#News trading psychology

[pipinfuse]

From Analysis to Action: Combining Technical and Fundamental Approaches in Forex Trading

[wealthunter01]

The benefits and drawbacks of being a solo vs part of a team in the industry

DOES TEAMWORK PAY? In the professional world, there are two primary work styles: working solo or being a part of a team. Each work style has its own benefits and drawbacks depending on the industry, personality, and preferences of the worker. Some people thrive in a solitary environment where they can work independently, while others prefer to be surrounded by colleagues and actively collaborate…

[praveenroshmi-blog]

Ti...

[slowburningechoes]

on my mind

Ah!! Here it is, I hope you all love it. Pls keep in mind an exhausted doctoral student wrote this with little reviews/edits hehe

Summary: After months of secretly pining over Wilson, you find something suggesting he might feel the same way. Despite it all, curiosity gets the best of you and what you get is far beyond anything you ever fantasized about.

Pairing: James Wilson (House, MD) x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: very self-indulgent smut, 18+ content (NSFW/NSFM) / brief mention of past infidelity, mutual pining, sexual fantasization, slight age gap, fingering, oral (f receiving), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, office sex, desk sex, threat of exhibition, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), body worship, breeding, soul connection, porn WITH plot and feelings

Word Count: 7.8k

here is the ao3 link if that’s your preferred site

Wilson didn’t have the best romantic track record when you reflected on it, standing outside his office, debating whether or not to knock.

That was what Cameron had told you on the first day consulting the team as a new psychologist at PPTH, when she caught you trying not to stare.

You had been so engaged in observing how the diagnostic team battled through a differential before he arrived. The quick exchange of wits and sly remarks was so enthralling, you couldn’t look away. Until something else distracted you…

The door swung open, and in walked a man who carried himself with an effortless kind of charm. His brown hair appeared perfectly tousled, but still neat enough to be professional, like he had absentmindedly run a hand through it just before coming in. His white coat, crisp and clean, hung open just enough to reveal a comfortably fitting dress shirt and a tie that was loosened ever-so-slightly.

As he stepped into the conference room, he seemed to be already three steps ahead in the conversation he was about to join — like this heated exchange was something he’d been witnessing for years. He paused, silently observing Foreman and House trade intellectually sarcastic banter. As the exchange died down, his eyes met yours. His sharp features softened as he looked at you with curiosity, the hint of a dimple appearing as his lips curved into a playful smirk.

“You know, House, I’m impressed,” he joked, tapping House’s cane with his foot. “It only took you this long to admit you need some serious psychological help.” 

His warm brown eyes flicked back to you, winking, amusement lingering just beneath the surface.

A scoff escaped House, followed by a characteristic retort, “I’m not admitting anything, Wilson. Besides, I wouldn’t want you getting jealous watching someone else take the job you volunteered for all these years.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite knowing so little about their dynamic. Apparently, you were not alone in this reaction, as the rest of the team seemed to find House’s response amusing, likely because it was true.

“James Wilson, Head of Oncology,” he said, rolling his eyes at House’s comment. “You must be Dr. Y/L/N. I’ve heard good things from your new colleagues.”

His hand extended towards you welcomingly. Despite a flutter of nerves beneath the surface, you shook it, hoping your feigned confidence wasn’t too obvious.

“Y/N’s fine,” you responded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dr. Y/L/N has always felt a bit too formal for me.” Your gaze held his for a brief moment, feeling the subtle weight of the connection. A soft gasp escaped your lips, despite trying so desperately to keep it in.

“Y/N,” Wilson repeated softly with a smug smile.

He held your hand just a moment longer than necessary. When he finally released it, the hold he had on you remained. There was something magnetic about him, making it impossible to draw your gaze away as he repositioned himself against the wall. You blinked a few times to ground yourself, quickly glancing down at the file in your hand before instinctively looking up at him again. His eyes caught yours and his smirk deepened ever so slightly, as if he’d caught you giving away exactly what you hadn’t meant to. He appeared to take quiet pleasure in the fact that, for just a moment, you were completely distracted by him… but you were certain that was just wishful thinking getting the best of you.

It was then that Cameron leaned towards you, voice in a low whisper, “Careful with that look — you don’t want to end up in the ex wives club.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not only at the fact that he was divorced but that it seemed to be more than once.

