#Folls that travel

[gabritrix]

3 giorni in trasferta ora sembro un 👻

[romugh]

THE WIDOW'S LACE - NR

pairing- stripper!natasha romanoff x fem!reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, bottom!natasha, strappie (n rcv), strappie suckie (r rcv), fingering (n rcv), oral (r rcv), rough'-ish' sex? - i think that's all!

wc- 7.7k (of pure smut) I'M SORRY I'M TRYING TO WRITE SHORTER FICS I PROMISE

a/n- part 1, because YES i have THREE parts ready for this. have fun reading! (big shoutout to @traveler-at-heart; your post made me go feral, i adore you)

synopsis- you find yourself in a stripclub, then suddenly you find yourself in a stripper.

taglist- @lost-mortemanghel - dm or comment to be added to my taglist! x

Natasha wasn’t just any stripper. She was the stripper. The one everyone fell in love with the moment she stepped on stage. Her body moved like sin wrapped in silk, her confidence radiating like a flame that drew every pair of eyes in the club to her. She knew exactly what she was doing, and more importantly, she knew exactly what effect she had on people.

Men and women alike couldn’t help but stare, their lust and admiration hanging thick in the air as they watched her every move. She thrived off it, fed off the power she held over them. They came in hoping for a glance, a smile, a touch. And she delivered—just enough to keep them coming back, but never enough to give them what they really wanted. That was how she liked it. She held the control. Always.

But tonight, something was different.

Amidst the usual sea of desire-filled gazes, she noticed you. You weren’t like the others. Your eyes weren’t filled with the same desperation, the same helpless longing. You weren’t staring at her like she was a goddess to be worshipped. No, you looked at her like she was a challenge. Like you could see right through the seductive veil she’d carefully crafted. It made her stomach twist in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

As she danced, her eyes would flick to you now and again, curious and intrigued. She was used to adoration, not this steady, controlled gaze that almost felt like it was pulling her in. And when the set ended, when her body stilled but her heart raced, she found herself making a decision she hadn’t made in a long time.

She led you to the back room, a place few had ever been. Not because it wasn’t allowed, but because Natasha rarely felt the need to take anyone there. She didn’t need the intimacy the room allowed for, she didn’t crave connection. But there was something about the way you looked at her, like you were waiting for her to slip, waiting for the moment her confidence faltered, and it made her want to see how far you’d push her.

The door clicked shut behind her, the faint thrum of bass from the bar fading into the background as the two of you were swallowed by the dimly lit room. Natasha leaned back against the door, her chest still heaving slightly from the exertion of the performance, but her eyes were as sharp as ever.

“You think you’re something special, huh?” she asked, her voice smooth but with an edge of amusement, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. She tilted her head, watching you carefully, as if expecting you to crumble under her stare like everyone else did.

But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped closer, your movements slow, deliberate, the weight of your presence filling the small space. The air grew thicker with tension, and for the first time in a long while, Natasha wasn’t sure if she was the one in control anymore.

“Do you?” you countered, voice low and calm, your eyes never leaving hers.

Her smirk didn’t falter, but the challenge in your words sent a thrill through her, one she hadn’t expected. She straightened, pushing off the door slightly, closing the gap between you even more, her body mere inches from yours. She could feel your heat, and it made her pulse quicken despite herself.

“You’re not like the others,” she said, her voice dropping an octave as her gaze raked over you, taking in the steady confidence in your stance. “But you’re still here.”

“So are you.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with something that neither of you wanted to name just yet. Natasha could feel the tension, thick and suffocating, like static in the air before a storm. Her body was taut, her skin prickling with anticipation, but she refused to show it. She wouldn’t let you see the effect you were having on her. Not yet.

Then, in one smooth movement, you closed the remaining space between you, your body pressing into hers, pinning her gently but firmly against the door. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat at the sudden proximity, but she didn’t pull away. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.

Instead, she lifted her chin, eyes defiant even as her pulse raced beneath her skin. “What’s your plan?” she asked, her voice still steady, but with a hint of breathlessness now, a tremor that betrayed the control she was so desperately clinging to.

Your lips were so close to hers now that she could feel the warmth of your breath against her skin. But instead of kissing her, you hovered, the tension between your mouths almost unbearable. She was used to people taking what they wanted from her, always rushing to close the gap, always desperate for her touch. But you held back, and that restraint was driving her mad.

“You’ll see,” you murmured, your voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine.

Natasha’s heart pounded in her chest, her body betraying her, a flush rising in her cheeks as the weight of your presence pressed down on her. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t entirely sure what would happen next, and the thrill of that uncertainty coursed through her veins like fire.

Then, without warning, your hand tangled in her hair, tugging her head back, forcing her to look up at you. Natasha gasped, her lips parting in surprise, but her eyes remained defiant, daring you to do more, to push her further.

“You want this, don’t you?” you asked, your voice steady, commanding.

Her lips curled into a smirk, though her breath hitched slightly under your firm grip. “Maybe,” she replied, her voice dripping with defiance, even as her body arched toward you, craving more.

“Then show me,” you demanded, and with that, you released her hair, watching as she slid down to her knees with a fluid grace that still spoke of her control, her pride. Even now, on her knees, she wasn’t submitting. She was choosing to allow you to do this, and that made all the difference.

She looked up at you, her eyes gleaming with that familiar challenge, and then her gaze flicked to the strap you had tucked out of your pants. Without a word, she leaned in, her lips brushing against the tip of it, soft and teasing at first, like she was still testing the waters, still holding on to that last shred of control.

But the moment she tasted it, something shifted. Her tongue darted out, swirling around the tip before she took it into her mouth, her eyes never leaving yours. She wasn’t rushing, no, the Black Widow never rushed for anyone. But there was an urgency now, a tension in the way her hands gripped your thighs as she worked the strap deeper into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing with effort.

You watched as she swallowed her pride along with the length of the strap, her eyes watering slightly as she struggled to take it deeper. But she didn’t stop, didn’t pull back. She pushed herself further, her throat constricting around it, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as she gagged softly around the toy.

“Is this what you wanted?” you asked, your voice laced with dark amusement as you thrust your hips forward, pushing the strap deeper into her mouth. Natasha’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, her body trembling as she struggled to take more.

Her nails dug into your thighs, her breath coming in short, desperate bursts as you fucked her mouth, the wet sounds filling the room. Her control was slipping, piece by piece, and you could see the frustration in her eyes when she looked up at you, her gaze filled with a mix of defiance and need.

You pulled back suddenly, the strap slipping from her lips with a wet pop. Natasha gasped, her chest heaving as she panted, her lips swollen and red from the effort, saliva glistening on her chin. She looked wrecked, but not broken. Not yet.

“Something wrong?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

She narrowed her eyes. "You could help," she murmured, trying to regain some of the control she was losing, had already lost. 

“You want help?” you asked, your tone low, teasing. You pushed her head back toward the strap, watching her struggle against her own desire for dominance. She needed this—needed you—but she wasn’t ready to admit it, not fully.

Natasha’s lips parted, taking the strap back into her mouth, but you didn’t let her have it easy. Your hips thrust forward, forcing her to take it deeper than before. Her throat constricted around it, her eyes watering slightly as you pushed deeper. She gagged, her nails digging into your thighs, but she didn’t pull back.

"Is this what you wanted?" you asked, your voice harder now, more demanding. Natasha’s eyes fluttered shut, her body tense as you fucked her mouth, using her. The wet sounds filled the room, mixing with the faint bass from the bar outside.

Natasha choked slightly as you pushed in deeper, but she didn’t stop, her body trembling as she tried to take more of it. But you could see it—her frustration. The realisation that she wasn’t fully in control was pushing her over the edge.

Her breath was ragged when you finally pulled back, saliva glistening on the strap as she panted, lips trembling with effort. Her eyes met yours, and for the first time, she looked... needy. Desperate, even.

“You need more, don’t you?” you asked, gripping her hair tightly. “You think you can handle it?”

She didn’t answer right away, her throat working hard to swallow her pride along with the saliva pooling in her mouth. And then, quietly, she nodded. Just once.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please.”

That was all you needed to hear. You yanked her up by the hair, spinning her around and pressing her up against the door. Natasha’s breath hitched, but she didn’t protest. She wasn’t giving up, but she was giving in.

You crashed your mouth against hers, devouring her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. This wasn’t about control anymore—it was about possession. You bit down on her lower lip, eliciting a sharp gasp from her, her body arching toward you as if she couldn’t help herself.

Natasha's gasp filled the small room, her lips bruised and swollen from your punishing kiss. She should have hated it—the loss of control, the way you commanded her body with nothing more than your presence—but instead, it made her burn. Her skin was flushed, her breath coming in short, shallow pants as you pressed her firmly against the door, your hand still tangled in her hair, holding her exactly where you wanted her.

Her body betrayed her, arching into you, her hips moving instinctively, desperate for any friction to relieve the building pressure inside her. She was wet—soaking, even—and you hadn’t even touched her properly yet. The realisation made her cheeks flush hotter, though whether it was from embarrassment or arousal, she couldn’t tell.

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your eyes dark, predatory, as they swept over her flushed face, her heaving chest, and the slight tremble in her legs. “Look at you,” you murmured, your voice a low rasp, sending shivers down her spine. “All that control you like to have… where is it now?”

Natasha swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, but she couldn’t find the words. She had no clever retort, no sharp quip to throw back at you. She was too lost in the way you were looking at her, too consumed by the need coursing through her veins.

Your grip on her hair tightened, pulling her head back slightly, forcing her to look up at you. “Answer me,” you demanded, your lips brushing against her ear, your breath hot against her skin. “Where’s all that control, Natasha?”

She shuddered, her eyelids fluttering as her body arched toward you once more. “Gone,” she whispered, barely audible, her voice trembling with the weight of her admission. It was a small crack in her armour, but it was enough. The moment you uttered her off-stage name, the one no one else knew, Natasha’s brain short-circuited.

You smirked, satisfied with her answer. “Good girl.” The praise made her stomach flip, a rush of heat spreading through her as the words sank in. She didn’t realise how badly she had wanted it—needed it—until you gave it to her.

Without another word, you spun her around, pressing her chest against the cold, hard surface of the door. Natasha’s breath hitched, her hands splaying against the wood as she tried to ground herself. You stepped closer, your body pressing against hers from behind, your fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path down her spine.

She was tense, muscles coiled tight, every nerve ending on fire as your hand slid lower, lower, until your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her panties. The moment you touched her, a low moan slipped from her lips, her hips bucking back against you, desperate for more.

“Patience,” you murmured against her ear, your lips grazing her skin. “I’m not done playing with you yet.” Your fingers teased her, slipping through her slick folds, but never giving her enough pressure to satisfy the ache between her thighs. Natasha groaned, her head dropping forward, her forehead pressing against the door as she struggled to keep herself together.

But you didn’t let up. You kept her right on the edge, drawing out every gasp, every shiver, every desperate sound she made until she was trembling beneath your touch, her body begging for release.

“Please,” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible, but it was enough for you. You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the shell of her ear as you pressed two fingers deep inside her without warning.

Natasha gasped, her whole body jolting from the sudden intrusion, but she didn’t protest. She couldn’t. All she could do was moan, her fingers curling against the door as her body surrendered to the pleasure you were giving her.

You moved slowly at first, your fingers thrusting in and out of her with a measured precision, building her up, making her crave more. Her hips moved in time with your hand, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as she chased the release that was just out of reach.

But then, just when she thought she might finally tip over the edge, you stilled your movements.

“No!” The word slipped out before she could stop it, her body still writhing, desperate for the release you kept denying her. She turned her head slightly, looking at you over her shoulder, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please, don’t stop.”

You chuckled softly, your breath warm against her neck as you leaned in closer. “Look at you,” you murmured, your voice a low, dangerous rasp. “Begging for it. You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

Natasha bit her lip, her cheeks flushing hot with shame and arousal. She should have hated the way you were toying with her, should have fought back, but she couldn’t. Not when her body was burning like this, not when she was so close to falling apart beneath your touch.

Your fingers curled inside her, pressing against that spot deep within her that made her see stars. Natasha moaned, her hips bucking back against you, her whole body trembling as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable level.

“Come for me, Natasha,” you whispered against her ear, your voice soft but commanding. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

It was all she needed. With a sharp cry, her body tensed, her muscles clenching tight around your fingers as she came hard, her release washing over her like a tidal wave. She gasped for air, her body shaking as you worked her through it, your fingers never stopping, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until she was a trembling, panting mess.

When it was over, when her body finally stopped trembling, you pulled your fingers from her, a satisfied smirk tugging at your lips as you watched her slump against the door, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing now as you brushed a strand of hair from her face. Natasha shuddered at the praise, her heart still racing as she tried to catch her breath.

Before she could fully recover, you turned her around again, pressing her back against the door as your lips crashed against hers in a bruising, possessive kiss. Natasha moaned into your mouth, her hands gripping your shoulders, pulling you closer, her body still aching for more, even after the intense release you’d just given her.

Your hands roamed her body, your fingers skimming over her bare skin. She shivered at your touch, her breath hitching as your hands moved higher, teasing the edges of her red corset.

“Do you want more?” you whispered against her lips, your voice dark and teasing.

Natasha nodded, her fingers tightening on your shoulders. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice soft and desperate.

She was still trembling, her breath ragged as she tried to recover, but you weren’t done with her yet. Not even close. You pulled back slightly, your lips brushing over her jawline, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Her head fell back against the door with a soft thud, her skin flushed, pupils blown wide as she looked at you with a haze of lust clouding her gaze. You could see how desperate she was, how badly her body was craving more, needing to be filled.

Your hand slid down her thigh, strong fingers curling around her knee as you lifted her leg, pushing it up to her chest. The position opened her up to you in a way that made your mouth water, giving you the perfect view of her already slick and swollen entrance, quivering and glistening with arousal. Her panties had been soaked through long before, but you ripped them down her legs now, tossing them aside without a second thought. Natasha whimpered, her fingers clutching at your shoulders as her body arched, her hips instinctively pushing toward you, searching for the friction she so desperately needed.

“Look at you,” you murmured, your voice low and dark with desire as your hand travelled back up her thigh, tracing the sensitive skin with teasing slowness. “So fucking wet and ready for me.” You reached between your bodies, gripping the base of your strap as you positioned it at her entrance, the thick head brushing against her slick folds. Natasha’s breath hitched, her whole body tightening in anticipation, her hands curling into fists as she pressed back against the door, trying to steady herself.

“Please,” she breathed, her voice barely audible, but dripping with need. “Please, I need it.”

You gave a low, satisfied chuckle, your eyes never leaving hers as you leaned in close, your lips brushing against her ear. “I know you do, sweetheart,” you whispered, your voice a low rasp that sent shivers down her spine. You nudged the strap forward slightly, just enough to let the tip press into her, but not enough to give her the relief she craved. Natasha whimpered, her hips bucking toward you, desperate to take more.

“Shh,” you cooed, tightening your grip on the back of her thigh as you pressed her knee further against her chest, opening her up even more. “I’ll give you what you need, but I want to hear you beg for it.”

Natasha bit her lip, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and desire, but she couldn’t deny how badly she wanted it—needed it. “Please,” she whispered again, her voice trembling. “Please, fuck me… I need it so bad.”

Your smirk widened, and without another word, you slowly pushed forward, the thick head of your strap finally pressing into her tight, wet heat. Natasha gasped, her fingers digging into your shoulders as her body jolted at the sudden intrusion. She was tight, impossibly tight, her walls clenching around the silicone in a way that made it difficult to press any deeper, but the resistance only made you want it more.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered, her voice a high-pitched whine as you continued to push inside her, every inch stretching her further, forcing her to take more of you. “You’re—too big,” she panted, her head falling back against the door as her hips jerked forward, trying to accommodate the stretch.

“Shh,” you murmured against her neck, your lips grazing the sensitive skin as you gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze. “You can take it, baby. I know you can.”

Natasha whimpered again, her walls fluttering and clenching around the thick strap, trying to pull it deeper, even though it was almost too much. You could see how tight she was, almost feel how every ridge and fake vein on the strap dragged against her slick walls, sending shivers of pleasure through her body with every inch you pushed inside. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, her chest heaving as she struggled to take more of you, her body trembling with the effort.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you groaned, your own voice strained with arousal as you finally bottomed out inside her, the base of the strap pressing against her soaked folds. Natasha cried out, her fingers digging into your shoulders as her hips jerked forward, trying to take you even deeper. She was stretched so wide around the strap, her walls clenching and pulsing around the intrusion, desperate for more.

“Look at you,” you murmured, your voice low and rough with desire as you glanced down at where your strap was buried deep inside her. The sight was sinful—Natasha’s leg pressed high against her chest, her pussy stretched around your thick strap, her slick juices coating the silicone and dripping down her thighs. “You look so fucking good taking all of this, baby.”

Natasha whimpered, her head tilting forward just enough to look down at the obscene sight between her legs. She could see the way her walls clenched around the strap, the way her slick arousal dripped down her thighs, and it made her body burn with embarrassment and desire. She was so full, so impossibly full, but she needed more—she needed you to move.

“Please,” she begged, her voice a high-pitched whine as her hips bucked forward, trying to get you to thrust inside her. “Please, I need you to move.”

Your smirk deepened, your other hand sliding up her thigh to grip her hip as you pulled back slightly, the thick strap dragging against her sensitive walls with agonising slowness. Natasha gasped, her whole body shuddering at the sensation, her head falling back against the door as her fingers dug into your shoulders.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you groaned, your voice low and breathless as you thrust back into her, the strap filling her once more. Natasha cried out, her body jolting at the sudden movement, her walls clenching around the silicone as you began to thrust into her with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Natasha’s breath came in short, ragged gasps, her body trembling as the pleasure built with every thrust. She was so full, so stretched, every inch of the strap dragging against her sensitive walls, making her burn with need. Her hips bucked against you, desperate for more, and you were all too happy to give it to her.

You quickened your pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the small room. Natasha’s cries grew louder, her hands clutching at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as her body shuddered with every thrust. Her walls clenched around the thick strap, trying to keep you buried deep inside her, but you kept up your relentless pace, fucking her harder, faster, until her whole body was trembling, her breath coming in short, desperate bursts.

“Fuck, you’re taking it so good,” you groaned, your voice rough with arousal as you watched the way her body shook, the way her pussy stretched around your strap.  Natasha’s leg was still raised high, your grip on her thigh unwavering, giving you that sinful view of her slick, swollen pussy stretched wide around the strap.

“Please,” Natasha whimpered, her voice a breathless moan as her body trembled beneath you. “Please, I’m so close.”

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against her ear as you thrust into her even harder, the thick strap filling her completely, dragging against every sensitive inch of her walls. “Then come for me,” you whispered, your voice low and commanding. “I want to feel you come all over this strap.”

