheism, and I have a question about the way that the sagas and myths are interpreted.

Are the sagas (and other Norse myths) viewed as having actually happened at some point, or are they viewed more as symbolic/metaphorical, like a fable or an allegory?

Hi there! Thank you for the ask! This a topic I very much enjoy discussing, and I'll be glad to give you my thoughts on the matter.

Before I can properly explain what the sagas are, I'll determine what they aren't. They aren't to be confused with myths, such as the ones that make up nordic mythology. They are not part of that mythology for a plethora of reasons. While mythology pertains to deities we know have been worshipped as such at some point in time, the sagas are stories of human beings. More often than not, they mean to tell historical events, which represents a major difference with the myths. A saga often recounts the history of a particular dynasty, or family, and a lot of the characters who appear in them are either: 1. folk heroes, such as Wayland the Smith, who appears in the Þiðreks saga, or Sigurðr Sigmundsson, who appears in the Völsunga saga; Or 2. famous, historically attested figures, such as Erik the Red, whose story is told in the Eiríks saga rauða, or Harald Fairhair, who appears in Snorri's Haralds saga hárfagra.

This is another parrticularity which differentiates a myth and saga: the latter often brings to life real life historical figures, or even attested events. Still, these stories are steeped in folklore. They mix magic and history, and the line quickly blurs between reality and fiction. And considering that many of the sagas' authors remain unknown to this day (that is the case for the Icelanders' sagas), there is a limit to how much we can trust their writings. In fact, there is very little historical fact to be found in the sagas. However, some of the events they describe seem to hold some amout of truth! For example, it's speculated that the viking remains found in Dorset could have been the bodies of captured men who appear in the Jómsvíkinga saga. And Eirik the Red did in fact sail from Norway to Greenland and North America, making him and his crew the first Europpeans to land in the Americas. And when it comes to the stories of famous Scandinavian dynasties, the sagas serve to explain, using both fact and fiction, how this or that famous king has earned a throne.

Now, what makes these stories interesting to us as pagans? Well, as is often the case, the answer varies from one practionner to the next. To read the sagas is not a necessary part of the nordic pagan path. But to me, it helps to get to know the faith a little better. It allows us to better understand the cultural and historical context behind certain beliefs ad practices. They often showcase the very last accounts of ancient festivals, rituals, or famous temples. They are a tool of choice for many scholars, who, of course, are still forced to try and tell truth from fiction. But they're a fun read overall, and I highly recommend looking into them!

As for the myths, by which we mean the stories which compose what's called norse mythology, they are generally viewed as metaphors. They're a way for us to see our Gods come to life, and to find out some of their most prominent characteristics. The amount of credit you choose to put into mythology is entirely up to you, but I can confidently say that most pagans don't take them at face value. They're a fun way to help us imagine what the Gods might be like! For example, most agree that Týr is brave, Freyja, headstrong, and Frigg, caring. These are examples of details we can try to figure out if we read between the lines of these myths. What's most important to keep in mind, however, is the fact that many of these myths were heavily influenced by their authors. For example, Snorri, famously a Christian priest and Icelandic politician, would manipulate certain stories to better serve his political goals. It's widely accepted for example, that elements of the myths such as Angrboða and some other such lovers of the Gods were most likely invented during the 12th century, era during which a lot of the myths we know today were being compiled by priests. These changes often served to fill in the gaps left by a tradition of exclusively transmitting folklore orally. We can only speculate as to how much of the myths were truly part of pre-Christian oral tradition, which makes it even more relevant to exercise skepticism around mythology.