Cameron nodded matter-of-factly, subtly mouthing the word “three” as she held up the same number of fingers under the table before gathering her things to head to the patient’s room.

While you felt the warning in her comment, it didn’t deter you much over the coming months. After all, it was highly unlikely that Wilson would even share your feelings. Despite this, there was something magnetic about his presence, and you often found yourself running into him, both accidentally and — more than you would like to admit — on purpose.

You had bought each other lunch in the cafeteria on a few occasions and took time to chat at least every couple of days. Even when you didn’t run into each other for a few days, both of you exchanged small reminders. One time, when you spent all day managing a patient in psychosis from the emergency department, he left a sticky note on your desk that read, "Missed you at lunch. Hope your patient is doing as well as possible. Also, House is being insufferable — rescue me soon?" A few days after that, after Wilson had an emotionally exhausting morning with some of his late stage patients, you had appeared at his office door with a cup of coffee exactly how he liked it (sickeningly sweet), offering no explanation other than a casual, "Figured you could use a pick-me-up." These exchanges became regular but still made your day every time.

There were quieter moments too, ones that lingered in your mind long after they happened. A late-night conversation in the breakroom when both of you had been too exhausted to keep up pretenses, speaking in hushed voices over lukewarm chamomile tea. A touch that lasted a fraction longer than necessary when he passed you a patient folder for a consultation he requested. Playful glances exchanged across the hallway after House made some inappropriate joke at his expense. Small pick-me-ups scratched onto sticky notes and left on desks or forgotten items.

But today, something a bit different occurred. By the time you finally got back to your office late in the day, you found a vanilla bean scone from the café waiting for you on your desk, a thoughtful surprise he had left earlier that morning. It was nothing out of the ordinary until you saw, across the brown paper, scribbled in pen, a note that read: Saw this and thought of you. Can’t seem to stop doing that lately. Come by my office soon?

At first, you thought he was just being normal Wilson — friendly, with the touch of flirtatious he has with everyone. That was until you read it a few more times and those moments over the past few weeks replayed in your mind over and over. You had been thinking of him incessantly from the moment you first saw him, but always tried to keep it professional. His note to come by sounded charged in your mind, more suggestive than any of your previous conversations. You contemplated his intentions for longer than you would like to admit, but figured you would never truly know unless you asked.

Which is exactly how you ended up here, in front of his office, two cups of coffee in hand, torn between knocking and shamefully walking back to your office. The hum of the hospital growing quiet as the typical business day came to a close. 

There was no way he was serious… was he? It was probably just some stupid bet he had made with House. God, that would be embarrassing. Maybe you should just leave the coffee and accept that your relationship would only ever be a friendship. When all those inner arguments (and more) failed to motivate you to turn and head to your office, you thought back to that conversation with Cameron. Even if he was serious, it was unlikely to last. You didn’t want to end up hurt like so many times before… but you were interested to see where this went.

Curiosity is what did you in… so, you knocked. So, what if it’s what killed the cat? “Come in!” his voice called, slightly muffled from the other side.

You hesitantly step inside, jumping a bit as you hear the door click behind you. You had barely stepped into his office before Wilson glanced up from his desk, his expression shifting from slightly stressed to pleased when he saw it was you.

“And here I thought my afternoon was going to be boring,” he said, standing to meet you by the door.

You lift the coffee cup slightly, before handing it to him, “Just returning the favor.”

He raised his brow in curiosity, leaning back to rest against his desk. “Oh, is that all?”

His feigned disappointment was laced with more flirtation than you had noticed before.

You shook your head silently, glancing down at the floor as you felt an embarrassed blush spread across your cheeks. 

“Your note,” you say, barely above a whisper, “...intrigued me.”

That got his attention, pausing from taking a sip of the beverage you brought.

“Oh?” His smirk turned curious as he scanned you up and down. “How so?”

You hesitated, but only for a second, “You’ve really been thinking about me?”

You brought your eyes to meet his as you finished your question, masking your nerves by tightening your fingers around your cup of coffee. When your eyes met him, the look on Wilson’s face was a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

“Well, that depends,” Wilson responds, sitting the cup down and crossing his arms across his chest. “Would saying yes make me seem endearing… or deeply concerning?”

You tilt your head, feigning consideration as you build your confidence. “Hmmm… that depends on just how much you’ve been thinking about me.”