Natasha’s breath hitched, her body arching into you as the pleasure built to an unbearable level. And then, with one final, deep thrust, she shattered. A scream tore from her lips as her walls clenched tight around the strap, her whole body trembling as the orgasm ripped through her, leaving her gasping for breath.

The moment Natasha came undone, her body arched beautifully against the door, trembling violently as the wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her walls clenched so tightly around the strap that you could feel the pressure even through the silicone, and the sight of her falling apart in your hands only fueled the fire raging inside you.

You didn’t let up, not even for a second.

With each pull of your hips, the fake veins on the strap dragged against her sensitive inner walls, teasing the oversensitive flesh until Natasha was nothing but a writhing, gasping mess. Her eyes rolled back, half-lidded with pleasure, and her lips parted in a soft, helpless moan every time you thrust back into her. You could feel the way she pulsed around the strap, her orgasm still crashing through her, each thrust prolonging the pleasure, edging her closer to that line between unbearable ecstasy and delicious torment.

“God, you’re so good for me,” you groaned, your breath hitching as you felt the silicone slip inside her once more, filling her to the hilt. Natasha whimpered, her head falling back against the door, her nails biting into your shoulders. Her leg quivered in your grasp, and you couldn’t help but smirk at how utterly wrecked she was beneath you.

With a low growl of satisfaction, you pressed her thigh even higher, opening her up even more, pushing her to the very limit of her flexibility. The new angle had the thick strap sinking impossibly deep, and Natasha gasped, her entire body jolting at the sensation. As her free leg instinctively wrapped around your waist, anchoring herself to you, you felt the shift in her balance—she had nothing keeping her standing anymore, fully depending on you.

“Fuck!” Natasha cried out, her voice cracking as you pulled back and slammed forward again, the wet sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the room. “I— I can’t— it’s too much!” You pressed her up against the door even more, using your strength to hold her in place as her body trembled under the onslaught of pleasure, the desperation in her voice only igniting your need for her further.

Her whimpers were nearly incoherent, her face flushed with exertion, but you could see the glint of desire still lingering in her eyes. She was teetering on the edge of overstimulation, but you knew she craved every second of it. She wanted to feel all of it—the stretch, the burn, the fullness. The way the strap forced her walls to accommodate the thickness, how each and every detail of your faux-cock dragged along her inner muscles, heightening her pleasure with each stroke.

"You take it so well, baby," you cooed, your voice dripping with confidence and dominance. "You’re doing so well. Look at you—fucking yourself on my strap like this."

Her breath hitched again at your words, a shiver of arousal rolling through her already trembling body. She was utterly at your mercy, and you loved it. You loved how she fought against the overwhelming pleasure, how she clenched so desperately around the strap, trying to draw it deeper into her slick heat. Her need for more, despite the delicious torment, was written all over her flushed face, her parted lips, her half-lidded eyes filled with lust and desperation.

You picked up your pace again, your hips snapping forward with a relentless rhythm that had Natasha gasping for air, her nails scraping down your back as she arched off the door, her body shuddering with each deep, powerful thrust.

“Oh god—oh fuck,” she whimpered, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The leg wrapped around you trembled, barely able to hold on as her body shook under the intense pleasure you were giving her. Her thighs were slick with her arousal, her pussy dripping with how desperately wet she was, and you couldn’t help but groan at the sight of her coming undone again and again.

“Good girl,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm as you leaned in closer, pressing your lips to her ear. “Look at yourself. Look at how fucking good you look with my cock buried inside you.”

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze hazy as she glanced down between your bodies. The sight made her moan—a deep, breathless sound that sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through her. She could see it—the thick, veined strap disappearing into her, stretching her wide, her swollen folds glistening with her arousal. Every thrust made her slick pussy tighten around the silicone, and the sight of it only spurred you on.

You adjusted your grip on her thigh, pulling her leg even higher, pushing her closer to the door as you thrust harder, deeper, the wet sound of her slick arousal mixing with her breathless moans.

“Oh god—fuck!” Natasha cried out, her walls fluttering violently around the strap as you drove her toward yet another climax. “I— I’m gonna—fuck, please don’t stop!”

Her entire body tensed, her head falling back against the door as she teetered on the edge of another orgasm. Her walls clenched around the strap, trying to milk every inch of it as you thrust into her with a brutal, unforgiving force.

“That’s it,” you groaned, your voice low and commanding as you felt her walls begin to spasm around the strap, her breath hitching as her climax built. “Come for me again, Natasha.”

With one final, hard thrust, Natasha shattered, her entire body jerking as a scream ripped from her throat. Her walls clamped down around the thick silicone, pulsing wildly as her orgasm tore through her, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing over her. She was trembling, gasping for air as her body convulsed beneath you, her slick juices dripping down her thighs, soaking both of you.

You kept thrusting into her, slow and deep, prolonging her pleasure as you rode out her orgasm with her. Natasha’s body jerked with each thrust, her breath coming in short, desperate bursts as her hands clung to your shoulders, trying to ground herself in the overwhelming sensation.

When her trembling finally began to subside, you slowed your pace, easing her leg down from where it had been pressed against her chest, her body slumping against you in exhaustion. Her head fell against your shoulder, her breath hot and ragged against your skin as you gently pulled out of her, the slick strap glistening with her release.

As Natasha’s trembling body sagged against you, her breath still coming in ragged bursts, you could feel the way her grip on your shoulders loosened and her leg let go of your waist. The aftermath of her climax left her shaky, her muscles quivering from the overwhelming pleasure you’d just wrung from her body. But even in her exhausted state, you could sense her lingering need. It simmered beneath her flushed skin, a wantonness that never quite faded, even when she was wrecked like this.

Without a word, Natasha sank down, her legs buckling as she willingly dropped to her knees. The sight alone was enough to send a fresh surge of heat coursing through you—Natasha, her thighs glistening with her release, her hair dishevelled, and her lips parted as she knelt between your legs. Her eyes, half-lidded and dark with desire, flickered up to meet yours, a silent plea for permission lingering in her gaze.

Your hand instinctively found its way to her cheek, fingers brushing across the warm skin as you gently tilted her face up. Her lips ghosted over your knuckles, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin before she shifted her focus downward. Her gaze dropped to the strap still glistening between your legs, slick with her arousal, and you could see the hunger spark in her eyes.

“Natasha…” you whispered, your voice thick with a mixture of affection and desire.

But she didn’t need any further encouragement. Her hands, still trembling slightly, reached for the base of the strap, steadying it as she licked her lips. The tip was soaked in her juices, glistening under the soft light, and Natasha stared at it for a moment, almost mesmerised by the evidence of her own pleasure. Then, with a soft moan, she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the head of the strap, sucking it into her mouth with slow, deliberate movements.

You groaned softly, your hand moving to rest on the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as you watched her work. Natasha’s tongue swirled around the head of the strap, tasting herself on the silicone, her mouth moving in languid strokes as she took more of it into her mouth. Her release coated her lips, shining as she sucked the slickness off, moaning low in her throat as she worked to clean the strap.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her focus entirely on the task at hand as she bobbed her head, her lips stretching around the girth. You could feel the pressure of her movements even through the toy, the way she sucked and licked with such dedication. It was intoxicating—the sight of her on her knees, her mouth filled again with your strap, the faint, almost sinful sound of her moans vibrating against the silicone as she sucked her own release off of it.

“My good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and full of praise. “Look at you…so eager to clean up after yourself.”

Natasha whimpered in response, the sound muffled as her mouth slid down further on the strap, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked harder. Her hands came up to cradle the base, stroking it gently as her tongue flicked over the veined surface, cleaning every ridge, every dip, savouring the taste of herself.

You could feel her submission in every movement, the way she surrendered completely to this moment. Her mouth moved with such deliberate care, as if this was another way of showing her devotion, her gratitude for the pleasure you’d given her. The way she worshipped the strap was almost reverent, her tongue lapping up every drop of her arousal, cleaning it with slow, sensual strokes.

“Does it taste good?” you asked softly, your fingers tightening slightly in her hair.

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking with yours as she pulled back just enough to speak, her lips still wrapped around the head of the strap.

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice hoarse with lust. “So good…”

And with that, she took the strap deeper, moaning as her mouth stretched again to accommodate it. The sight was almost too much—her lips wrapped around the thick girth, her tongue working tirelessly to clean it, her eyes dark and hooded with lust as she looked up at you, completely at your mercy.

You couldn’t resist. With a low growl, you tightened your grip on her hair and gently guided her head forward, watching as more of the strap disappeared into her mouth. Natasha didn’t hesitate, didn’t resist. She eagerly followed your lead, sinking down on the strap with a soft, muffled moan as she took it deeper, her tongue swirling around the silicone as she sucked harder.

The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth working the strap echoed in the room, mingling with her soft whimpers of pleasure. Each time she pulled back, her lips glistened with slickness, her saliva mixing with the remnants of her release as she diligently cleaned the strap. The sight, the sounds, the intoxicating feel of her submission—it was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but groan in response. It felt so different from just twenty minutes ago, the air now thick with an emotional tension that left both you and her craving more.

“Such a good girl…” you murmured, your voice thick with desire. “You love this, don’t you? Love tasting yourself on my cock like this?”

Natasha moaned again, her eyes rolling back slightly as she nodded, her mouth still full of the strap. Her fingers tightened around the base, her tongue swirling with renewed intensity as she sucked harder, her moans vibrating against the silicone in a way that had your own breath hitching in your throat.

You tugged her hair gently, pulling her back just enough to see her flushed, eager face, her lips even more swollen and slick from her efforts. She looked up at you, her eyes filled with lust and devotion, and the sight of her—completely wrecked, completely at your mercy—made your heart race.

“Finish it, once more,” you whispered, your voice soft but commanding. “Clean it all up, baby.”

Natasha’s breath hitched, and with one last, eager moan, she sank down again, taking the strap as deep as she could, her lips stretched tight around the girth. Her tongue worked tirelessly, lapping up the last remnants of her release, her fingers stroking the base as she cleaned every inch of the strap with slow, deliberate care.

By the time she finally pulled back, the strap was glistening with nothing but her saliva. She looked up at you, her eyes hazy with pleasure, her mouth hanging open slightly as she panted for oxygen.

Natasha’s chest heaved, her lips still glistening as she knelt before you, a blend of exhaustion and determination in her eyes. Her body was clearly spent, trembling from the intensity of everything that had just unfolded, yet even in her weary state, a flicker of something more shone through. That relentless desire, the insatiable need to please you, to reciprocate the pleasure you had so generously given her, burned bright within her. It was as if the connection between you two transcended the physical, igniting a fire that she couldn't ignore.

With a shaky breath, Natasha reached for the harness still strapped to your hips. Her fingers, though trembling from exhaustion, worked quickly to undo the buckles, each one coming undone with a soft click. You could feel her need—this wasn’t just about giving; it was about showing you that she was still capable, that she could offer you more. Her eyes met yours briefly, the unspoken plea for permission lingering in their depths before she yanked the harness off completely.

Without a word, she tossed it behind you, the strap landing on the floor with a dull thud, completely forgotten. What mattered now was you—your pleasure, your release.

“Natasha, you don’t have to…” you started to say, but your words were cut short as she leaned forward, her hands gripping your thighs with surprising strength, anchoring you in place.

“I want to,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but resolute. “I need to.”

Before you could protest further, Natasha dove in, her mouth finding you with an eagerness that made your breath hitch. Her lips latched onto your sensitive folds, tongue immediately parting you as she licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your centre, savouring every inch of your heat. A low moan escaped your lips, and as soon as Natasha heard that first sound of pleasure, it was like a spark ignited within her.

She dove in deeper, her tongue working you with relentless precision, swirling and flicking against your most sensitive spots, teasing and tasting in a way that had your head thudding against the door in front of you. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you spread open for her as she devoured you like she couldn’t get enough. Each stroke of her tongue, each gentle nip of her lips, sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, and it didn’t take long before you were moaning openly, your hand tangling in her messy hair as you rocked your hips against her mouth.

“Fuck, Natasha…” you gasped, your voice thick with lust and awe. “Just like that…”

Your praise only fueled her further. Every moan, every word of encouragement that slipped past your lips made her work harder, her tongue moving faster, her lips sucking greedily at your clit. She was completely lost in it, lost in the way you responded to her touch, in the way your body trembled beneath her mouth. It was like she couldn’t get enough of your taste, couldn’t get enough of the sounds you made—the way you were falling apart for her.

And as you moaned her name again, louder this time, Natasha whimpered softly against you, her hips involuntarily bucking as if she could feel every ounce of pleasure you were experiencing. The connection between the two of you was palpable, an unspoken bond that seemed to tether your bodies together, each of your reactions sending waves of sensation through both of you.

She could hear the way your breath hitched, feel the way your thighs clenched around her head, and it drove her wild. Your pleasure was her pleasure, your release was her reward. Natasha’s own arousal was building again, the slickness between her thighs only intensifying as she tasted you, her own body responding to the rhythm of your moans, the raw, unfiltered sounds of your ecstasy.

“Oh fuck–Natasha…” Your breath was ragged, your body on the edge, teetering precariously close to that release she was so desperate to give you.

With a final flick of her tongue and a deep, sucking pull at your clit, you came undone. The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, pulling you under in a flood of overwhelming pleasure. Your hands clenched in her hair as your back arched off, your thighs squeezing her head tight as you cried out, your voice echoing through the room in breathless, blissful moans.

Natasha didn’t stop. Even as you writhed above her, she kept her mouth on you, lapping up every drop of your release, savouring every moan, every tremor of your body as you rode out your orgasm. And as you came, something shifted in her—something broke free inside her.

She felt it—the sudden, uncontrollable surge of pleasure that washed over her as your moans hit their peak. It was the mere sight of you, the way you fell apart for her, the way your body shook with pleasure, the way you moaned her name like she was the only thing that mattered that set it off.

Her own release hit her like a lightning strike, her body going rigid as her climax overtook her without warning. Natasha gasped, her mouth still pressed against you as she came, the shock of her own orgasm freezing her in place. The pleasure ripped through her, stealing her breath, her thighs quivering uncontrollably as she came just from the sight of you.

She pulled back from you slightly, her lips still wet with your release, her eyes wide with disbelief as her body shook with the aftershocks of her own unexpected orgasm. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her mind reeling from what had just happened. You were both wrapped in the warmth of the moment when suddenly, your phone rang loudly in the silence.

You reached for it, reluctantly pulling away from Natasha’s gaze. “Yes, I’ll be there in ten minutes, Pepper,” you replied, your voice a mix of disappointment and urgency.

Natasha smiled softly at you, a bittersweet feeling bubbling up inside her as she leaned into your touch, your hand gently stroking her cheek. There was a warmth in the gesture that made her heart flutter, an affirmation of the bond that had just blossomed between you two. She felt seen, cherished, even amidst the whirlwind of everything that had just transpired.

“Tell him to prepare some dessert,” you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips. “I haven’t had the chance to have mine here. Hopefully next time I will, the menu looks promising.”

Natasha’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as she caught the glimmer of mischief in your eyes. You could see her heart racing, a delightful mix of embarrassment and exhilaration washing over her. The intimate nature of your exchange lingered in the air, and the thought of your teasing words sent a rush of warmth through her.

“Next time,” she echoed softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as the realisation settled in that you would be back for her.

With a final glance at her, you turned to leave, a flutter of anticipation sparking between you two. As you made your way towards the door, Natasha’s eyes followed you, filled with longing and excitement for what lay ahead. And as you stepped outside, you left behind the strap, a tangible reminder of your connection, a symbol of what you had shared.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Natasha alone in the room, her heart racing as she thought about everything that had just happened. She picked up the strap, feeling its weight in her hands, and a wicked smile spread across her lips.

She couldn’t wait for your return. She was already crafting ideas for the next time you’d come back, each thought fueling her desire for you even more. Because this was only the beginning, and she was ready to embrace whatever came next, knowing that you would both find your way back to each other, intertwined by the widow’s lace.

[artemiseamoon]

What the heart wants

Pero Tovar x F Reader*

🤶🏾🎁Secret Santa fic ✨ for @blueeyesatnight !!! ✨ Happy holidays! (event hosted by @pedrostories )

Read below * or on A03

Words: 7,621

Summary: As Spring rolls around, you find yourself content with your life. Business is successful, you have all the independence you want and good friends to share life with. A man wasn't something you needed or were seeking at the time as occasional lovers fulfilled your primal urges. But it was clear, life had other plans as a handsome but dirty mercenary blew through your doors.

Warnings: some canon period misogyny (not much), Pero 😂, language, brothel mention & mild sexual content.

*Reader notes: there are some details!!! So it’s not a completely blank slate; reader is female, in her upper 30s, sturdy/curvy built (visualize as you please) & often wears pants not dresses. No skin tone/race mentioned but she does understand & speak some Spanish. *Feel free to read as an OC if you prefer*

AN: If you already know me, you know I no longer crosspost to this site, nor write reader inserts. Since this is a special occasion, it’s both a RC & crossposted (here & on my A03) 😁 happy reading! This was so fun to write.

You

Holding the cuff to the afternoon light, you examined your work closely, feeling satisfied with the end result. Growing up the daughter of a blacksmith, you learned several things, and though you could make a sword, you quickly found you preferred making jewelry; it filled you with joy, especially when you saw the end result and the look on people's faces.

You had kitchenware under your belt too, it was the kind of thing that always bought in coin, as it was a needed everyday item. Currently, you are perfecting your skills in armor making. You started to learn back in your early 20s, now in your late 30’s you could create decent work, but you wanted to be better. Never one to back down from a challenge, you made it your newest goal.

You just set the new cuff aside when the small bell chimed, filling the halls with the familiar sound. Stepping away from the desk, you peeked out of the doorway and down the hall, where you had a straight shot of the front door.

You quirked a brow as a man you’ve never seen before stalked in, the wind sweeping inside with him, along with a bad mood like a dark cloud overhead. Upon first glance, he almost seemed inconvenienced, yet you saw him walk in alone, no one forced him.

He was handsome with dark features, but dirty, and needed a good shave. The stranger wore the kind of scowl that would keep people ten feet away from him. His attire and the double swords strapped to his back gave his profession away, a mercenary. They often traveled through these parts en route to somewhere else and stayed a night or two; it made good coin for the local businesses when they did.

You thought about revealing yourself but chose to watch him a little longer. You observed him as he moved deeper into the shop, his eyes moving about the place as he took it in.

He scratched his beard, grumbling something you couldn’t hear, as he touched and poked at things along the way. He was a fascinating creature to watch, and one of the best-looking men you’ve seen in a long time, even under all the dirt and grime, and the sharp chip on his shoulder. That’s when you noticed the scar, one that made you curious about the how, and made him even hotter at the same time.

Even his walk was attractive, he seemed more like a wild animal than a man, like a feral wolf just wandered into your shop and right into your hands.

Pero (minutes ago)

Dragging his feet, Pero made his way through the town, eyeing signs on doors and windows, looking for work. He was tired, bone tired, his back hurt like all hell, his ass was numb from being on his horse so long, and he was annoyed. He was starving, he ran out of rations early this morning and was running on a piece of stale bread at the moment. He’d try one more place, then get some damn food, followed by a room, a bath, and a whore.

He was about halfway down the block when he noticed the blacksmith sign. In his half hour here, it seemed West Meadow had no work for him requiring his swords, but a man could always be useful in a shop like that.

Pero entered, his stomach grumbling and fighting with him. He expected to see a forge as soon as he walked in but was met with a plain room with a simple desk, two chairs, and a long table. Ahead was a hallway that likely led to some other rooms. The smells of iron, steel, wax, and fire met his nose, there was definitely a forge, maybe in the back.

Where the hell was everyone?

Patience wasn’t a friend of his. He called out and was only met with his own echo.

Cursing under this breath, he decided to ditch this plan for now, and just get some food. A door opened in the distance. He turned, expecting to see a man appear, but a man it wasn't.

Pero tilted his head to the side as his eyes raked over you. You were beautiful, with a face that was downright distracting, but that wasn’t all, when you smiled, you nearly knocked his bad mood right out of him. Your smile was so full and bright that he finally understood what that stupid saying, bright as the sun, meant.

You were well-built, sturdy, and curvy in the right places. That was clear even with the heavy apron you wore. Pero raised his eyes back to your own. Even the smudges on your face and a mask over your hair didn’t take away from your beauty.

Pero regained his composure, then asked gruffly, “who's in charge?”

Your smile dropped, “well, hello to you too.”

“Where’s your husband or father?”

“Are you serious?” you rested a hand on your hip.

His eyes dropped to your hand, you were wearing gloves, so he didn't know if you wore a ring or not, “Brother?”

An irritated laugh fell out of you as you shook your head.

“Unless…” he started, “you’re alone here?”

“I am the owner, you ass.” you held up your hands, then tore off a glove, “no husband either!”

He looked at you with disbelief in his eyes, “a woman alone, here? "his accent coming out even more now.

“Yes,” you growled back at him, growing more agitated.

Your initial sunny demeanor was gone, now you were like a cat with your claws out.

“Lo siento, “he held out a hand as he apologized like he was trying to calm a bull, “I’m just looking for work.”

He had a lot of questions.

A woman was usually married, which you weren’t, taken, or would be under her father's supervision, which you weren’t either. Or a whore, which you didn’t seem to be. You also claimed to run this business on your own, which was unusual. And you didn’t have a man guarding the door either, you were strange in fact, very strange.

“Not hiring,” you replied in Spanish, which made him raise a brow at you. “You can go now.”

You & Pero

What an ass.

You thought, sure he was hot, and you were very intrigued, but you didn’t need the attitude or the barbaric mindset. There were enough assholes in town who had opinions about you, and the kind of life you should live. You didn’t need some dirty mercenary putting his two cents in the matter.

You only made it a few steps away from him before stopping, you could feel him lingering, his eyes on you. You doubled back. You assessed him with your eyes and pulled the mask fully off your head.

Maybe he could be useful, you thought. “What are you good at?”

He smirked, taking a half step your way, “You really the boss?”

“Yes.” you hissed.

“Swords, blades, knives.” he paused, his eyes still on yours, even as he pointed at his suit, “repairs.”

“Hmmm,” you crossed your arms while continuing to study him. “I do all that. No need for you.”

He chuckled. Yeah, he liked you, he liked you a lot. Before he could stop himself, he asked,

“Is this really your place? No man is hiding back there?”

You rolled your eyes and pointed to the door, “see the name on the fucking sign, that’s my last name. My father is too old to work, I have no brothers, this place is mine. Got a problem with that?”

He smirked, liking the sass, this kitty scratches. “No problem.”

You locked in a stare with him, almost getting distracted by his eyes, you could lose yourself in them. In the back of your mind, you thought about the long list of things you had to do, and an extra hand around here might be good, but you weren’t sure if you’d reveal that to him yet.

You pointed to the door, “I’ll think about it. Come back tomorrow.”

Pero was about to say something when the door opened, he turned to see a man enter, then quickly looked at you again, seeing your smile return. Damn, it was a sight to see.

The man moved right past Pero like he wasn’t there and went straight to you. As you greeted each other, you pulled a pouch out of your apron and revealed a metal wristband.

“I was just about to send word, it’s finished,” you display your work proudly.

Pero grinned, a woman metalsmith, how odd. You continued to intrigue him by the second.

“Lovely work as always,” the man said your name while admiring it.

Your eyes darted to Pero’s. “Tomorrow,” you repeated sharply.

Pero huffed, then saw himself out.

.

Early Evening, The Three Bucks Inn & Tavern

As Pero parked himself at a table off to the side, he took in his surroundings. The Tavern was busy with locals, and a few people who looked like visitors.

“Can I get ya anything?” the barmaid asked as she stopped by this table, she spoke over the crowd, making sure he could hear her.

“Food and ale,” Pero answered while slapping the silver coins on the table.

She pocketed the coins. “Anything else?”

Pero sat back, really looking at her this time. The woman was good-looking, a little thin for him, he preferred them thicker. Like that woman from the shop, you were sturdy, you could handle him. He shrugged the thought away. A whore would be better anyway, get in, get laid, go to bed.

“A room and a whore,”

He’d been on the road for months, he needed to fuck a woman as bad as he needed a good bath and a shave. Plus, a good night's sleep, on a bed for once. He was getting older; all the years had taken their toll on his body. He was still skilled and quick on his feet, but he required more rest now.

“I’ll get ya a bed.” she pointed toward the door, “Take a left past the carriage house. Walk till you reach the end of West Street. Madame Mae’s is the last house on the corner. No missing it. Red door. Just about as subtle as you are.”

Pero frowned as the woman left to fulfill the order.

He was looking forward to a hot meal, real food, not the shit he was surviving on for the last few months. He hoped the whores at Mae’s were decent, he’d fuck what he could get, but someone nice to look at would be even better.

Well, you would be better. He tried to put you out of his mind, but like a phantom, you wouldn’t leave, he kept thinking about your smile, your form, and the way you shot venom with your eyes when he pissed you off. If you know how to forge metal, you could likely use a sword too, and the thought made his cock twitch.

The whore would have to do it, but you would be better.

.

Later, Pero

Now that Pero had a bath, a shave, and a satisfactory fuck with a decent whore, a good night's rest was next. But it was still a little early and he was feeling restless.

Mierda

Maybe he should have gone with William. But what the fuck would he have done with himself? His blonde-haired friend had done the foolish thing of falling in love and doubled back to the place they left behind nearly a year ago. After they left the wall, they spent months on the road, taking jobs and for Pero at least, trying to get China out of his mind.

Pero’s solo journey wasn’t going so well, and if had to spend another 3-5 months on horseback, starving, cold, horny, and bearing the weather, he’d kill someone. A lot of someones.

Pero wanted to stop moving, just for a little while, make some money at the same time. A lot of money, preferably. He already spent most of this year and last on the move, and if this town had no work, he’d just drag himself to the next.

Soon his restlessness, and busy mind led him to leave the bed. Leaving the inn, he stepped out onto the street, the townspeople were enjoying the weather, and the night market was still going, though some vendors were starting to pack up.

Pero only walked a few minutes before he saw you again. You were chatting with a vendor, a woven basket in one hand, full of various items. You were dressed in a dark tunic tucked into dark pants and boots, with a blade holstered to your right thigh. He expected to see you in skirts outside of the shop, but again, you were no ordinary woman, not by any stretch.

Pero lingered in the background, watching, soon he heard your laugh for the first time. Fuck, it was wonderful, just as wonderful as your smile. You were both the sweetest thing he’d ever seen, and mean as a snake when pressed, you also looked like you could throw a punch, and he liked that.

As the vendor made you laugh again, Pero felt something else and wanted to kick himself for it. He spent a total of 5 minutes with you, what the fuck did he have to be jealous about? He chalked it up to his sleep-deprived state, and maybe needing to get laid again tomorrow - that should calm him down.

There you were, his shadow, and all it took was 5 minutes. He thought about you all day, in the bath while he jerked off, and even when he fucked that whore. Pero felt ridiculous. Maybe William wasn’t the foolish one, maybe it was him.

Before he could stop himself, his feet were moving as he made his way over to you.

You

You felt eyes on you the whole time but could finally pinpoint the source. There he was, coming your way. All dark and broody and sexy as hell and cleaned up.

“Oh, the brute. Are you stalking me?”

He grunted, “No.”

“Sure?” You smirked as you shifted the basket to your other hand. “Because stalking is not a good way to get hired. In fact, it’s creepy.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, cariño. If I want a woman, I pay a whore.”

You raised your brows at him, what you were feeling wasn’t offense, it was something you couldn’t put your hands on.

“Well, the next time you go, why don’t you ask for a job. Maybe they’re hiring.” Without giving him time to respond, you were off, taking long strides away from him.

No matter how hot he was, he was irritating as hell. Brute, yeah, that was a good fit and that's what he was. The last thing you needed was to get involved with a guy like him.

No. Do not go there, you remind yourself. Even if he was hot as sin.

.

The next day, You and Pero

You were just setting up for a ring you’re working on, then the bell chimed.

It was much too early for clients, and there was only one person you could think of who would be here right now. You weren't sure if you hoped it was him, or dreaded the possibility. Leaving the work desk, you stepped out into the front room and saw him standing there.

“Ugh.” You sighed then headed back into the other room.

In the back of your mind, you thought of bringing your dogs next time, so they could watch the front door.

Pero took it upon himself to follow you inside. You leaned against the desk with crossed arms.

“What?”

“You said come back tomorrow.”

You were listening, well, half listening. He looked even better than he did yesterday, in the light of day, you could fully appreciate all the grooming he did.

As you noticed last night, he got a haircut, but it was still long enough to grab, to run your finger through. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes slid down his face, over his excellent bone structure, the cleaned-up beard, and down to his neck, even that part of him was sexy. You could feast your eyes on him for hours.

“Happy to see me?” He smirked, stopping in front of you, enjoying the way you greedily took him in.

“Not really,”

Pero's stance was confident, eye contact unwavering. “You need my help. Hire me.”

“What? So, you could protect me from men and beasts? I have a feeling you are both.”

He chuckled, fully amused, “I could,” he shrugged, “I am.”

“Besides, I’ve been in my share of fights. I’m good with sharp things.”

Fuck, Pero thought, your words hitting him right in his core and going lower. You were special.

“The team we’d make then, why not have the best swordsman on your grounds?”

You uncrossed your arms, "and you’re full of yourself, what a winner. I don’t need your help.”

Pero scoffed. “You’re short a man. Injury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, how did he know that?

Auden hurt his arm pretty bad last week, it was mainly you and him here, he was your main employee. You had two apprentices, but they weren’t where they needed to be yet, you were carrying the bulk of work on your shoulders. This handsome, grumpy stranger did his homework.

Still, he irritated you, so you said, “I don’t need you. You can go now.”

Pero hated that. He didn’t mean to be so rough when he reached out to grab your wrist, but he didn’t like being dismissed.

He didn’t even know what he was going to say, just grabbed you, making you spin around to face him. Your eyes burned with anger and something else more sensual behind that. Before he could speak, you slapped him, clear across the cheek. He was more impressed than mad.

As he rubbed his face and chuckled, you grabbed an unfinished blade from the table and pressed the sharp edge to his neck. His brown eyes widened as he stared at you.

“Get the fuck out.” You warned through gritted teeth.

Your lips, that’s where his eyes went, even with a blade to his throat.

Instead of a fight, a counter move, or a slew of curses, Pero's sultry gaze lingered on your lips, then met your eyes again. Despite yourself, you stole a glance of his mouth, and those kissable lips of his.

Sure, the mercenary was a pain in the ass. Whatever depths of hell dragged this man to your front door, you didn’t know. He was like a dog who kept coming back and you didn’t totally hate that. In fact, you -

The bell over the front door chimed as a customer came in. You both heard it, yet remained locked in a tense lust-filled stare. When you licked your lips, simply to moisten them, his eyes followed the movement. The bastard didn’t even flinch with the blade to his neck.

Why have a whore when he could have you? Pero thought, the idea followed by images that awakened him in other places.

“Hello?” The patron called out your name, you knew who it was by voice alone.

“One minute,” you shouted back, eyes still on Pero.

“Repairs, the two blades I told you about,” they said from beyond the door.

“I start now,” Pero stated with a smug grin.

“Are you fucking serious?”

He chuckled, finding your astonishment cute. Pero took one more indulgent, long look at you then stepped out into the main room.

Unable to move, the blade still in your hand, you stared at the door. Did he really just walk in here, hire himself, then look at you like you were a steak dinner? Yeah, he did.

“Pendejo.” You cursed, then pushed the door open. “I don’t even know his name…”

.

Two weeks later, You & Pero

Pero continued to annoy and intrigue you at the same time. He was a good worker, skilled, able to repair things and even knew how to make swords and blades. It was impressive.

He wasn’t a warm guy, which was obvious from first impressions, an acquired taste really. You kept him away from interacting with customers because of his harsh, curt demeanor, leaving him to mainly work in the workshop and behind the scenes, while you handled the front of the house, you, or your apprentices Nura and Robert.

You liked Nura the most, not that Robert was bad, he was a fast learner, and attentive worker. It was just extra special training another woman. You enjoyed seeing her defy the social norms and carve out her own path, same as you. You saw her like a little sister.

Everything ran smoothly at the shop, but the two of you still didn't know much about each other on a personal level. Pero didn’t talk about himself, or his life, nor did you.

Having him around gave you more free time, and you used some of that to dive into your other love, herbalism. One of your dreams was to open an apothecary, the town already had one, but you wanted your own, and you already knew how to make yours extra special.

This dream was on your mind when you cleared out a back room in the building and started to play around with tinctures and blends on your downtime. Pero made little comments along the way when he saw you in there, they gave you a few clues about him.

Being on the road, he knew a few things and recognized some of the herbs. He had a comfort there, but when you were creating potions as he called it, you noticed he’d get a little freaked out, and it didn’t take long to figure out he had a thing about magic and witches.

You weren’t a witch, but you knew how to make some things, and some days, just to fuck with him, you exaggerated.

- Flashback, to a few days ago -

You only stepped away for a moment but returned to see Pero observing the jars from a distance. He stopped at a corked bottle with an unusual purple hue, and some kind of clawed root at the bottom.

Pero picked it up cautiously, then put it down, “what kind of witchery is this?”

You leaned against the wall and crossed your arms in a relaxed way, “ingredients to turn you into a dragon.”

Pero whipped around to you with a suspicious look, “Are you joking?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “unless, you piss me off.”

“I always piss you off.”

"You better be careful then. And stop leaving your hair around, I’m collecting it.”

As you laughed and walked out of the room, he ran his palm over his hair, which only made you laugh more.

- Flashback over -

.

Three weeks later, Pero

The tavern was alive, packed wall to wall, and the revelry high; it was a special night as you threw Nura a birthday party.

Pero didn’t do parties, but it was better than sulking in his room alone, and he was pretty tired of the whores at Mae’s. He’s been here over a month now, fucked most of them all, and it did little to calm what he really needed and wanted, you.

Whenever he saw you laughing, having a good time, or flirting he was tempted to march over and claim you for himself, to kiss you in front of everyone and make it clear he would cut the head off any man who tried to win your affection.

Pero was sure you were attracted to him, he caught the stolen glances, still you never made a move or voiced your attraction. He knew you weren’t shy. Was it him? Were you doing this to torture him? What a wicked witch you were.

Even when he had two whores the other night, it only took the edge off. How you haunted him so. He felt defeated, maybe? But he wasn’t a quitter. He’d get you all for himself somehow. Pero wished William was here, the blonde would give him advice, advice he needed because Pero wasn’t good at shit like this.

Fighting, fucking, eating, and drinking, be had that down. But trying to win a woman’s heart, he had no fucking idea how to do that. He had to do this right. He didn’t want you just once, he wanted you for good.

Could it be, were you his...princesa? No. You weren't a princess. You we're tough. You looked after yourself and made your own way in life. No, reina, that's more fitting.

Where’s the Irishman when I need him? I could use your help amigo.

As a drunk man bumped into his table, Pero scowled at him, then lost himself in thought again, downing his ale at the same time. Things you like, yes, he’d start there. Women like gifts, right?

He noticed you enough at the markets to know some things, including your favorite dessert at the bakery. Good. A plan. He nodded to himself, then stood. He stole one more glance of you, across the way and having a good time, then made his way out of the tavern.

.

The next morning

Your head was spinning, too much ale. To make up for that, you pushed your work back to the afternoon and planned to take a nap upstairs once Pero got in. Last night came to mind, he was there, then he wasn’t. You were surprised he even came.

“Speak of the devil,” you said while rubbing your temples.

Pero nodded, looking a bit awkward, then put the bag he was holding for dear life on the desk. “Here.”

You poked the bag, “what is this?”

He scratched his temple, his brown eyes looking puppy-like, “uh, that sweet round thing, with cream and berries.”

You grinned, “from the bakery?”

“Sí.”

You bite back a full smile, then open the bag, “is poisoned?”

Pero sighed and then started to walk away.

“I’m joking!” you shouted back at him, “thank you Pero.”

He glanced back, and you swore you could see a little smile on his closed lips.

.

The week would be full of surprises. It started on Monday when he got your favorite dessert from Sweets n Breads Bakery. He was kind of awkward all day, didn’t say much to you, and seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts.

On Tuesday, there was another pastry waiting for you, and some of your to-do list was already completed. He explained he worked late and decided to get more done.

On Wednesday, you arrived to another pastry, and flowers with dirt and roots still attached, flowers you were sure he tore from someone's garden on the way over. Soil was all over the place, and you had to dust it off your papers.

He didn’t hand them to you directly, just busied himself in the forge while they sat on your desk. You waited until he was free to ask him about them. He was just finishing his lunch in the kitchen when you joined him.

“So, flowers.”

His eyes moved over you as he swallowed the last of his food, “women like flowers, yes? Even women who wear pants?"

Pero was panicking a little this morning, worried the pastry wasn't enough. On the way to work, he saw a guy give a girl flowers, and then get a kiss in return, so he figured, why not try. Even if he felt like a damn fool doing it.

You could see his mind going as you watched him. He was so cute, so innocent in this moment, you could kiss him right there. You also knew from the mix of flowers, they were from Mrs. Jennings' garden, and she was likely throwing a fit right now.

“Ever give a girl flowers before?” you asked as you sat next to him.

“No,” he answered, his eyes on you.

“Well, thank you,”

He shrugged, playing it cool, but you could see in his eyes he was hoping you liked his gesture.

“And the pastry, it was delicious, you’re buttering me up, Pero.”

“You like them. Yes?”

“I do.”

He smiled and relaxed back in his chair.