A moment of silence passed as Wilson pondered his answer, breaking it with deep breath and a step towards you.

His grin deepened, and he leaned a little closer, admitting. “More than I should, really.”

Your stomach fluttered. You hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily, so effortlessly… or even at all. The part of you that wondered if the note had been some bet was fading, but you couldn’t help expressing your doubt even as your heart pounded into your throat.

“You’re not just… messing with me, right? This isn’t some House-ordained social experiment, is it?” Your voice was softer than you had desired, hesitation dominating your tone. You wanted to believe him more than anything, but you knew better than to take things at face value when House might be involved.

Wilson studied you for a long moment, his expression nearly unreadable, except for the flicker of something undeniably heated in his eyes.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is noticeably lower than before, still smooth and warm. “No, no… this isn’t some bet. If House was putting me up to this, don’t you think it would’ve been months ago?”

He did have a point.

Wilson tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he watched you consider his argument. Then, he slowly brushed his fingertips against the edge of the desk he rested upon, fingers tapping twice, as if considering his next words carefully. Or maybe he was just giving you time to process the shift in the air between you, which had become quickly thick and charged.

"Though if it was, I would’ve lost already," he stated matter-of-factly, bringing himself to stand up right, taking a step towards you. “Because this is painfully real for me.” His gaze flickered over your face, lingering for just a beat too long at your lips before returning to your eyes.

You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. "What is, exactly?"

Wilson exhaled a quiet chuckle, the sound richer, deeper than his usual easy amusement, “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shook your head, any idea of what he meant absent from your mind.

"The way I catch myself looking for you even when I know you’re not there.” Wilson’s breath came slow and measured, but you could feel the tension humming beneath it, the weight of his restraint barely holding. “The way I think about you when I know I shouldn’t.”

Wilson stepped even closer, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up as he thought silently. Your breath caught as you shamelessly notice the veins in his arm becoming more pronounced, the subtle flex of his hand accentuating the tension coiling beneath his skin.

"I tell myself to stop," Wilson admitted, his tone almost confessional. "That it’s unprofessional, that I should focus on work... But then you walk into the room or I hear your voice, and suddenly, I don’t care about anything else."

“Wh-what do you think of?” You asked breathlessly, looking back into his eyes.

He didn’t respond at first, a conflicted look replaced his previous vulnerability. Wilson took the coffee from your grip, gently placing it on the desk next to his before stepping back towards you. He appeared deep in thought, the crease between his brows deepening as they furrowed and he brought his hand to briefly cover his mouth. His warm brown eyes flickered over your face, searching, as if debating how much he should give away.

Then after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, slowly and steadily, “It was small things at first. How the first day we met, your quiet laugh was so genuine and radiant.” Wilson cautiously raised his hand to barely brush fingers through the hair that hugs your cheeks. “Or how you sucked in a little breath when I said your name for the first time…”

You dart your eyes away from him, feeling simultaneous embarrassment and surprise. “I, oh — that wasn’t subtle was it?”

He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, a knowing smirk appearing across his lips.

“Not at all,” Wilson teased, bringing his fingertips to caress your neck. “Should I keep going?”

You nod quickly, likely a bit too enthusiastic. His arms came up by your ears to brace the door behind you, making your heart thud in your chest even harder.

A low hum came from his throat before continuing, “Then I started to notice how your perfume would linger after you left me.” He held still for a moment, stiff with restraint. “It’s so intoxicating… I swear it follows me all day.”

As Wilson finished his sentence, his face buried into your hair and one of his hands dropped to grip your hip. Your breath hitched at his touch as his breath warmed you, shifting from beside your ear to the curve of your neck. 

“J-James,” you gasped, a near moan as his breath tickled against your skin, lips so close to touching flesh.

“I’ve tried not to think about all of it, Y/N,” he whispered deeply, barely audible. “I promise, I really have.”

The hold he had upon your hips moved to nest in the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“I’ve tried to distance myself, stay professional,” Wilson explained with a tone of desperation, bringing his eyes back to meet yours. “But then I’d always end up coming back… asking you to lunch or finding something, anything, that I could use to get a consultation from you.”

“So, what you're saying is... you’ve been using work to get closer to me?” You let a playful smile slip through, despite your nerves standing on end.