You leaned in closer, playing with his collar, “I won't say it's working but - “ you plant a kiss on his cheek. His eyes lit up as he smiled wider. “I have work to do.” You got up, taking one more look at him before leaving the room.

.

Thursday

Nura was organizing something when Pero came in, he walked in like he was in a hurry, and spoke in a low tone,

“I have a question.”

She looked up at him with a smile, knowing it was about you.

At first, she thought Pero was an ass, which he is, but she liked him now, he grew on her, and when it came to you, he was kind of adorable and an idiot at the same time.

“If it's about flowers, Mrs. Jennings is on a warpath, I recommend you stop taking them before she bites your hand off. She may be old, but she's mean as hell.”

He nodded, then came around the desk to join Nura.

“What else does she like? Boots? I could buy her boots?"

“She likes practical things. Maybe something she could use.”

“She likes swords.”

“She loves them, maybe a little too much.”

“What if I make her one?”

“Pastries and flowers are nice, so are boots, but if you make her a custom sword, that may do the trick. No promises, just sayin.”

Pero nodded, he grumbled a thank you, then headed back to the forge. Robert passed him in the hall and joined Nura.

“That's a man on a mission, nearly ran me over.”

“He’s smitten.” she handed him a note, "the supplies.”

“Somehow he seems a little less - grumpy these days.”

“Little by little, but I think even if he is in a good mood, he’d still be grumpy.”

Robert hummed, “I still don't get why she likes him so much.”

“I think I do; they’d be cute together.”

Not agreeing, but not going to argue either, Robert just nodded, then made his way out with the list.

.

Days later

You weren’t supposed to come in today, so when you came through the door, rushing like a bat out of hell, it took Pero by surprise. Not just because he didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow, it was the dress that shocked him the most. In all his time here, dark colored tops, pants, and boots were how you dressed yourself.

“I’m not here, ignore me,” you shouted as you rushed past him, then Nura.

The younger woman caught a glimpse of Pero’s expression and laughed.

“She’s wearing a dress..."

“Once in a blue moon, for special occasions. Her childhood friend is getting married today.” Nura explained.

Pero’s brows raised higher as you appeared again, a pouch in hand.

“A dress-" he repeated, taking you in with his eyes.

You hiked up the dress, he got a flash of your legs as you carefully slid the pouch into your high boot.

As you smoothed the fabric down, Pero feasted on you. To see you like this, so feminine as the soft flowing fabric hugged your form and for the first time, he had a good look at your cleavage, the fabric cupping your breasts in a way the loose shirts never did; he was a man ready to pounce, to scale the counter and claim you then and there.

“Fuck-“ you cursed,

He laughed. Strong and independent, a mouth like a sailor. A lady, and a warrior in one. His perfect woman.

“Can’t believe I forgot this. I gotta go,” you started to breeze past them, then stopped as you locked eyes with Pero. You grinned, eyeing him with the same sultry gaze he sent your way. “Like it?” You asked while giving a teasing spin.

“Sí, you should wear more dresses.”

“Maybe one more this year, if you give me a good reason to,” you winked at him then dashed out of the door.

“That woman -“ Pero shook his head as he stared at the door.

“Oh you are far gone Pero,” Nura patted his arm, “just tell her already.”

“Tell her what ?”

“How you feel. I’m sure you’ve noticed; she has other suitors.”

“And I’ll fight them all.” He grew serious.

Dammit, the thought. He came here for work, rest and to get laid. He didn’t expect this, he didn’t plan to -

Nura’s light laugh pulled him out of his head. “Just tell her. She likes you too.”

“She flirts with me but makes no moves.”

“You really are adorable when confused.”

“Adorable? I’m not adorable.”

She chuckled, “Have you considered that she wants you to make the first move?”

“She’s no weak woman, she makes swords and wears pants.”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn't want to be perused, she takes charge daily, maybe she wants someone else, you, to take the lead this time.” She playfully tapped Pero’s head

He groaned and swatted her hand.

“Take the lead Pero, don’t overthink it,” Nura advised, then laid her hands on the counter. “We have a lot of work to do, ready?”

“Ready.”

As they headed back, he asked something he was curious about. He started by saying your name,

“Are you the same as her? No husband?”

“No, and there won’t be. I’m gay.” She answered.

Pero quirked a brow.

She added, “I like women. And I do have a girlfriend, the bartender at three bucks, with freckles.”

Ah, Pero thought, he’d seen her before.

“This is a strange place indeed,” he muttered, “I’ve never been to a place like this, with such women.”

“I like to think our town is special. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have people with opinions or those who accuse us of devil worship or witchcraft.”

“Are you, a witch?”

“I know some things, “she grinned, “can I watch you finish that armored plate before I start my work?”

Pero grinned, “Sí, vamos.”

The kid, well Nura wasn’t a kid, she was 25 now, but he called her that sometimes; she had given him some good advice about you and handled his moods with ease.

In Pero’s time here, Robert still wasn’t a fan of his, but they had no fights between them minus some minor disagreements. Your main guy, Audin, was still in recovery but came in from time to time to help with smaller things. His role reduced until he got better. Pero liked the guy, what little he saw of him.

In these weeks, Pero found himself most fond of Nura, she was like the little sister he never asked for. He could see why you liked her so much and why you took her under your wing.

.

A couple of weeks later

Pero studied his work with a sharp eye, searching for any imperfections.

Any other time he made a blade, it was robotic, just doing something he knew how to do, but this mattered more than any of those times. It had to be perfect because he was shit with words, he hoped he could hand you this and you would know all the things he wanted to say to you.

Months ago, if someone told him a woman like you existed, he would have laughed and called bullshit. But you were real, very real, and meant to be his. For you, he’d move into this town for good, put the long journeys to rest, and figure out all that shit he avoided all his life, like how to win a woman's heart and share his life with someone. He was sure he'd fuck up, a lot, piss you off, and get it wrong, but as long as he had you, he would keep trying to get it right.

Once the blade was packed up, he made his way to your house on the edge of town. He was nervous, more than he'd been in a long time, and he felt foolish. He wondered what Willaim would say if he saw him right now.

.

Pero stared at the door, part of him wanting to knock, and the other wanting to run, to turn around and get the hell out of here before he got himself even more wrapped up in this, in you.

It had to be witchery; how else would you have such a hold on him?

What are you waiting for, get moving, Pero heard in his friend's voice, phantom William pushing him forward. He could hear the dogs barking and coming his way in the distance.

Pero knocked on the door…

Once Pero was inside, you offered him a drink. He sat at your kitchen table as you poured ciders then went over to him.

“A home visit, what’s the special occasion?” you asked as you sat.

“Visiting the dogs." he smirked.

"Of course," you shook your head and took a drink.

Over the last few weeks, you’ve seen a new side of Pero emerge, and it made you like him more.

You’ve made the first move before and thought about doing that with him, but it would be so much more fun if he did it. You wanted him to charge in here and ravish you, and you were hoping today was the day, but the sense of nervousness you’re getting off of him makes you unsure.

“I have something for you,” he pulled a wrapped item from his pouch. He placed it on the table as his eyes met yours. “A gift.”

“Really?”

Pero watched, holding his breath as you unwrapped it, revealing the most perfect blade you’ve ever seen. Down to the handle, and the engravings. In the past, you made a few for yourself but always felt like you were missing something. Pero, this man sent to you from the universe, somehow got it right.

You held the blade, running your fingers over it, admiring it as your lips parted slightly in shock. At first, Pero was worried you didn’t like it, but as your eyes lit up, he relaxed and dropped his shoulders.

“Pero - “ you breathed, your eyes flicking to his, then back at the blade. “This is perfect.”

His small grin turned to a full smile and before you could say anything else, he dragged your chair closer to his with one hand. While cupping your cheek, Pero leaned in, bringing his lips to yours.

Smiling as he kissed you, you put the blade down and grabbed his arms. Pero drew you into his lap as the kiss deepened, intensifying with each pass of each other's lips.

His kiss was passionate, consuming, desperate and you could swear, your body was feeling all the things he wanted to say to you and was too afraid to say; the floodgates blasted open and as your hands roamed, finally exploring each other's bodies, you knew there was no going back after this.

"Mi reina, I'll fuck you on the floor if I have to. But it must happen now."

The hoarse desperation in his voice only made you hotter for him.

You tugged his hair while teasing another kiss, “I prefer a bed handsome. Follow me.”

“Gladly.”

You held out your hand, he took it. As you made your way to the bedroom, Pero latched on to you, kissing and biting at your neck, his hands moving over your breasts as his cock pressed against your ass.

.

Hours later

Laying on your stomach, Pero beneath you, you traced his scar with your fingertip. He looked as good as you imagined naked; he was delicious, and you allowed yourself to feast.

He had a map of scars from his legs up to his face, he was beautifully shaped, from his hands to his cock, to his broad shoulders and bone structure. If you could only have one man in your bed from here on out, you’d choose him.

Pero felt calmer than he had ever been, relaxed after the come down from your second round some time ago. The first was hot, rough, and fast, like wolves in heat under the full moon. The second time was less rushed and even more enjoyable.

You traveled the length of the scar, then met his gaze. "What’s this one from?”

“A time I was left for dead. The bastards tried to take my boots. I took their lives.”

You grinned, imagining him out in the field, and all his adventures.

A comfortable silence fell between you for a while, until Pero broke it.

“- quite the game we played cariño.”

“Wasn’t it,” you lay on his chest, planting a kiss on his chin, then on his lips, “but, who says it’s over?”

“Meaning?”

“I haven’t seen your sword skills yet, we must duel.”

He chuckled, shaking you both slightly as it rumbled through his chest, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, and…” you kiss him again, “there’s a whole list of fun games we could play.”

He quirked a curious brow.

“Well,” you nibbled his ear before telling him what was on your mind.

“Dios mio - “ he said with wide eyes.

“You know you like it,” you grinned, then kept going.

“I do,” he confirmed, caressing the back of your neck as the games you whispered got filthier and filthier.

God, you were speaking his language, and he wasn’t sure if you were real - well if he hadn’t just fucked you twice, which was more than worth the wait, he'd think this was magic, witches work, but you, and this, were all real.

You continued, spilling your dirty thoughts in his ear while now stroking his length with your hand.

Fuck, Pero thought, he’d keep you forever, even longer after that. You would never know another man because you were his.

Pero took hold of you, pulling you into an earth-shattering kiss before holding you against him.

“Good thing for you, I'm not going anywhere. You're mine now.”

You smiled against his chest, “I think I might not object to that.”

“Woman,” he groaned with a slight laugh,

“For you,” you looked up at him and weaved your fingers through his, “I'll make an exception.”

“Now that we’ve come to an understanding, I want food,” he sat up, pulling you with him, “then we fuck again.”

“I like the way you think.” You straddled his hips, teasing him a little before getting off. “Come on my ravenous beast, I made stew last night, and I must say, it's damn good.”

You slipped on the tunic and then made your way out of the room.

Pero slipped on his pants and followed, “as glad as I am to eat, I’m more excited about dessert.”

As you busied yourself gathering bowls, Pero watched from the doorway. As good as it felt to have you, as happy as it made him to see your reaction to the blade, he couldn't shake his sense of worry. When he said you were his, you replied with a maybe, well, not exactly, you said,

“I think I might not object to that.”

Might not

That didn’t sit right.

He was all in, dead serious about it. If you’d have him, there was no one after you. But if you were unsure -

Pero called your name, prompting you to glance over your shoulder at him with that heart-stopping smile of yours.

“Yes?”

His doubts felt stupid, with the way you’re looking at him now, the light in your eyes, that smile. Still, he needed to hear it, he needed to hear it from your lips.

Pero came over to you, you could tell his mood had shifted. With concern, you turned to him and took one of his hands in yours.

“What's wrong?”

“I mean it,” he said your name as he cupped your cheek with one hand, his eyes big, brown, and vulnerable as he stared into yours, “You’re mine.”

Your eyes softened on him even more, “lo sé.”

“Say it,” he demanded.

You slipped your other hand around his back, pulling him closer, “I’m yours, Pero.” you leaned in, brushing the tip of your nose to his, then nibbling his bottom lips. “and you are mines.”

The grunt that left him at your words was primal, like a wolf claiming his mate, and before you could say anything else his lips were on yours. That was all he needed, this was home now, you were his home, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“What about dinner?” you giggled as he kissed the length of your neck and bunched the tunic over your hips.

“That can wait, I need you, now,” he growled, walking you backward to the table.

“Wow, I thought food was your first love,” you teased as you took his hardening length into your hands,

“It is, but now it has competition with you, mi amor.”

You smiled as he moved between your legs, “say it again.”

“Mi amor.” he threw the tunic across the room and quickly covered your breasts with his mouth,

You ran your fingers through his chocolate waves with one hand, guiding his cock inside of you with the other. You moaned together as he filled you,

“I love you too Pero,” you purred.

You closed your eyes, pleasure pulsing through your bodies as you moved your hips together. Thanking the stars and sky above for their gift to you; the very thing you didn't know you wanted in the form of a grumpy mercenary who stole your heart and set your soul on fire.

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More Pedro characters | More Pero

This was a special occasion, so I cross posted. Usually I just put previews on tumblr, all my other work goes to A03. You will need an account to view my archive. Lots of my older stuff 2019 - 2022, for now, is still on my master list here too.

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[underneaththatblackblanket]

"The 200+ Symptoms of Fibromyalgia"

(Note: Some symptoms may overlap)

GENERAL

1. Activity level decreased to less than 50% of pre-illness activity level

2. Cold hands and feet (extremities)

3. Cough

4. Craving carbohydrates

5. Delayed reaction to physical activity or stressful events

6. Dryness of eyes and/or mouth

7. Edema (Oedema)

8. Family member(s) with Fibromyalgia

9. Fatigue, made worse by physical exertion or stress

10. Feeling cold often

11. Feeling hot often

12. Frequent sighing

13. Heart palpitations

14. Hoarseness

15. Hypoglycemia (blood sugar falls or low)

16. Increased thirst

17. Low blood pressure (below 110/70)

18. Low body temperature (below 97.6)

19. Low-grade fevers

20. Night sweats

21. Noisy joints – with or without pain

22. Poor circulation in hands/feet

23. Profuse sweating

24. Recurrent flu-like illness

25. Shortness of breath with little or no exertion

26. Severe nasal allergies (new or worsening allergies)

27. Sore throat

28. Subjective swelling of extremities – (feels swollen Bu can’t find anything)

29. Sweats

30. Symptoms worsened by air travel

31. Symptoms worsened by stress

32. Symptoms worsened by temperature changes

33. Tender or swollen lymph nodes, especially in neck and underarms

34. Tremor or trembling

35. Unexplained weight gain or loss

PAIN

36. Abdominal wall pain

37. Bad hip pain

38. Burning Nerve Pain

39. Chest pain

40. Collarbone pain

41. Diffuse swelling

42. Elbow pain

43. Exacerbated Plantar arch or heel pain

44. “Growing” pains that don’t go away once you are done growing

45. Headache – tension or migraine

46. Inflamed Rib Cartilage

47. Joint pain

48. Lumpy, tender breasts

49. Morning stiffness

50. Muscle pain - widespread

51. Muscle spasms

52. Muscle twitching

53. Muscle weakness

54. Pain that ranges from moderate to severe

55. Pain that moves around the body

56. Paralysis or severe weakness of an arm or leg

57. Restless Leg Syndrome

58. Rib Pain

59. Scalp Pain (like hair being pulled out)

60. Sciatica-like pain

61. Tender points or trigger points

62. TMJ syndrome

63. “Voodoo Doll” Poking Sensation in random places

NEUROLOGICAL

64. Blackouts

65. Brain fog

66. Carpal Tunnel

67. Feeling spaced out

68. Hallucinating smells

69. Inability to think clearly

70. Lightheadedness

71. Noise intolerance

72. Numbness or tingling sensations

73. Photophobia (sensitivity to light)

74. Seizures

75. Seizure-like episodes

76. Sensation that you might faint

77. Syncope (fainting)

78. Tinnitus (ringing in one or both ears)

79. Vertigo or dizziness

EQUILIBRIUM/PERCEPTION

80. Bumping into things

81. Clumsy Walking

82. Difficulty balancing

83. Difficulty judging distances (when driving, etc.)

84. Directional disorientation

85. Dropping things frequently

86. Feeling spatially disoriented

87. Frequent tripping or stumbling

88. Not seeing what you’re looking at

89. Poor balance and coordination

90. Staggering gait

SLEEP

91. Alertness/energy best late at night

92. Altered sleep/wake schedule

93. Awakening frequently

94. Difficulty falling asleep

95. Difficulty staying asleep

96. Excessive sleeping

97. Extreme alertness or energy levels late at night

98. Falling asleep at random and sometimes dangerous moments

99. Fatigue

100. Light or broken sleep pattern

101. Muscle spasms/twitches at night

102. Narcolepsy

103. Sleep disturbances

104. Sleep starts or falling sensations

105. Teeth grinding - "Bruxism"

106. Tossing and turning

107. Un-refreshing or non-restorative sleep

108. Vivid or disturbing dreams/nightmares

EYES/VISION

109. Blind spots in vision

110. Eye pain

111. Difficulty switching focus from one thing to another

112. Frequent changes in ability to see well

113. Night driving difficulty

114. Occasional Blurry vision

115. Poor night vision

116. Rapidly worsening vision

117. Vision changes

COGNITIVE

118. Becoming lost in familiar locations when driving

119. Confusion

120. Difficulty expressing ideas in words

121. Difficulty following conversation (especially if background noise present)

122. Difficulty following directions while driving

123. Difficulty following oral instructions

124. Difficulty following written instructions

125. Difficulty making decisions

126. Difficulty moving your mouth to speak

127. Difficulty paying attention

128. Difficulty putting ideas together to form a complete picture

129. Difficulty putting tasks or things in proper sequence

130. Difficulty recognizing faces

131. Difficulty speaking known words

132. Difficulty remembering names of objects

133. Difficulty remembering names of people

134. Difficulty understanding what you read

135. Difficulty with long-term memory

136. Difficulty with simple calculations

137. Difficulty with short-term memory

138. Easily distracted during a task

139. Dyslexia-type symptoms occasionally

140. Feeling too disoriented to drive

141. Forgetting how to do routine things

142. Impaired ability to concentrate

143. Inability to recognize familiar surroundings

144. Losing track in the middle of a task (remembering what to do next)

145. Losing your train of thought in the middle of a sentence

146. Loss of ability to distinguish some colors

147. Poor judgment

148. Short term memory impairment

149. Slowed speech

150. Staring into space trying to think

151. Stuttering; stammering

152. Switching left and right

153. Transposition (reversal) of numbers, words and/or letters when you speak

154. Transposition (reversal) of numbers, words and/or letters when you write

155. Trouble concentrating

156. Using the wrong word

157. Word-finding difficulty

EMOTIONAL

158. Abrupt and/or unpredictable mood swings

159. Anger outbursts

160. Anxiety or fear when there is no obvious cause

161. Attacks of uncontrollable rage

162. Decreased appetite

163. Depressed mood

164. Feeling helpless and/or hopeless

165. Fear of someone knocking on the door

166. Fear of telephone ringing

167. Feeling worthless

168. Frequent crying

169. Heightened awareness – of symptoms

170. Inability to enjoy previously enjoyed activities

171. Irrational fears

172. Irritability

173. Overreaction

174. Panic attacks

175. Personality changes –usually a worsening of pervious condition

176. Phobias

177. Suicide attempts

178. Suicidal thoughts

179. Tendency to cry easily

GASTROINTESTINAL

180. Abdominal cramps

181. Bloating

182. Decreased appetite

183. Food cravings

184. Frequent constipation

185. Frequent diarrhea

186. Gerd-like Symptoms

187. Heartburn

188. Increased appetite

189. Intestinal gas

190. Irritable bladder - "Angry Bladder Syndrome"

191. Irritable bowel syndrome - IBS-C, IBS-D

192. Nausea

193. Regurgitation

194. Stomachache

195. Vomiting

196. Weight gain - unexplained

197. Weight loss - unexplained

UROGENITAL

198. Decreased libido (sex drive)

199. Endometriosis

200. Frequent urination

201. Impotence

202. Menstrual problems

203. Painful urination or bladder pain - "Interstitial Cystitis"

204. Pelvic pain

205. Prostate pain

206. Worsening of (or severe) premenstrual syndrome (PMS or PMDD)

SENSITIVITIES

207. Alcohol intolerance

208. Allodynia (hypersensitive to touch)

209. Alteration of taste, smell, and/or hearing

210. Sensitivity to chemicals in cleaning products, perfumes, etc.

211. Sensitivities to foods

212. Sensitivity to light

213. Sensitivity to mold

214. Sensitivity to noise

215. Sensitivity to odors

216. Sensitivity to yeast (getting yeast infections frequently on skin, etc.)

217. Sensory overload

218. Sensitivity to pressure & humidity changes

219. Sensitivity to extreme temperature changes

220. Vulvodynia

SKIN

221. Able to “write” on skin with finger

222. Bruising easily

223. Bumps and lumps

224. Eczema or psoriasis

225. Hot/dry skin

226. Ingrown hairs

227. Itchy/Irritable skin

228. Mottled skin

229. Rashes or sores

230. Scarring easily

231. Sensitivity to the sun

232. Skin suddenly turns bright red

CARDIOVASCULAR (Heart)

233. “Click-murmur” sounds through stethoscope

234. Fluttery heartbeat

235. Heart palpitations

236. Irregular heartbeat

237. Loud pulse in ear

238. Pain that mimics heart attack - "Costochondritis"

239. Rapid heartbeat

HAIR/NAILS

240. Dull, listless hair

241. Heavy and splitting cuticles

242. Irritated nail beds

243. Nails that curve under

244. Pronounced nail ridges

245. Temporary hair loss

OTHER

246. Canker sores

247. Dental problems

248. Disk Degeneration

​249. Hemorrhoids

250. Nose bleeds

251. Periodontal (gum) disease

252. Need for early hysterectomy

[alpydk]

I know you've been back and forth about Gale smut, but can I maybe request angsty smut?

Gale 100% sure he's gonna use the orb at the endgame, but fooling Tav into thinking he had been convinced. The night before the last battle, Tav thinking it might be their last night but Gale *knowing* it is.

Hello anon. Thank you for this prompt. I'll admit, it's been a challenge and I'll admit this is more like 90% angst and 10% maybe smut... You'll see what I mean.

Lose you

Word Count - 1221 words - C/W Angst, death, last night.

‘Cause I’m gonna lose ya Yes, I’m gonna lose ya If I’m gonna lose ya I’ll lose you now for good

Gale loved Tav more than he ever thought was possible. He loved how she looked at the world, eyes bright and optimistic, how she saw the good in everyone she met. Everyone could be redeemed of the mistakes they had made at some point in their lives, whether it be Kethric cursed for giving everything for another, Astarion’s tactful advances learnt from a life of pain, whether it was Gale himself and the greatest of all folles.

But what are forgiveness and redemption with no sacrifice? Kethric had ended up dead, Astarion still a spawn living off woodland animals. Gale had sacrificed nothing, at least nothing he could see. A year in solitude was but the consequence of my actions, not a sacrifice. The crown was a distant pipedream that even if he reforged, he could not wield. Unworthy of wielding. No, fate had dictated long ago what his sacrifice would be, and even with Tav’s compelling words and Elminster’s belief that destiny could be manipulated, Gale did not see it for himself. He knew what he had to do. He’d known since that very first day with the book.

“You think too much.”

Tav was right. In recent weeks he had been thinking too much: of life, death, of Gods and planes, and the pain. Will I be given a place at Mystra’s side, or will I walk the Fugue Plane without relief until I'm met with Kelemvor’s judgement? When the end comes, will it be but an instant of burning nerves as I’ve experienced in recent months, a candle snuffed out without hesitation? Or will it be the dull ache of the orb’s pressure building within my ribs, the seconds stretching for eternity as each molecule of my existence is torn apart piece by piece? Gale chuckled at her words; thoughts abandoned. “Maybe, but to think too much, my love, should never be a cause for concern.”

Sitting beside him, she took his hand in her soft palm. She had seen his scrawled letters, words of farewell, of a future he wouldn’t be a part of, and it pained her to think he could even consider leaving them, leaving her. “It is when I know what your mind often travels to.”

 “And what might my mind be travelling to right now?”

To look upon your eyes, your hair, your skin. To see each curve of your body under the dawn’s light. To touch you. To hear your breathing as you sleep. To make you laugh. To make you cry. To love you and no other. To lose you.

She smirked at his words, the playfulness in his tone not going unmissed. Maybe the letters had been written during darker moments, ones before their night at Moonrise. He’d told her he was grateful for meeting her, told her he loved her. He’d invited her to Waterdeep to meet his family. The future was there and maybe it was her who was overthinking things. “I could think of one or two things.” Tav slipped her hand from his, bringing it to the trailing weave of the orb upon his chest. For so many nights she had placed heated kisses along the darkened lines, felt the rise and fall of his chest with each heightened emotion, made him forget his goddess. And for a thousand more nights to follow, Tav would do the same.  

“Maybe a demonstration is in order, hm?” Gale leant back, watching the way her hair tumbled down above him as she positioned herself. He felt the way her fingertips traced along his chest, his robe removed and abandoned. The tender touch of her lips upon his, the scent of wine on her breath. How he longed to change fate. To hold you close on stormy nights. To see you smile as you taste my cooking. To dance with you. To hear you read poetry in the dim light of my study. To feel your head on my shoulder as we watch the sunset. To love you. To lose you.

Her dress was gone, the candlelight letting shadows dance upon her flesh. She looked at him in the same way she saw the world. He could be forgiven, redeemed. In her eyes, he already was, and she wanted to show him that.

Wishing he could tell her the truth; he buried his face in the crook of her neck. The scent of poppies hung in her hair, and he tried to memorise it. He tried to remember each minute detail of her form: the shade of her hair under the light, the flush of her cheeks as she gave into the tides consuming her, the quiet moan as he stroked her body with the soft pad of his thumb. If only they could stay in that one moment, an eternity with Tav as his goddess, the stars their followers, each whisper from his lips a new prayer devoted to her. If only...

“Tav... If something untoward, shall we say, were to happen to me-”

She gazed down at him, the slow rhythmic movements of her hips coming to a hesitant halt upon hearing his words. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I merely need assurance,” Gale replied, an unwilling sliver of emotion escaping him. Please tell me you will find someone else. You will fall in love and smile at them as you smile at me. Tell me you will not need me.  

“You’re not going anywhere.” Tav was so sure of her words. They would fight the Netherbrain and all of them would survive. They would not sacrifice anyone. They were not pieces on a lanceboard to be thrown away at the whims of the gods. They, he was more than that.

“How can you be so sure?”

He felt the slow roll of her hips, the warmth of her body as she grew closer to him. Wrapping his arms around her, Gale held her tightly. He would not let go of her, would not let go of this moment, of their last night together. He would remember every gasp, every whine, every bead of sweat that merged with the salted tears that pricked at his eyes. When the time comes, I want the last thing I see to be you. To see you as you are now. To feel you as you are now. To not lose you.

 “Because I love you,” she moaned softly, her eyes closing with the building heat between them. She knew there was always a chance something could go wrong, but those doubts had no place in their world right now. There was only the love she could show him, the meaning in living.

“I love you too.”

What else could he say that night before his sacrifice was made? Their last night could not be one of pain and sadness. It had to be spent in the way it was, with heated kisses and stars of their own creation. It had to be the last memory they shared, one that would smother out the darkness to follow, one that he could picture as the conjured dagger pierced his heart. To hear your voice. To see you smile. To love you. To lose you.

[starrycassi]

I think a lot of young queers folks (like me. Not trying to be all elderly about this I'm literally a gen z) today need to watch the good oldies about our community.

⚠️: I don't mean, in any way shape or form to insult the newer queer shows/movies. I love SPOP. I love TOH. I read and loved Heart stopper. However, because of the restraint of mainstream media, they have a very... palatable?? way to portray the community. I am NOT blaming the creators (who I'm sure would love to go a bit further down on their portrayals if given the option)

SO! I have nice recommendations that I, personally, enjoy a lot. They're in no particular order.

A classic, for starters. But I'm a cheerleader!: Very campy, barbie-y, funny and free on YouTube. A cheerleader is sent to a conversation camp when her social circle realizes that she might be into girls. (It has a very unrealistic portrayal of conversation camps, though. Very cartoony) my comfort movie fr fr

Priscilla, queen of the desert: A trio of drag queens travel across the desert on a big, old bus. They fight, there's some falling in love. They talk a lot about gender identity, queer childhoods and similar topics. I've only been able to find this one (and most of the ones on this list, since I don't have any streaming devices) on illegal websites. There's very, very direct homophobia, SA, physical abuse, child neglect, yk, the American dream. The queens are the funnier thing ever, the romance plotlines are absolutely delightful and well-rounded. Focuses a bit more on the community itself and interpersonal relationships. All around, a solid 10/10.

Kinky boots: A very prude, engaged man inherits a shoe fabric. He's running out of ideas to stay in business, until he meets a drag queen. Same warnings (and themes!) as the last one. This one has a stronger focus on how the characters become more accepting and how our queen navigates being faced with them. I've rewatched it like a hundred times.

The birdcage (2000's) or le cauge aux folles (1970'): A gay couple runs a drag club. Their son brings home a conservative girlfriend and her family. This is more comedy lenient, but funny as fuck nonetheless.

Paris is burning: this one is a documentary, btw. Focuses on the life of drag queens in the 80's. Nothing I didn't already say on Priscilla tbh.

Saving face: A chinese-american girl that lives in a VERY conservatory and secluded community is trying (and failing) not to fall in love with a ballerina. At the same time, her mother (a widow, how scandalous!) gets mysteriously pregnant and gets kicked out of their family home. This one will hit close to home if you're from any ethnic, homophobic household. Cried a lot. Then cried some more. Happy ending, though!

D.E.B.S: THIS IS THE FUNNIEST, CUTEST MOVIE EVER. It's a full on romance comedy for when the mind is a bit too tired! The main plot is that, in a school of girls being trained to be top-notch spies (very totally spies type) a girl who's the top of her class falls in love with the biggest villainess they ever faced. More of a coming of age thing, that also explores the good old dilemma of choosing what the hell you're supposed to do with your life once you turn 18 (relatable tbh)

And now, for a book (in Spanish, though) we have "Las Malas": Narrated by a trans, poor prostitute. Extremely realistic in its narrative voice, cruel and very hurtful sometimes. This is actually one of my favorite books ever, it's so fucking underrated that I'm going to die if no one reads it. There's EVERYTHING. It genuinely drives me crazy to read this. We have queer moms, a child found in a freezing park, suicides, literally anything happens. I love it.

If anyone has any suggestions PLEASE drop them. I'm begging u

[gyusfavlibra]

STRESSED | VERNON HANSOL

Pairings: idol!vernon x afab!reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, unprotected sex, profanity, angst, fluff. Sexual language.

Word count: Idek

Proofread: nope :)

……………………………………………………………………………….

“Vernon?”

Your feet drags you through the hallway. The same furnished tunnel that separated your shared bedroom from your living room, kitchen, and the front door you just entered.

You had just finished another double shift at work. Missing hours a few weeks back because of a vacation you have previously took.

Your feet were sore, you body ached with not only pain, but tiredness if that makes sense.

Working as a coffee shop manager wasn’t easy. You had to keep track of times, workers, products, etc. It’s a heavy duty. And it’s every day of the week. So the first thing you wanna do during this weekend break you were approved of, was go straight home and rest. Preferably with your partner of two years.

“Vernon, you home?”

None of the calls you make of his name get a reply. Which was weird considering he texted you right before you left your work place saying he’d be down to have a movie night to make you feel better.

His idea.

The silence was loud until you reach the entry of your bedroom. Pushing open the rectangular door that blocked you.

Inside sits not only your clean room, but Vernon. Sitting at his desk playing video games. With headphones.

That explains the silence.

“Vernon, you hear me?”

The closer you get behind him, the more you can hear the screaming voices of his friends through the foamed ear muffs. You throw your tote bag onto the bed and flicker the light switch on the wall to get his attention.

Vernon’s body turns at lightning speed. When his brown orbs lay upon you, he can’t help but smile. He raises from the the black and green gaming chair, pulling the headphones off his head.

“Hey,” he greets you. His soft pink lips peck your temple right as a hand slips around ur waist to pull you close. “How was work?”

“Fine, I guess.”

Your response is followed with a shrug. Vernon takes note upon this and sighs. But he doesn’t say anything more. “I’m just tired.”

“Rest.”

“I will. Gonna make something first. Have you eaten yet?”

He shakes his head. “Wanna order something? It’ll be easier.”

The thought of ordering out instead of cooking a whole meal hadn’t even crossed your mind for some reason. But now that it has, the latter is definitely the way to go. Vernon whips his phone out his pocket. Opening a delivery app, then passing it to you.

“Get whatever you want. My treat.”

He kisses your lips, lightly, before turning back to the gaming station to continue. “You don’t wanna hangout?”

“Oh, uhm-“

The way his eyes travel to look at the computer shows he had forgot about the plans to relax together tonight. It totally slipped his mind the second his best friend messaged for some gaming time. “How about when food gets here?”

“But you said-“

“Just a minute, Dino,” he speaks over you. “When foods here. I promise.”

And then he’s gone. All his sense put back into the electronics with his friends. Leaving you to fend for yourself. Entertain yourself. All on your own.

You aren’t even gonna try to hide the disappointment that waves over your system. It was Vernon’s idea to have a night together when you got home from the stressful day of chaos you’ve dealt with.

And you appreciate his effort because you know he cares. But actions speak louder than words.

After putting in a order for not only yourself, but Vernon as well given that you know what he likes, you toss his phone on the large shared bed. Removing the converse on your feet, you grab a set of clothing to replace the uniform on your body. Heading into your bathroom to run yourself a nice bath. It’s the least you could settle for right now, but it works.

You make sure the water is more in the colder side to awaken your muscles. The fruity smell of your body soap fills the bathroom space. As well as your nose.

It doesn’t take long for you to finish, your bathing time followed by your nighttime routine. Vernon’s still in the game Even after the half hour you spent in the bathroom, settling yourself for the night.

Setting your dirty worn clothes of the day into a basket, you put away all your products and duck out the bathroom.

Vernon’s still in the same spot as before. You only push aside how upset you feel instead of prepping a whole big deal out of it.

You pull the dark comforter that lays on top on your mattress upwards so you can slide yourself under it. For minutes, you tried to occupy yourself watching his game that flashed on the desk monitor. Vernon speaking every few seconds to communicate with his teammates.

But that wasn’t enough to not feel bored and alone. Your hand flips your phone upwards so its screen is connected to your eyes. Of course you gotta adjust the brightness considering it being later in the night so the bedroom itself isn’t even bright enough to match how vibrant the display was.

You open Netflix in hoping to find a show or movie that’ll keep you interested enough to stay awake until food got here.

It definitely upsets you that you have to spend this time to make yourself feel more relaxed when Vernon usually helps you. You understand completely that he wants to play games with his friends, very understandable.

But you wished he had sorted his time and schedule a lot better. Instead, everything for the night has been switched around.

Of course there’s always tomorrow but after a good nights rest, you’ll probably feel better already. You wanted to spend time with him now.

Your saddened thoughts are interrupted by the sound of your home’s doorbell. Of course Vernon’s not gonna get the door so you retrieve yourself out of the bed and out of the bedroom.

Setting the given meals onto the kitchen counter, you call out Vernon’s name. Maybe if you’re loud enough, he can actually hear.

“Vernon! Foods here!”

You pull the containers out the plastic bag. “Vernon!”

A sigh leaves your lips. Now you have to drag yourself all the way back to your room just to get his attention off the screen and into yourself.

“Babe,” you call while tapping his shoulder. He pulls one of the headphones off and behind his ear. “Food’s here. Wanna go eat?”

“Oh, yeah give me a second.”

“Are we gonna watch something?” You ask. Your finger play with the hemming on the hood of his sweater.

“You still want to?”

The brows on your forehead, furrow. “Of course I want to. I’ve been waiting this whole time to watch a movie with you. It was your idea.”

“Why’re you getting mad?”

His hands raise from the keyboard. Almost like he was trying defend his own self.

“I-I’m not. I’m just saying.”

“Okay, why don’t you set up a movie for us and I’ll be right out there. Hm?”

You nod with hesitancy. Questioning whether or not he’ll actually be out there anytime soon. But watching him leave the game lobby was A answer on its own.

“Guys, guys, I got to go. Y/n’s not having the best day and I promised I’d spend time with her.”

You set up Netflix on the living room tv. Setting the plates of your food into the cute coffee table that sits on this vintage rug Vernon’s mother gifted you at Christmas the previous year. You also grab a large fluffy blanket from the hallway closet.

The bedroom door opens with a squeak. Vernon comes marching out in a new set of clothes. Just a tshirt and some pajama pants.

“Food smells good.”

You nod in agreement. Vernon pretty much collapses onto the dark grey L shaped sofa. Adjusting the blanket to lay across his man spread legs. “Want a drink?”

“Mhm. Thanks.”

You hand him one of the two cokes from the fridge, settling next to him. Usually you’d be a lot closer than what it seems, and Vernon noticed the distance between you two.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“C’mere,” he pulls at your elbow. Using it against you to pull your body into his own. Your knees prop onto the couch. His arm swoops around so it lays across your chest. And you cling to it like you never wanna let it go. Because you really don’t. “Talk to me.”

“Huh?”

“Did I do something?”

“No- it’s not like that. I’m just tired,” you speak softly.

“Then why are you mad at me?”