Wilson’s gaze softened, sincerity behind his eyes. “Is that so bad?” His voice was low, almost questioning. “Because, honestly… I couldn’t help myself. Every excuse I found — every consultation or referral or accidental cafeteria meet up — was just an excuse to see you. To be close to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

The air around you seemed to thicken with the confession, and your breath hitched, feeling the weight of his words pressing against you. His honesty disarmed you, and you found yourself drawn in closer, despite the unspoken tension.

“And you know what?” Wilson asked, his hand in the small of your back spreading open to feel you even closer. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been thinking about me, too.”

“I —,” you breathe, a chill crawling up your spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…” 

Of course you did.

“Don’t play coy with me,” Wilson said with a bit of bite in his tone.

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, tilting your chin just enough to where you could not avoid his gaze, a knowing look in his eyes.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was softer now, rich with quiet amusement. “The way you look at me when you think I won’t catch you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Wilson only hummed, bringing his thumb to press against your bottom lip.

“Or how you always seem to find a reason to stay just a little longer when we talk,” he continued, his face looming closer to yours. “Like you don’t really want to leave.”

You never realized he had been paying attention to any of that, or really that you had acted on your internal feelings so obviously.

Wilson’s fingers pressed just a little firmer into your waist, bringing your body flush against you. His body was soft and warm against yours.

You swallowed hard, words unsaid stuck tied in your throat. There was no escape from the truth pressing against your ribs, demanding to be spoken. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you could stop yourself, gripping just enough to steady yourself.

“I do,” you admitted, voice hushed. “I - I think about you… all of the time.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. Relief washes over him, relaxing the tension in his shoulder and softening his facial expressions. however, the look of desire in his eyes did not fade.

“I thought so,” he murmured, voice lacking its usual teasing lilt. Instead, he sounded almost relieved. “And how do you think about me?”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his question settle between you. It was so very “Wilson” — turning your own question back to you.

Your fingers stroked against his tie as you thought, evading his gaze. “The same as you — I think about you when I shouldn’t be,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m supposed to be working. I think of you whenever something good happens… or something bad, and I need to tell someone. When I see something and I wish you were there to see it too.” You bite your bottom lip, pulse thrumming wildly beneath your skin. Then, you barely mumble, “And — I think about you when I’m alone at night...”

Though your voice trails off at the end, Wilson’s body language shows that he heard exactly what you said. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, his grip at your waist tightening for just a moment, relaxing again as he exhaled slowly. As he opened his eyes, they were darker, his pupils blown with an unspoken hunger, yearning that simmered just beneath the surface.

The weight of your quiet confession hung between you, making the whole room charged. For once, he didn’t have a quick-witted remark, no teasing quip to defuse the moment. Instead, he reached up, his knuckles brushing along your cheek, his touch achingly gentle.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he whispered. There was no real warning in his tone, but rather a slight hint of desperation.

You tilted your head into his touch. “Why not?”

His gaze flickered down to your mouth, lingering there for just a second too long before he looked back into your eyes. “Because,” he said, pausing momentarily, his face riddled with confliction, “...it makes it very, very hard to resist you.”

A rush of heat engulfs every inch of your body, making it nearly impossible to think. Before you can, your fingers dance across the fabric of his tie.

“Then don’t,” you respond quietly, the last bit of uncertainty melting away as the words escape your lips.

He didn’t move, which you had somewhat expected him to. You could feel the weight of his restraint, so tense it could snap at any moment. His jaw was clenched, as though he was just barely holding it together.

You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him to crumble — you needed him to. 

With a sharp breath, you curled your fingers tighter around his tie. You thought for only a split second before pulling him down to you with a sudden, desperate urgency that surprised both of you. Before could even think to hesitate, your lips, finally, crashed into his. 

The moment your lips met, it was as if a dam had broken inside him. You felt the weight of everything Wilson had been holding back in that kiss — the hunger, the frustration, the overwhelming need. His hand that cupped your lower back pulled you in tighter, while the other cupped your cheek, ensuring you couldn’t break away from his kiss. Wilson’s lips were so soft yet demanding, the hint of sweet coffee on his tongue as he coaxed you open, exploring you with a raw intensity. His breath was hot against your mouth between kisses. A low, needy groan came from him as he deepened your embrace, motivating your entire body to react, heat pooling in familiar, secret places.