The debate between letting this go now that your together or actually telling him why you’re truly upset with him. Either way the vibes will be ruined in your eyes.

“I’m not mad, I promise. It’s just- todays been super stressful. And you told me that when I got home, we could watch a movie and spend time together.”

“I did, yeah.”

“But I come home and you’re playing video games, leaving me to wonder whether you actually wanted to be by me, or not.”

His heart breaks. He understands exactly what you’re saying. Because he did say he’d be right there to make you feel better when you got home. And he won’t deny that. But he hadn’t noticed he had been leaving you out.

“And then you say we can hangout when foods here.“

“Y/n-“

“…and I had to practically beg you to come out here when it was you, who told me we’d have this time together.”

“Hey, I know. I hear you.”

“I know this is probably dramatic. But I’m stressed. And I want to be by you. It makes me feel better. But I want you to want to be by me too.”

All of this open his eyes. He made you feel so alone. And in no way, shape, or form, did He find any of this to be dramatic. Far from it. You find Vernon as your home. Your comfort. You are just as well for me. And you’re always there to hear about his stressful work days. Holding him when he feels like crying, hugging him when he needs to comfort. It’s only fair to him, that he does the EXACT same for you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. It sorta slipped my mind. But that’s no excuse.”

You lift your head so your eyes meet.

“I’m sorry.”

He bends his head forward to peck your soft bubbly cheeks. Once, twice, three times. Each kiss followed by another apology. It only makes you giggle. “Okay, okay!”

You try to pull away but he calls your name which pauses your movements. “Hey, I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re here right now and I’m feeling so much better already.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, cause I got food,” you joke. Vernon jerks your body against his which make you giggle.

“Oh really?”

“No, no. I’m kidding. I promise.”

He only hums in response. Instead of giving any word, he leans down to kiss your smiling lips. You reciprocate. It’s passionate at first. Slow. And super soft. You can feel the love in it. Both of you can.

But the second he mumbles “I love you” against your lips, it starts to get more heated than the passing kisses. The pressure of your mouth are a lot more compressed and hard than the softer and peck-like ones from before. And it grows more heavy by each second.

The position isn’t all that. Both of your necks are craned so its not all that comfortable.

You pull away to sit on your knees, turning to his body so your face to face. You lay a leg over his thigh so you can set yourself in his lap.

A hand of his holds your waist, but under your shirt so he can feel your skin. You pull him so your chests touch, reconnecting your lips.

Your hands trace his biceps and up to his shoulders where you grip on them tightly.

Vernon’s bulge is so obvious in the pajama pants he’s wearing. You can trace it with just your mind and the feeling between you. You lift yourself just a tad bit. But it was more like a grind. So you both could feel the desperate feeling that was racing in your veins.

His hand on your waist guides your hips at this point because your too focused on his lips that doing it on your own, its a little sloppy.

His covered erection rubs so perfectly against your wet heat. And for a second you think Vernon isn’t enjoying this because he stops kissing you, stops your hip movements, and places his head against your shoulder.

“Wait, wait. Stop,” he whispers. Moving his head right away to look you in the eyes. “We dont have to have sex tonight. We can just watch the movie.”

“No- I want to. I really want to.”

“Are you sure? Because we can just cuddle now and do this another time.”

Your stomach turns. “Do you not want me?”

“No, of course I do. I do. But I don’t want you to do this because of me. I know you had a bad day so if you wanna just relax, we can just relax.”

“Vernon, I really want you. I really do. Okay?”

He chuckles, “Okay.”

Vernon holds your waist even tighter so he can flip you on the couch. That way your pinned into the sofa while he hovers above you. He presses his lips even harder than ever on yours. Lifting your (his) t-shirt so your stomach is revealed to him. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” he says with a smirk.

Vernon trails a hand from your covered breast to the waistband of her pajama shorts. Your breath shudders. You couldn’t even remember the last time Vernon touching you made your breath hitch the way it is right now. To be fair, you haven’t been TOO intimate lately because of your busy schedules so maybe that just the reason. Its been just quick morning sex and then you both go on in the days like nothing happened. Obviously still affectionate but again, its the in bed affection that makes this so intimate right now.

Vernon’s lips trace the outline of your jaw just as his hand slips into your bottoms. Under the shorts AND your under wear, right to the place thats needed the most.

“Relax baby.”

His finger slide in between your soaking desperate walls. Your thighs twitch. The direct contact already making you feel so overstimulated.

He rubs circles right on your clit. At the same time as sucking little marks behind your ear. Its your sweet spot. He knew that better than anything. “Can I put them in?”

“Please.”

Not another word needed before he slips his pointy and middle finger inside you. Pumping them in and out at a pace that satisfies you enough to already feel your high coming. Thats how great Vernon made you feel. He thrusts his bulge against your opened up thigh. Giving himself some friction while focusing on making you cum.

Vernon knows to listen to your body. The language, the speed of your breathing, the height and volume of your moans as well as the space in between each of them. For example, when he angles his fingers just perfectly that your moans are now higher pitched.

So when you finally reach your climax, Vernon’s already ripping your bottoms off your body along with his own. He presses two quick kisses to your mouth before grabbing his rock hard cock into his hand and slapping your plumped lips with it. You body jolts at this sudden action.

“You sore?”

“No, no. I’m feel great. Just still coming down.”

He pauses all his movements. “Want me to wait?”

You hum with a shake of your head. “I still want you.”

“You sure. We can stop now if its too much,” he says with assurance. Thats one of your favorite things about Vernon is no matter how certain you sound, he’ll always continue to make sure thing okay. He’ll never push you to go any farther if you were sure.

“I dont wanna stop. I’m okay, I promise.”

Vernon kisses your temple. And holds his lips there as he sinks himself into you as slowly and sweetly as possible.

You moan into his shoulder while gripping his biceps. The stretch gets you every time. Not super painful but when slips in so slowly, you can feel the curve of every vein on his cock. “You okay?”

“Perfect.”

Vernon grips your thigh to lift it over his waist. Giving more access to your center to thrust more easily. He hits a spot so quickly that your nails are creating moon crescents into his skin even with the short sleeves covering his skin.

Your gummy walls suck Vernon in so nicely that now his own breath is shuddering against your skin. This dint even fucking in either of your eyes. This is your way of making love to each other. And you loved being able to do so with someone who cares so much for you.

He places a strong hand onto your breast and squeezes it through the green bra that covers your skin. The contact makes your high approach even faster than before.

A echoed moan travels through the room and it hits his ears so magically. “You like that? When I touch you?”

“I love it. I love it so much.”

Vernon can feel his high approaching rapidly. With every kiss, every touch, every thrust, it makes him wanna come undone. Smashing your lips together to swallow every moan you expose because of him is like taking a pill. You’re his drug. Everything he needs.

“Fuck- I love you so much, Y/n.”

“I love you too.”

“Say it again.”

And you do. And when asks you to say it again, you do. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna came me cum, Y/n.”

“Me too, Nonnie.”

His hand leaves your breast to circle your clit once again. “Oh, I’m-“

“Do it for me.”

You hold his lips to your own as you climax subdues your entire body. And just the sight on your beautiful body shaking over your orgasm has Vernon cumming as well and painting your insides with white liquid strings. “Fuck, fuck.”

His hips don’t stop until your high are long over and done. Vernon kisses your lips once more before pulling out of you while resting his head on your own. “You okay? You feel okay?”

You smile. “I feel amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” you nod with a little giggle escaping with your words. Vernon retrieves both of your bottoms from the floor and put them back on your bodies. More gently for you than his own self.

“I’ll warm up the food and we can watch that movie.”

Those words make your heart flutter. You nod while Vernon stands from the couch, bends down to peck your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And then he’s off to the kitchen warming up your dinner while you start the movie.

[nyctophicbtch]

OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE AONUNG X SULLY! READER!! IT WAS WONDERFUL.

I have another request :)

maybe she’s Kiri’s twin this time and Aonung really likes her (enough to want to mate with her) so he takes her to the spirit tree in a romantic ilu ride, only for the reader to get a seizure when she bonds to the spirit tree (like Kiri). Aonung gets really worried and Jake, Neteyam, and Lo’ak get really protective and mad at Aonung.

“Please-“

“You’ve done enough.” Amidst the ringing in your ears, you could specifically make out Neteyam’s seething voice in the distance.

Everything was heavy, yet you felt like you were floating at the same time. You could barely feel your body and see nothing but pitch black; hear nothing but muffled noise. It wasn’t until Ronal’s final breath on your stomach that you started to sense your surroundings.

She’s awake!

You could’ve sworn you imagined Tuk’s voice in your head, that was until your eyes started blinking open, the harsh light causing you to retaliate immediately. Even with your eyes only half open, you could see your baby sister’s figure looming over you.

“Neteyam! Lo’ak! She’s awake!” She began to call for your brothers as your eyes started adjusting to the room, a weak groan escaping your lips when you tried to sit up.

“Mom?” You were scared and confused when you saw no one there but the Metkayina’s tsahik and Tuk, and the loud argument coming from outside the marui was not helping.

“No, no. She could have died! What were you thinking?” Jake yelled, and you’d pull yourself up in time to see a guilty Ao’nung getting scolded by your father through the slightly opened flap of the marui.

“Guys…” Tuk whined when nobody seemed to have heard her call.

“I’m sorry. I only wanted to-“

“No. You could have gotten her killed, bro.”

“Dad!” your sister called out louder than the last time and he finally looked her way.

You could see his eyes travel past her shoulder to where you laid awake, and he visibly let out a breath of relief.

“Listen. Just… Don’t do that again, okay?” your dad sighed, patting Ao’nung’s shoulder before walking towards you and dropping to his knee beside your mat.

“Hey, baby girl.”

You smiled, but it quickly dropped when you saw Ao’nung standing off to the side guiltily, ears pressed to his skull.

“Dad-“ A single tear fell from your eye just as your brothers came running in, looking down at you with worry written all over their faces.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re okay now.”

“Where’s mom?”

“She and Kiri went outside to look for more of the tsahik’s stuff. I’ll go tell them you’re alright, okay?” he assured, wiping your wettened cheek with a finger.

You nodded and your dad gave one last smile before leaving you with your brothers. Neteyam was the first to approach whilst Lo’ak stood not far behind, observing your brother’s slow steps.

“Hey, little idiot.” He gave your head a pat, earning a smile alongside your little sniffle. “We’re glad you’re okay.”

Tuk nodded, agreeing with his eldest brother as she peered over your shoulder at him. And then you noticed Ao’nung, still silently standing outside, patiently waiting for approval to come see you. Your eyes softened and your lips curved into a frown at the sight.

“What is it?”

“Lo’ak, it wasn’t Ao’nung’s fault. He was trying to do something nice for-“

“He was trying to mate with you, skxawng,” Lo’ak scoffed, interrupting whatever explanation you were about to give him and your face flushed at his words.

“So what if I wanted to?” Neteyam’s ears immediately perked up at your quiet statement.

Your eyes fell to Tuk who was still listening intently and Neteyam brought his hand around her shoulders, guiding her away from you. You could see the looks your brothers exchanged with each other as Neteyam brought Tuk out of the marui and you were absolutely baffled.

They do this too many times and it got annoying being left out of a conversation they were making with their eyes that was clearly about you.

Lo’ak hissed in annoyance before following his brother out, stopping when he was beside Ao’nung. You couldn’t clearly see what was going on through the small opening, but you could make out your brother whispering something in the Metkayina's ear before lightly slapping him in the back, leading him to the entrance of the marui.

“Hey,” Ao’nung greeted softly as he slowly approached you.

Your face lit up when the boy sat beside you, reaching a hand down to play with your fingers.

“Ao’nung do not listen to them. It wasn’t your fault.” You grasped his hand in yours, assuring him with a soft stroke of your thumb.

“No,” he chuckled lightly. “It’s okay. I should have asked first.”

“But you couldn’t have known-“

“Shh. You need rest. We can do this another time. The right way.”

‘Bro. Him? Really?’

‘Ugh.’ ‘Well we cannot stop them.’

‘But c’mon-‘ ‘Eywa, It’s Ao’nung.’

‘Lo’ak.’

[mcytmultilingualbb]

Team: Italian 2 Writer: Brie @briefle Artist: CC @ccssketchbooknstuff Beta: Moro @moro-the-sun Title: Na Pescatora, nu Folle i'llu Mare tràsinu 'nta nu bar. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57002851 Ratings: Teen And Up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: GeminiTay, Grian Summary:

Una Pescatora, un Folle e il Mare entrano in un bar. C'è chi quasi annega, ma tutto bene qui! Nulla di rotto!

In un bar con luci al neon che lottano per rimanere accese ancora un'altra serata e bicchieri di vetro una volta cristallini diventati ormai opachi, due stanchi viaggiatori condividono un piatto di stuzzichini. Stasera il barista ha voglia di raccontare di nuovo la storia trita e ritrita di un piccolo porto di mare in qualche angolo di mondo sconosciuto, della Pescatora che vi ci aveva attraccato, e del Folle che l'aveva reso casa sua.

Al bancone uno dei due sembra molto interessato a sottolineare che, allora: no, non c'era nessun Folle. Il pescivendolo, perfettamente sano di mente, normalissimo, tra l'altro, che di sale in zucca ne aveva da vendere proprio. Accanto a lui una donna, che fa cenno al barista di portare un’altra vaschetta di patatine, ci tiene qui a precisare quanto sarebbe sorprendente se il sale che quel pazzo aveva in zucca fosse stato altro che tutta l'acqua di mare che si era dimenticato di sciacquar via.

Gli altri clienti erano più che altro grati dell'intrattenimento, a essere sinceri.

---

An Angler, a Madman and the Sea walk into a bar. Someone almost drowns, but it's all good! It was an accident!

In a bar with neon lights fighting to stay on for just another night and once crystal clear glasses now all fogged up from use, two weary travellers share a plate of appetizers. Tonight the bartender fells like telling the ever-so-familiar story of a small seaport in some remote corner of the world, the Angler that docked there, and the Madman that made it his home.

At the counter one of the two seems very keen on letting everyone know that nono, there was no Madman, ok? The so very normal fishmonger, perfectly sane of body and mind, had his head on so very straight, the sanest person on the curb. Next to him, a woman who was nodding to the barman to bring cup of chips, leans in to add how that fool leaned his ear to the sea so hard trying to listen to voices, she'd be surprised his head was still screwed on to his neck.

The regulars were mostly glad for the entertainment, to be quite honest.

[equallyshaw]

The friend group | little lion au - au masterlist. - also the nicknames for them are in good fun lol

☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎

liona 'lion' kai ovekchin: russian mob boss - more on her here.

orange cat

studying fashion and minoring in marketing at nyu

1/3 of greenwhich village roommates

only child (+ younger half sister - sasha from moms ex fiance)

geno malkin worshiper

scorpio

part time nanny and part time barista/book shop clerk at an historic bookshop/coffee house

avid reader

huge star wars fan

used to have a crush on david..before her and chris got together..😚

tolerates hockey, big alex o fan if you didn't know

huge traveler

hamptons lovaaaaa

☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎

rainn spencer: miss grump

liona's bff

second half

partner in crime always

1/3 of Greenwich village roommates

secretly has a thing for jack.

early supporter of #Hoveckhin

social work student at NYU, with a minor in Womens Studies

thinks of alex as a father figure because she does not have the best relationship with her own father, as her parents are divorced.

alum of Georgetown prep

works at a local coffee shop, and a record store on the weekend.

pisces

incredibly creative and extremely smart

middle child (syndrome) of three, with two brothers.

avid reader and painter

coffee connoisseur

☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎

chris briney: trust fund kid

liona's ex and friend

columbia student, grad in 2025. (year early)

got accepted into harvard, attended one semester before transferring to new york.

oldest of 2, has a younger sister

aries

still is in love with liona..

is incredibly close to alex still

huge fan of the capitals

grew up next to liona, next door

studying political science and international relations

lives with gavin off-campus

enjoys playing the guitar, writing and reading

tea addict

used to be: grumpy bf x sunshine gf or black cat x orange cat

☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎

gavin casalegno: top dog

golden retriever

closest to chris

columbia student

studying anthropology

bisexual

virgo

avid movie watcher/goer

youngest of four, with one brother and two sisters

night owl

down for a good time, always.

☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎

sean kaufman: shakespeare

1/3 (part time) greenwich roommates

originally got into princeton but declared to go to nyu

studies playwriting with a minor in musical theater

cancer

oldest of 3, has 2 sisters

first generation student

first generation, parents are both from asia

has Korean citizenship through parents

musical goer (will bring lion every. single. time.)

huge traveler (along with gavin)

has had a crush on rain for years (but once he saw the ending to liona and chris he decided to not pursue anything)

second half of liona, male version of her (we'll see that soon!)

will drag her out of bed at obscene hours to dance, bake and ofcourse, get some pizza

coffee addict (connoisseur)

☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎

david iacono: pink whitney

went to georgetown prep with the group

year older than the group

reunited in london, summer 2025 before he moves back to the states

studied liberal arts at university of cambridge

only child

liona and him were close because they did musicals and plays together at school + in the community

moves to nyc to pursue his masters at columbia

golden retriever energy

had a crush on liona during highschool but then once her and chris got together, he pushed it away

avid fan of the capitals

literally starstruck of alex but not geno (lmao)

really likes luke when he meets him when they get back from europe in the Hamptons

the two of them get along really well

along with sean, the two of them get liona out and about always

loves to do photography

☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎

+ ensemble members.

jack hughes: frat president

follows luke around like a lost puppy when he joins luke and liona for stuff with the group

shy af (ironic lol)

really likes rainn

him and gavin get on really well

gavin brings jack out of his shell, and the two are thick as thieves

down for a good time, always.

middle child syndrome ofc

dylan duke: the slut (not literally lmao)

summer buddies with the group when everybody visits michigan

ring leader for the michigan trips (that now include the friend group)

him + david = pink whitney lovers

karaoke fanatic

# 2 fan of Hoveckchin (behind rainn & just because he likes the ship name, has to enunciate HO)

quinn hughes: the dictator

keeps everybody in line during the summers (doesn't need unnecessary injuries or drama)

they call him the dictator because of it

enjoys the friend group, thinks they are all sound people and glad luke has a good group when he's in jersey and people away from the league

treats lion like his little sister

+

ethan edwards

nico hischier

Alex holtz

Rutger mcgroarty

adam fantilli

simon nemec

andrei svechnikov (her russian brat)

+ more ofc

☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎☀︎

hope you all enjoyed!!!

[suchamiracle-does-exist]

Dear @faisonsunreve thanks for the tag. This was definitely a time taking task but so much fun to do. A true time travel to your watching history. To my surprise there are three French films and three Tom Hanks films included. 😄

A few comments about certain choices.

Favorite film of all time: The Thief of Bagdad (1940): The jewel of the film is Conrad Veidt’s insane Jaffar dressed up with the turban.

Best script: Some Like It Hot (1959): The story about two antihero musicians trying to make a living and avoiding gangsters by dressing as women and joining a female band and traveling to Miami is still unique to watch.

Favorite poster: The Empire Strikes Back (1980): Memories from the childhood. Darth Vader’s perhaps a little too epic posture promises you an emotional adventure and that promise will be fulfilled.

"I’ll watch it some day": Napoléon (1927): @missholson and I were introduced to this 6-hour biopic of Napoleon and we were stunned by the shots of the twenty-minute triptych sequence, where widescreen panorama is made by projecting multiple-image montages simultaneously on three screens. Blu-ray is waiting on the shelf.

Big personal impact: Elvis (2022): I wasn’t prepared for the narrative where female gaze and male vulnerability are allowed and validated.

You like, but everyone hates: Angels & Demons (2009): Don’t know today’s reception but when it was released the film was heavily criticized by the critics and the audience. I like both this and The Da Vinci Code (2006), but having more convincing characters, plot and hold for the entirety makes it better than the first one.

Underrated: The Ninth Gate (1999): Polanski is a very contradictory director for his sexual abuse charges, therefore it feels shameful to admit liking his films or considering his films to be valued. Many find Gate as a dull thriller. The film doesn’t rely on jump scares or gore but the mystery around the occult books and the things you can’t see. 

"Why do I like this?": Bachelor Party (1984): This is my favourite question of them all. I discussed with @faisonsunreve about on what basis you should answer this and does it reveal your true movie taste. The 80’s crazy comedy is a silly and out-dated genre and that is why the films of this era fascinate me. Bachelor Party is full of lame humor and over-the-top characters. Yet the storyline is versatile and entertaining. Young Tom Hanks embodies the past. 

Great soundtrack: La Cage aux Folles (1978): Ennio Morricone has said first he has to understand the film, the images, the story and the director’s intentions before starting to compose. I would like to know his study for Folles, because the soundtrack has such a humorous, characteristic and warm sound. 

That cinematography: Furiant (2015): I was balancing between Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011) and La double vie de Véronique (1991), but this short film stands out with the way the rural landscapes, the dimly lit rooms and the unspoken moments are visualized (and edited) by the producer, director, writer, cinematographer and editor Ondřej Hudeček.

Criminally overlooked: Angélique film series (1964-68): Yes, you could put almost any Conrad Veidt film here, however I chose this. I have been fond of Angélique films since I was a child. These spectacles tell the story of Angélique in the time of King Louis XIV of France. Romance, adventure, scheming with breathtaking soundtrack and costume design, beautiful Michèle Mercier in the leading role and the flashy way of speaking French offer us an exquisite interpretation from the 60’s. 

Favorite active director: Peter Strickland: I have seen only The Duke of Burgundy (2014) and Flux Gourmet (2022), nevertheless his style of using the aesthetics of Italian genre films and the intimacy he creates is just heartwarming.

Anyone who wants to make their own version, please do and let me know. 📼📀📦🔦

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Hi! Out of curiosity, what was the whole drama with Charlotte and Augustin? I’ve tried reading it in several Robespierre biographies and it’s never made sense

Good question! That you couldn’t find an answer in a biography that made sense is not all that weird, I tried looking over the ones I had access to and those that touched on the fight all got it wrong in some way in my opinion. The reason for this, besides the fact that the conflict is a pretty small detail in the grand scheme of things, is probably that we have several different sources mentioning it that all put their own spin on it in some way or another. I would say these sources fit into three categories:

First off, we have contemporary letters dealing with the fight written by Augustin and Charlotte themselves. These include an undated letter from Augustin to Maximilien, as well as a letter dated July 6 1794 from Charlotte to Augustin.

Second off, we have what Charlotte had to say about the fight in Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères, published in 1834 by Albert Laponneraye.

And third, there’s what contemporaries said regarding it. This mostly includes Armand Joseph Guffroy’s Secretes de Joseph Lebon et ses complices (1795) as well as the memoirs of Maurice Gaillard.

The fight, as far as we’re concerned, dates back to Augustin and Charlotte’s trip to the Army of Italy, where the former was tasked to go by the Committee of Public Safety on July 19 1793. Augustin set off a few days later together with Jean François Ricord, another representative on mission. For company, Ricord brought his wife Marguerite, while Augustin (on Charlotte’s request, if we’re to believe her memoirs) brought his sister. 

We only have Charlotte’s memoirs to rely on regarding what played out between her and her brother during the trip. According to them, the group, after a time of traveling from town to town with counter-revolutionaries constantly after them, finally settled in Nice for a longer period of time. There, Augustin and Ricord made frequent outings to different divisions while Charlotte and Marguerite occupied themselves with making shirts for the soldiers during the day and went for walks and horseback rides in the countryside in the evenings. This latter activity soon proved to be troublesome, as ”several journals paid by the aristocracy” back in Paris started accusing the two women of acting like princesses with their equestrian outings. As a consequence, Augustin vetoed further horseback rides after receiving a letter from Maximilien regarding the issue, and Charlotte promised to abstain from riding from then on. But not long after, Marguerite, who according to Charlotte ”was the most frivolous and inconsiderate person in the world,” proposed they should go on yet another ride, and Charlotte, after trying in vain to remind her of what her brothers had said, hesitantly joined her. 

When Augustin reproached his sister for the ride a few days later, Charlotte called on Marguerite to testify that it had been her idea. But Marguerite, instead of telling the truth, not only enforced the lie that it was Charlotte that had wanted the ride, but also added that she had taken her with her against her will. Augustin chose to believe her, much to Charlotte’s distress — ”My brother knew I was incapable of lying. Why then did he not want to believe me?” After this incident, Augustin started keeping a certain coldness in regards to Charlotte which caused her much despair, though it would not appear she tried to approach her brother to explain herself again.

The straw that broke the camel’s back came when Marguerite a while later suggested to Charlotte that they should go to Grasse together, something Charlotte agreed to do. But hardly had they arrived when Marguerite came forward with a forged letter, telling Charlotte it was from Augustin and that he urged her to return to Paris as soon as possible. A shocked Charlotte obeyed and set out for the capital the following morning, ending her journey somewhere in the fall of 1793. Marguerite in her turn went on to slander Charlotte to Augustin, saying that she didn’t care about him and that this was the reason for her brusque departure. She and her friend Madame Gesnel made him believe Charlotte had caluminated both Augustin and Madame Ricord. According to Charlotte, Marguerite was seducing her brother, who ”believed it essential to his honor and duty” to respond to her advances (it might be added that this is very similar to how Charlotte explains the relationship between her other brother and Éléonore Duplay). It evidently worked, and Augustin refused to see his sister when he too returned to Paris for a short stay (December-January), choosing instead to move in with the Ricords. He told Maximilien about both Charlotte’s brusque departure from Grasse, as well as her compromising the honor of him and Madame Ricord, causing the former to become angry with her too.

Such is the story as presented by Charlotte in her memoirs. Parts of it can and has been questioned, above all the idea of Augustin as completely innocent in the drama. Both Maximilien’s biographer J.M Thompson and Augustin’s Mary Young instead embrace the idea that there did exist a mutual liason between Augustin and Madame Ricord that Charlotte became an annoying witness to. Thompson declares himself sceptical in regards to the idea of Marguerite forging a letter from Augustin, while Young completely dismisses it and instead suggests the letter did indeed come from the pen of Augustin, eager to send his sister away so she wouldn’t be in the way of his love affair. The idea that there was something more than platonic friendship between Augustin and Marguerite also appears in the memoirs of Paul Barras, who served as a representative to Toulon at the same time as Augustin and Ricord:

Fully convinced that women constituted a powerful aid, [Bonaparte] assiduously paid court to the wife of Ricord, knowing that she exercised great influence over Robespierre the younger, her husband's colleague. […] Robespierre the younger was particulary attached to Madame Ricord.

Besides the question of Augustin’s guilt, it can also be observed that the letter where Maximilien tells his siblings about the controversy Charlotte’s horseback rides were causing has never been found. I’ve also not seen anyone point out the journals denouncing Charlotte and Madame Ricord’s outings the memoirs are alluding to…

If this first bit of drama can be boiled down to a mere personal feud, it gets harder to make the same case when we get to the second part of the conflict. This is where the first of the two contemporary letters — the one Augustin wrote to Maximilien — comes into the picture:

My sister does not have a single drop of blood that resembles ours. I have seen and learned so much about her that I regard her as our greatest enemy. She abuses our spotless reputation to lay down the law on us and threatens to take a scandalous step in order to compromise us. We must take a decisive stand against her. We must make her leave for Arras, and thus take her away from us, a woman who causes our common despair. She would like to give us the reputation of bad brothers, her calumnies spread against us aim at this goal. I would like you to see the citoyenne La Saudraie, she would give you certain information on all the masks that it is interesting to know in these circumstances. A certain Saint-Félix seems to be from the clique.

This letter is unfortunately undated, but two things has lead to all historians up until this point to place it somewhere in April-May 1794. The first is the fact that Augustin makes allusions to Guillodon La Saudraie whose first known contacts with Augustin (of whom she, according to the memoirs of Charles Nodier, was the presumed mistress) are from the first half of 1794, when she accompanied him on his second mission. Augustin had already in a letter dated March 24 also asked Maximilien to offer her an audience, and it seems likely for this to have been a follow-up to that.

The second clue is that, on May 19, a letter written by Augustin Darthé revealed that Charlotte had come back to Arras two days earlier, just like her younger brother asks for above. She had been escorted by Joseph Lebon, representative to Arras who Maximilien had recalled to Paris on May 14, saying that the Committee of Public Safety had decided to direct his energy ”in an even more useful way” and telling him to ”come back as soon as possible, to return promptly to the post where you currently are.” I have chosen to believe ”the more useful way” Maximilien suggests Lebon should use his energy for alludes to the mission of bringing Charlotte back to their hometown.

It can be observed that, if it’s true the letter to Maximilien is from April-May 1794, Augustin wouldn’t have met his sister since the fall of 1793 (assuming Charlotte is telling the truth in that he didn’t want to see her during his short break in Paris). The question is therefore evidently what exactly Charlotte had done for it both to reach the miles away Augustin and make him think this ill of her. In her memoirs, Charlotte passes in total silence on both this letter and her exile to Arras (and with that, the question of whether she gave her consent to being sent there or not). Since the accusations in Augustin’s letter are so vague, it gets hard to verify what exactly she’d done to make him so upset, other than it seems to be about her 1, slandering her brothers and 2, doing something scandalous. The first charge I suppose could tie in with Augustin falling for Madame Ricord’s claim that Charlotte was caluminating him, as the memoirs would have us believe. However, we do also have several pieces that could fill the criteria for the second charge that all date back to around the same period Augustin allegedly penned down his letter.

First off we have a letter written on April 25 1794 and sent off to Charlotte. In it, the author brings her up to speed regarding the recent repressive politics their hometown Arras for the past months has been the victim of:

What has been said of your country is true; for six weeks one hundred and fifty people have been guillotined and about three thousand imprisoned. […] I’ll spare you other details that are too atrocious to be believed, when you haven’t been an eyewitness. If I had more time, I could have given you more detailed facts; I cannot tell you what I have heard from different people without having had the time to verify it. We go into the countryside tomorrow. I forgot to tell you that the prosecutor of the revolutionary tribunal is arrested and the revolutionary commissar broken. 

He also makes allusions to a commission Charlotte is part of, that appears to have as its goal to slow down the repression apparatus. This commission may be what the deputy Armand Joseph Guffroy is alluding to in the following part of his Secretes de Joseph Lebon et ses complices (1795):

I was not discouraged; Leblond’s sister, Demeulier’s (sic) daughter, Buissart’s wife, Robespierre’s sister, to whom he was also almost invisible, took every means to reach him.

Speaking of Guffroy, the second piece is a letter dated May 7 to him from the arragois lawyer Antoine Buissart, a friend of both him and the Robespierre siblings. The letter confirms Charlotte’s interest in what was going on in Arras:

We salute the citoyenne Robespierre; my wife has just received her letter; tell her as soon as possible that I will immediately give her the clarifications she requests.

Furthermore, as shown through the above cited letter, Charlotte came to see Guffroy (this was something she would herself confirm when interrogated after thermidor, adding that Madame Duplay reproached her for it). It is not impossible this relation caused dislike in Augustin, who, along with his brother, had ”a great contempt” for Guffroy if we’re to believe the memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas. Since March 3 1794 Guffroy had also become suspect in the political arena, as he on that day had been expelled from the Jacobins accused of having connections with a former marquis, forcing the Revolutionary Committee of the Picques section to release Louis XVI’s former locksmith and having English letters found among his papers. This denounciation had also forced him to resign from his functions as member of the Committee of General Security. Guffroy was himself convinced that Charlotte visiting him was the reason for her fallout with her brothers, as this is what he wrote about it a year later:

[The brothers] drove [Charlotte] out of their house because she did not think like they did, because she came to see my wife and because she saw citizens who were sincere friends of justice and truth.

Finally, there’s also a passage from the memoirs of Maurice Gaillard that’s of interest here. Gaillard claims to have met Charlotte somewhere in May 1794 to hear her opinion on the magistrates of Melun having been denounced for two years earlier signing an adress denouncing the demonstration of June 20 1792. Charlotte not only expressed her disapproval when it came to this affair, but also deplored of the terror in Arras and raged against the Duplay family, claiming that Maximilien’s ”excesses” are due to them, that she can’t stand to see him devote himself to ”general execration” and therefore ardently desires ”his death as well as mine.” She then helped arrange an interview between Gaillard and Couthon, but when the latter gets threatening and makes a move to call on his bodyguards she throws herself on him and holds him still in the armchair he was sitting while yelling at Gaillard to escape. Tracking him down again she tells him that ”the wretched man merely wanted to discover your inmost thoughts�� but that she ”succeeded in making him ashamed of the crime which he was about to commit against one whom I had introduced to him in confidence.” She then urges Gaillard to flee the city, which he also goes ahead and does. Curiously, Charlotte appears to think the conflict between her and Augustin to be old news in Gaillard’s account, talking instead about how she’s eagerly awaiting his return so he can help her get Maximilien to move away from the Duplays.

And finally finally it can also be observed that the Saint-Félix Augustin’s letter identifies as being part of Charlotte’s ”clique” was a man by the name of Emmanuel Musquinet (Saint-Félix was his alias), since February 19 1794 under loose house arrest for being compromised in a case of false assignats. The arrest had caused great indignation for Hébert who spoke of “vile merchants who arrest a fine person like the friend Saint-Félix for having made the enemies of the people known.” Saint-Félix also had been a frequent visitor to the imprisoned hébertist Ronsin before the latter’s execution. His brother Musquinet-Lapagne had, according to a report dated October 24 1793, denounced Marat and Robespierre to the Popular Society of Le Havre of which he was the president. He had then been arrested in November 1793 and guillotined on March 16 1794, accused of having tried to ignite civil war between the communes of Ingouville and Le Havre, abused his functions as mayor to make home visits to the citizens of the commune and use these occasions to steal precious objects, as well as for arbitrary kidnappings. A copy of a letter written by Musquinet-Lapagne on September 6 1793, in which he attempted to justify himself, bore at the bottom the following text: ”for certified copy: Guffroy.”

(note that these four pieces are very rarely (I might say never) used by Robespierre biographers who talk about the conflict a bit more in detail).

Whatever it was Augustin’s letter was alluding to, Charlotte ended up in Arras. We know through a letter her step-cousin wrote to Augustin that she doesn’t appear to have made their fallout known to her friends there (so again, pretty far from Augustin’s charge that Charlotte had slandered her brothers). Her stay was nevertheless short, already on July 1 we find a letter confirming she was back in the capital. Charlotte’s reason for leaving is unknown, but according to Guffroy it was to avoid arrest:

Lebon had [Charlotte] denounced to the popular society of Arras, by his cutthroats, as an aristocrat. Her apparent crime, and at least the pretext for her arrest, was to have been with Payen de Neuville la Liberté, an estimable farmer, whom Lebon had guillotined, and brother of another Payen, member of the constituent assembly who had served as father and friend to Robespierre, and whom Lebon likewise had guillotined. […] Without Florent Guyot (sic), who brought her back to Paris, she would have been imprisoned there, because Lebon's accomplices had denounced her in their infernal club which they called the popular society.

While most historians I’ve looked at have dismissed this as mere slander, it can nevertheless be observed that the dates of execution for the two Payen brothers Guffroy is talking about (June 21 and 26) matches rather well with the time Charlotte’s would have departed from Arras… On June 28 we do actually find a letter from Antoine Buissart to Maximilien, telling him that since a month back, he, his wife and Charlotte have been denounced by a certain Carlier, administrator of the department of Pas-de-Calais — ”You know that from this time on I am a conspirator in the eyes of the famous Carlier, and my wife and your sister two intriguers.” Guffroy did in his turn call the same Carlier ”Lebon’s fiercest lieutenant” so it may actually be him he accuses of having denounced Charlotte here above…

Augustin had returned to Paris just before Charlotte. In her memoirs, Charlotte describes the situation between them in the following way:

He seemed to be fleeing my presence. I admit it, I was indignant against him; what had I done to him, I said to myself, for him to treat me this way, for him to say to anyone who will listen that I am unworthy of him, that I conducted myself badly with him, that I no longer deserve his esteem? It was then that I wrote him the letter that Levasseur recorded in his Memoirs.

This is the second of the two contemporary letters regarding the fight, dated July 6. In her memoirs, Charlotte tried to declare certain phrases of it as embellishments by her brothers’ enemies, but an encounter with the fac-simile of it proves that she was actually lying there. 

Charlotte begins the letter by writing that Augustin’s aversion for her has developed into the most implacable hatred, to the point that they can’t even talk to each other anymore. Because of this she will instead try to write to him. She tells Augustin how hurt she has become by his hostility — ”what does it matter to me that I am hated by those who are irrelevant to me and who I despise? Their memory will never come to trouble me, but being hated by my brothers, I, for whom it is a necessity to cherish them, this is the only thing which can render me as unhappy as I am” — a hostility she considers herself completely undeserving of. Despite this she writes that she won’t hold any grudges the day Augustin decides to come back to her, she will only feel joy over having him at her side again.

Like that of her brother, Charlotte’s letter is very emotional and very vague when it comes to the question of what the conflict is actually about. When she gets a bit more specific however, it would once again appear like her relationships is what Augustin had denounced her for:

Nonetheless, do not hope in your delirium to be able to make me lose the esteem of a few virtuous persons, which is the only good which remains to me, along with a pure conscience ; full of a just confidence in my virtue, I can defy you to detract it and I dare to tell you that, beside the good people who know me, you will lose your reputation rather than harming mine. 

Charlotte ends by declaring she will move into the house of her and Augustin’s maid Madame Laporte so that she won’t be in Augustin’s way. Her interrogation held a few weeks later confirms that she went through with that plan. According to Charlotte’s memoirs she never saw her little brother again, and there was therefore never any reconciliation between the two. This is the last thing we know of it.