The rhythm of the kiss became frantic, desperate, each movement clumsy and raw, breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You could feel the loss of control in every touch, every trembling sigh that escaped your lips. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer with need. He obliged, his fingers tracing feverishly from your back to your waist, skimming upward to your ribcage, then to the curve of your breast, each touch sending jolts of heat through your body.

Then, Wilson’s lips reluctantly left yours, only to trace the line of your jaw with messy kisses, his breath erratic. “Y/N,” he said between kisses, nearly begging. “I can’t… you have to tell me to stop.”

You shook your head, against his request. “Not a chance, James,” you breathed, your voice raw with need. The next words felt like they were ripped from your soul, a silent plea to let go, to fully give in to what had been brewing for months before. “Don't stop. Please – don’t stop.”

Wilson’s lips found yours again, rougher this time, his hands clutching you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Wilson pushed you further against the wall, lifting you up just slightly so his hips aligned with yours.

There was an undeniable ache between your legs, where the heat had gathered earlier, beginning to throb and grow slick with need. Your desire for friction was so overwhelming, you hadn’t even noticed your hips rolling into his with desperation until Wilson groaned, low and guttural, separating your kiss once more.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?” he asked, his words soft and just centimeters away from your lips.

“I’m sure,” You nod with reassurance. “Because this,” you whisper against his cheek, the heat of your breath brushing against his ear, “is just the beginning of what I think about when I’m alone.” The words were more than a confession, but also a promise and a challenge all at once.

“Christ, are you trying to kill me?” Wilson muttered, words laden with shock. 

He dipped his head lower, pressing open-mouth kisses from your lips down the nape of your neck and onto your collarbone. His hands began to explore further, tugging your blouse from its tucked position, slipping his finger beneath the fabric. The built up tension made his touch sting, sending a shiver down your spine and the heat beneath your legs becoming practically unbearable.

“Please, James,” you whimper, a handful of his hair and the other dipping down, applying friction in an attempt to relieve your need.

He drew back, studying the quiet plea upon your face and your hand trembling against your still-clothed center, attempting to find satisfaction as you rocked your hips. You could only imagine how pitiful you looked, but it was entirely overwhelming for Wilson. His breath caught in his throat and he fell to his knees, lips parted with desire and his brown doe eyes looking up, with an expression that was almost fawning.

Wilson reached behind you to find the handle of his office door, which he clicked into the lock position. Still on his knees, he watched you silently for a few more seconds, admiring the look upon your face. Your brows furrowed in desperation, soft grunts escaping your lips, as you unsuccessfully searched for your release. He stared up at you, soaking it all in.

Then, suddenly, both his hands gripped the fabric on the outer sides of your thighs, shifting your skirt upwards to your waist and revealing your shamelessly soaked panties. The sudden rush of air hitting your sex made you gasp, chills climbing up your stomach and hardening your nipples. 

Before you could fully process the atmosphere overwhelming your senses, Wilson brought his pointer finger to slowly glide over the damp spot of your underwear, running perfectly between your covered folds. As he reached your clit, your breath hitched, prompting a teasing smirk to grow across his cheeks.

“Now,” he sighed, still basking in the sight. “I’m going to show you what I’ve thought about doing to you,” he paused, placing a gentle kiss against your mound, before continuing slowly, “…Every. Single. Time. You wear a skirt like this.”

A moan escapes you as his fingers hook on either side of your underwear, pulling them down to expose you entirely. Instinctively, you kick them off your ankles.

“God, you’re so…,” Wilson places careless kisses against your thighs, admiring your bare pussy before him, “so perfect.”

You look down at him, reveling at the sight of your pussy on full display. Just as you wrap your fingers in his hair, he lunges forward, pressing his lips against your clit, bracing your back with one hand, and spreading your thighs open with the other. Your legs go weak as his tongue darts out and begins lapping at you relentlessly. The mix of his soft lips intermittently sucking your clit and the deep pressure of his fingers digging into your flesh, is so consuming that you absentmindedly tighten your grip on Wilson’s hair. You begin pushing and pulling him while bucking your hips into his mouth, fighting desperately to reach your climax.

He can sense your need, which is reflected as his tongue begins to flick more methodically against your clit in addition to providing suction. His dominant hand joins his mouth, one finger massaging your entrance before slipping between your folds. Your body responds almost immediately, becoming even more aroused as he introduces a second finger, pumping you with a complementary rhythm to the one he is devouring you with.