So the drama is no doubt not just a little confusing. What I personally consider most likely is that Augustin had found out about Charlotte political activities and contacts, felt both his own reputation and, to borrow a phrase from Charlotte’s letter, ’the public good” threatened by it, and written to Maximilien to urge him to send Charlotte away from Paris and with that her connections. While the mistrust of the sister certainly could have been fueled by what had played out between the two during the mission, I am hesitant to buy the memoirs’ story of Augustin simply having been brainwashed by Madame Ricord into hating Charlotte. The fact that Charlotte makes allusions to Augustin having a problem with her friends does also imply there was much more to it than that.

Finally, and I’m totally just speculating here, if it turns out no article regarding Charlotte and her scandalous horseback rides can be found in any contemporary journal, then I wouldn’t be all that defiant in front of the idea that the entire story could be something fabricated by Charlotte and Laponneraye to hide the former’s more controversial activities. We know through her testament as well as this letter that Charlotte, towards the end of her life, wanted to rehabilitate her brothers’ memory and be remembered as a loyal sister. Laponneraye was in his turn someone who evidently didn’t think women belong in politics. This is shown through the following sentence from the preface of the memoirs, which, given what has since been found out about Charlotte, has aged badly in more than one way:

Passionate about the private life, [Charlotte] could never bring herself to leave it, and was always careful not to imitate those women who, forgetting the role that suits their sex, throw themselves madly and ridiculously into a career that is not made for them. So she played no part in the extraordinary events that signaled the time when her older brother was in power. […] Charlotte Robespierre occupied herself with politics only as much as is necessary for her to follow her brothers with her eyes in the arena where they fight hand in hand against crime.

With all this in mind, the idea of Charlotte and Laponneraye redefining the conflict between the former and Augustin to be more appropriate to their narrative doesn’t come off as all that foreign to me. Regardless, I think the two letters line up much better with the version of the drama presented by Guffroy compared to the one presented in the memoirs.

[trippingbit]

Skyrocket Your Social Media Posts

Hashtags. Those little # symbols are everywhere, but are they really that important? Absolutely. If you’re not using hashtags correctly on your social media posts, you’re missing out on huge opportunities for growth, engagement, and visibility. Here’s why they matter and how you can take advantage of their power with the right strategy.

Why Hashtags Are Your Secret Weapon

Think of hashtags as the GPS of social media. They help people find content that’s relevant to their interests, much like a search engine for social platforms. When you use the right hashtags, your posts don’t just sit in your followers’ feeds — they get discovered by potential new followers, customers, or fans who are actively searching for content just like yours.

Using hashtags strategically can turn a post that might get 10 likes into one that gets 100, or even 1,000. That’s the kind of impact hashtags can have.

How Hashtags Drive Engagement

There are millions of posts made every single day on platforms like Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok. Without hashtags, your post is like a needle in a haystack. Hashtags increase the chances of your content getting in front of people who care about what you’re sharing.

For example, if you’re into fitness, using hashtags like #FitFam, #GymLife, or #HealthyLiving instantly connects your content with an entire community. The right combination can draw likes, shares, and comments, turning your post into a conversation starter.

How to Choose the Best Hashtags

It’s not just about slapping a few popular hashtags on your post and calling it a day. You need to be strategic. There’s a balance between popular and niche hashtags. Popular hashtags, like #love or #instagood, may have millions of posts under them, which means your post could get buried quickly. On the other hand, niche hashtags target a specific audience, but they’re easier to stand out in. The magic happens when you combine both.

For example, if you’re posting about vegan food, you might want to use broad hashtags like #vegan, but also mix in more specific ones like #plantbasedrecipes or #veganeats. This combination gives you the best of both worlds — wider visibility through popular hashtags, and deeper engagement through more niche tags.

Simplifying Hashtag Selection with Hashtag Generator

To make this process easier, there are tools that can help you choose the best hashtags for your content. One option is Hashtag Generator, a mobile app available on both Google Play and the Apple App Store. Hashtag Generator suggests relevant hashtags based on your content, helping you to reach a larger and more engaged audience without spending hours researching.

Free download iPhone / App Store https://apps.apple.com/us/app/hashtag-generator-2024/id6477842196

Free download Android / Google Play https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.trippingbit.hashtags

Hashtags in Action: Real Results

Let’s consider a practical example. Suppose you’re a travel blogger posting about your latest trip to Bali. Instead of manually typing in hashtags like #travel or #Bali, using an app like Hashtag Generator could suggest a range of more specific and relevant tags, such as #BaliTravel, #DigitalNomad, #BaliBeaches, or even #IslandLife. This helps you tap into a more targeted audience that’s likely to engage with your post.

This strategy isn’t limited to Instagram. Twitter hashtags are equally powerful, especially during live events or trending topics. TikTok, with its viral nature, can take one well-placed hashtag and turn your video into a sensation overnight. The key across platforms is using the right hashtags that match your content and audience.

Conclusion: Why Hashtags Are Essential

If you’ve been posting on social media without focusing on hashtags, now is the time to start. Hashtags are essential to getting your content noticed in the crowded world of social media. They increase your visibility, engage your audience, and ultimately grow your following.

To maximize your results, using a tool like Hashtag Generator can be helpful in simplifying the process of finding the right hashtags. With carefully selected hashtags, you’ll boost your chances of reaching a wider audience, gaining more engagement, and ultimately, growing your presence across social media platforms.

[jordanianroyals]

2 October 2023: Queen Rania urged young leaders to make the most of their time to further the cause of peace, a “lifelong mission” that requires “not only every ounce of our strength, but every ounce of our time.”

She made her remarks in the United Kingdom, while speaking to a gathering of over 2,000  youth activists and leaders at the One Young World Summit in Northern Ireland’s city of Belfast. This year’s summit commemorates the 25th anniversary of the Good Friday Agreement between the British and Irish governments, which was signed in Belfast. (Source: Petra)

Thinking back to the year 1998, Her Majesty recalled how the signing of this agreement inspired His Majesty the late King Hussein to remain hopeful about achieving peace in the Middle East. She also highlighted King Hussein’s role in the Wye River negotiations, which took place that same year, as he was battling cancer and undergoing chemotherapy.

She argued that, despite his poor health, he insisted on traveling to the United States to push for the signing of a memorandum between Palestinians and Israelis that aimed to resume the implementation of the Oslo II Accord.

“He saw our time on earth for what it is: finite, fragile, and never to be taken for granted,” Queen Rania said. She also relayed the late King’s words at the agreement’s signing, where he said, “If I had an ounce of strength, I would have done my utmost to be here, and to help in any way I can.”

“Cancer reminded King Hussein once again of how limited time can be. And once again, he chose to live in the fullness of that time…to give meaning to every moment he had so that future generations could live in peace,” she said.

Her Majesty explained that despite time’s limited nature, “hope can endure the test of time,” and people can expand the time we have “by using it well.”

The Queen also emphasized the urgency of the world’s biggest challenges, from polarization in politics to growing refugee crises, climate change, and ongoing discrimination and gender inequality.

“At a time when we’re talking about advanced technologies like AI, it is preposterous that many still fall back on the primitive thinking that the color of one’s complexion determines their worth. And it’s shameful that gender equality is still a goal, not a reality,” she said.

Noting that, 25 years after the Wye River Memorandum, the Palestinian-Israeli conflict remains a prominent example of an overlooked emergency in need of peaceful resolution, Her Majesty called attention to the injustice and brutality that Palestinians are subjected to on a daily basis.

“Already in 2023, more Palestinians have died at the hands of Israelis than in any of the past 15 years. And every second of every minute of every day, millions of Palestinians are being robbed of their freedom, their rights…their very identity,” she stated. “Palestinian families are being uprooted from their land. Worshippers at Al Aqsa are attacked and brutalized, while 12-year olds are jailed just for throwing stones.”

Her Majesty therefore urged leaders to exert every effort in achieving lasting peace and progress, recommending that they join His Majesty King Abdullah, who, despite headwinds, “continues to walk the hard, and often lonely, path of peace.”

“It is time we populate that path,” she said, asking leaders everywhere to “snap out of complacency and put in the hard work that lasting peace requires—in the Middle East and elsewhere.” 

Queen Rania also underscored the need to remain committed to hope  in order to resolve pressing issues, explaining that despite having reason for cynicism, hope remains “a choice  – a decision we make, irrespective of the circumstances.”

Referring once again to the Good Friday Agreement, Her Majesty noted that after its signing, it took nine more years of negotiations for the terms of the agreement to come into fruition. She also cited the years-long efforts of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which provided restorative justice following the end of apartheid.

“Miracles don’t happen overnight. Complex problems defy hasty fixes,” Queen Rania said. “You cannot secure peace with the stroke of a pen any more than heal a bullet with a Band-Aid. The truth is, we have to take our time in order to use it well.”

Noting the difference in approach among many modern politicians, Her Majesty said, “Today, many political leaders cater to the now; they care more about the next election cycle than the next generation. And many seem more inclined to break treaties than broker them.”

The Queen also pointed out that it is ironic that those most affected by conflict are often excluded from conversations about long-lasting reconciliation, “even though they have the greatest motivation to find the creative compromises that genuine peace demands.”

One Young World is a global platform that identifies, connects, and promotes young leaders from around the world, hosting an annual summit that convenes in a different city each year. Considered one of the world’s largest youth leadership summits, this year it takes place in Belfast, Northern Ireland, from 2-5 October.

Summit participants, who are working to accelerate social impact, include a number of young leaders from over 190 countries and more than 250 organizations. The participants are invited to deliver speeches and participate in workshops, and networking opportunities, as well as receive counselling by influential figures attending the summit. In previous years, counselors included U.S. President Bill Clinton, Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, and the late South African human rights activist Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

[moorheadthanyoucanhandle]

DRAG INTERACTIONS

Now streaming:

Makeup--Sasha is a quiet young French chef who has moved from Paris to London to start work as an online food critic. We see that his hand is afflicted at times with cramps and tremors from some neurological problem; presumably this is what necessitated the career shift. He's rented a room from Pete, a friendly if somewhat aggressively brusque young stockbroker.

Director Hugo André plays Sasha; he co-wrote the script with Will Masheter, who plays Pete. The story doesn't go any direction you're very likely to guess. It seems, initially, as if Sasha will be the focus, but instead he's mostly the observer of the drama.

The superficially "manly" Pete, it turns out, is an aspiring drag burlesque performer, unbeknownst to his toxically masculine work circle. He senses a sympathetic ear in his new housemate, inviting Sasha to see him perform in cabaret, and sharing the motivations and secret identity with the bemused fellow that he hides from his coworkers. The reserved Sasha is initially taken aback, unsure how to respond to Pete's bluff overtures and startling, unsolicited candor. Very gradually, however, the friendship deepens.

That's pretty much all there is to this low-budget festival fave, but it's well-acted, and it has a certain authenticity and unembarrassed sensitivity that can't be dismissed. It insists we take Pete's emotional courage seriously; you've never seen a drag movie this free of camp.

And this is probably necessary because, alas, it's politically timely. Back in 1995, I remember a friend of mine rolling his eyes elaborately at a poster for To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar, a routine comedy distinguished (aside from its peculiar title) only because it featured Patrick Swayze, Wesley Snipes and John Leguizamo as drag queens traveling cross-country. My friend wondered aloud if anybody still thought drag was scandalous.

Back then, I might have thought he had a point. 1978's La Cage aux Folles and its American version The Birdcage (released the year after To Wong Foo) and The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert as well the rise of RuPaul all seemed to suggest that drag had attained relatively mainstream status. But nearly three decades later, reactionaries in parts of this country have picked drag, of all freaking things, as a target for ginned-up phony social and political outrage, and it appears that we'll all have to stick up for drag queens after all.

Similarly, back in the '90s I might have wondered if the sneering mockery and professional injustice that we see Pete subjected to in Makeup when his avocation is revealed was exaggerated and melodramatic. In these retrograde times, it seems all too plausible.

[mediaconsumernightwriter]

Why Do Gay Men Hate Femininity?: A Giovanni’s Room Rant

This essay will contain minor spoilers for Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin and The Boys In The Band (2020). So, if you don’t want to know anything before reading or watching, go ahead and do that and then come back if you’d like. It also contains triggering content regarding mentions of violence towards women and feminine people, homophobia, transphobia and racism.

I started reading Giovanni’s Room not long ago and was immediately in love with it. The writing is phenomenal and Baldwin captures this immediate passion and consumption and falling out of it with such grace and incredible prose. Now that I’ve praised the book, let me talk about an aspect I didn’t like, though that’s not the fault of the book, because I think it’s made to show us how the real Giovanni is outside of the glamorized vision from David’s eyes.

I’ll start off by saying that, while I don’t really identify as a woman, I’m a very feminine presenting person and will always be perceived to the outside world as a woman. Feminism is very important to me, also. So seeing Giovanni downright hate women so ferociously made me do a double take and reconsider his character immediately. I’ve seen so many people talk about how this book is great and not one has mentioned the outright misogynistic rhetoric that Giovanni spews at one point in the book.

The conversation starts light, with Giovanni questioning David about his girlfriend. “What is she doing, wandering around through Spain alone?” he asks. This quickly turns into a small sexist comment. When David says that Hella (his girlfriend) “likes to travel”, Giovanni replies with “nobody likes to travel, especially not women.” While a small comment, this remark will lead to the more violently misogynistic thoughts Giovanni expresses. When David claims that Giovanni “doesn’t seem to have a very high opinion of women”, he replies with “There is no need (…) to have an opinion about women. Women are like water. They are tempting like that, and they can be treacherous, and they can seem bottomless, you know? - and they can be that shallow. And that dirty.” He admits that he “doesn’t like women very much” but that hasn’t stopped him from having sex with some of them. I don’t need to explain how objectifying this sentiment is. We will continue, for there is more.

Giovanni’s most violent feeling towards women, he feels towards feminist women, who “run around today, full of ideas and nonsense, thinking themselves equal to men”. For them, he reserves the thought that “they need to be beaten half to death so that they can find out who rules the world.” He also admits he’s beaten some women and that “didn’t make them leave”.

David isn’t innocent of this misogyny either. While Giovanni spews his sexist bullshit, David tries to counteract it, but ends up laughing at physical violence enacted towards women. He also seems to have a bad opinion of the feminine men who show up in Guillaime’s bar (“There were, of course, les folles, always dressed in the most improbable combinations, screaming like parrots the details of their love-affairs (...). Occasionally, one would swoop in, quite late in the evening, to convey the news that he - but they always called each other “she” (...) they looked like a peacock garden and sounded like a barnyard. I always found it difficult to believe that they ever went to bed with anybody for a man who wanted a woman would certainly have rather had a real one and a man who wanted a man would certainly not want one of them.”) This aversion seems to apply to the apparent gender non-conforming boy that also shows up at the bar: “There was the boy (...) who came out at night wearing makeup and earrings and with his heavy blond hair piled high. Sometimes he actually wore a skirt and high heels. (...) I confess that his utter grotesqueness made me uneasy.”

This misogyny coming from gay men isn’t new (the book is from the 1950s) nor is it exclusive to this book and its characters. Usually, the length of my research for these essays is limited to rewatching a movie or reading a comic book. This time, with a theme as sensible as this, I decided to do more investigation over this topic, since I knew it was something people talked about but not really discussed in the community.

A lot of the conversation about misogyny is centered around the discrimination of cisgender women but it is fundamental to note that trans women and feminine presenting gender non-conforming people also suffer from it, on top of suffering from transphobia. Some of the articles I found talked about the “struggles of women'' as a monolith including only cisgender women, mentioning abortions (which trans men and non-binary people can choose to have), biological clocks and child bearing. I think it’s important to put my foot down and mention that these are not the only struggles women go through and are not exclusive to women only.

But, continuing on the topic of misogyny perpetuated by gay men, in an article by Fionn McFadden on Cherwell, the writer points out that “Cisgender gay men are in no way immune, merely on the basis of their sexuality, from perpetuating the misogynistic power structures and behaviours that oppress women”. They also mention that the misogyny between gay men is rampant “as they believe that their lack of sexual attraction to women, alongside the notion that they share the same struggles, means that they are exempt from misogynistic behaviour and rhetoric”. In this same article, the writer mentions the sexual violence some (mostly white and cis) gay men have enacted on their female friends, which is more common than you’d think, because these assaults are passed off as jokes as, like it was said above, these men are not attracted to these women. The article finishes by pointing out that misogynoir (the intersection between misogyny and racism) is also a big problem in the queer community and perpetuated specially by cis white gay men.

In an article written by Sadie E Hale and Tomás Ojeda, they mention various definitions of misogyny and sexism, but specifically one dichotomy that  “allows feminine traits to be looked upon as weak and inferior to male characteristics, which announce dominance (when displayed by a man)”. I’ve been looking for something to apply to feminine men and gender non-comforming feminine presenting people and this phrase seems to understand what I mean when I say they are also victims of misogyny. Femininity as a concept is looked down upon in every facet of our world. Gay men (as well as straight men and women) also discriminate against feminine men, like we see David do, in Giovanni’s Room (yes, we’re tying it together!).

However, Hale and Ojeda point out, from work by Marilyn Frye, that “women face a double bind, in that they are socially (and potentially physically) sanctioned regardless of whether they behave or dress in a traditionally feminine or masculine way”. Gender non-comforming lesbians and AFAB (Assigned Female At Birth) but male or androgynous presenting non-binary people still suffer from misogyny, as well as homophobia and transphobia, and “while behaving in a feminine way will likely lead to social ostracisation or violence for men, behaving in a masculine way will not”.

To call out the hatred feminine gay men are predisposed to, I’d like to bring up one of my favorite movies and plays “The Boys In The Band”. I’ve watched the 2020 version only and read both the original two-act play and the Broadway version, so if I’m missing something from the original movie adaptation, I’m sorry. Anyways, in this movie, there are multiple gay men and one “straight” man. One of the characters is Emory, a feminine gay man, who calls everyone by “she” and is very flamboyant. Another one of these characters is Hank, a very straight-looking, masculine man, who also happens to be gay (or bi depending on who you ask, I personally think he’s gay). The “straight” man, Alan, happens upon this party filled with gay men and the one he makes a beeline to is Hank. They immediately hit it off. Alan gains a disdain for Emory, though, ending up in a violent act. In this case, it’s so obvious how femininity is cause of disgust by the straight man, but it’s also an example of other gay men’s uncomfort with Emory, as his friends, specially Michael and also Hank, make comments and show, again, some disdain for Emory’s disposition.

To finalize this long research piece, the behavior that Giovanni and David exhibit in the book is very current and factual. Whether these were Baldwin’s actual views (talking more specifically of the hatred towards feminine men and femininity as a whole) or characteristics that he saw in the world around him and implemented in his characters, they were uncomfortable to read and that might’ve been the point he was making.