The sensation is so overwhelming that there are tears in your eyes, and cry-like whimpers escape softly from your mouth. “P-please, I’m so close.”

He maintains his pace, but curls his fingers just enough to find the exact spot where you needed stimulation most. Looking down at him, seeing his mouth full of you and his pupils blown wide with desire is too much to handle. His lips provide deep suction against your swollen clit and the tension burning in your stomach releases. You are overcome with pleasure as you ride out your orgasm on Wilson’s face, his fingers and tongue still putting in work to ensure he can lap up every last drop.

When you were finally able to catch your breath, your legs were impossibly weak. You steadied yourself against Wilson’s body as he rose to his feet, a look of teasing satisfaction on his face.

“You taste so sweet," he hummed, his voice low and lustful. He pulled you flush against him, the heat between you both rising with every second. As his tongue flicked against yours, you could taste yourself mixed with him, the fire inside you burning brighter with every passing second. He groaned softly as you deepened the kiss as if he couldn’t help himself anymore.

You pulled back, barely able to catch your breath, lips swollen from the intensity of his kiss. "You know, I did expect you to be a giver," you teased, running your tongue over your lips. "But that… that was better than anything I ever imagined."

“That’s because I’ve been obsessed with the idea of what you’d taste like…,” he breathed, his words thick with need, “And the scent of you… God - I’ve been dreaming about it, craving it, for months now.” He couldn’t stop himself from groaning, the raw honesty in his admission pushing you to pull him down by his tie, lips crashing together again in a messy, heated kiss.

You broke away after a few moments, breathing heavily, a smile curling on your lips as you slowly pulled his tie loose. “Well, since one of your fantasies has been fulfilled," you sighed, tone heavy with teasing lust, “it’s only fair that one of mine gets to be, too. Don’t you think?”

You look up at him through half-lidded eyes. There were so many thoughts that had run through your mind — so many fantasies you’d envisioned over and over again, but there was one that had played over and over in your mind far more than the rest.

For a moment, he was mute with anticipation, admiring how your fingers began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt. By the time words finally break from his throat, one of your hands is caressing down his chest, the other grazing along the waistline of his pants.

“I’ll give you anything, whatever you want.” He assures, reaching to cup your cheek. Pressing his forehead to yours, he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, but his voice cracks as he pleads in a near whisper, “Just tell me — but don’t stop touching me, please.”

His plea is so raw, so desperate, it makes your heart race, your pulse quickening in response. You can feel the weight of his need, how much he’s willing to surrender, and it sends a wave of satisfaction through you. You can’t help but feel a deep sense of accomplishment hearing the vulnerability and desperation in his voice.

You let your fingers trail over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. A slow, teasing smirk grows across your face as you lock eyes with him. “I’ve been thinking about this for months, you know.”

His breath catches, his pupils dilating as his gaze flickers to your lips. The heat between you both is undeniable, and the anticipation thickens.

“Tell me... tell me what you’ve been thinking,” he mutters with desperation.

You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak, your words a slow, tantalizing whisper, “I’ve been imagining you… having your way with me, right here on your office desk.”

The words hang in the air and you watch as his body reacts, muscles tightening and his throat bobbing with a heavy swallow.

"I’ve imagined you pushing me onto this desk, your hands all over me, taking control, claiming me,” you hum, bringing your hand to brush against the bulge in his pants. “No hesitation. Just you, making me lose myself in you."

 A deep groan escapes his lips, your words and touch unraveling him. Wilson’s eyes squeeze shut as he tilts his head back as if he’s struggling to regain some sense of control. Then, without warning, his lips crash against yours. His kiss is frantic, starved for you. His hands grip you, sliding up your back, threading through your hair, pressing you so close it’s like he wants you under his skin.

"You have no idea," he moans between kisses, breath hot and uneven, "how many times I’ve wanted this, too. How many times I’ve thought about throwing everything off this desk and putting you right where you belong — right under me.”

The words send chills down your spine, desire coiling tight in your stomach. His hands are already moving, feverish and impatient, pushing under your clothes, dragging his fingertips over every sliver of bare skin he can reach. You gasp into his mouth as his grip tightens around your waist. 

Then, in one swift motion, Wilson’s hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. The sound of scattered papers and objects hitting the floor barely registers before he’s on you again, mouth crashing against yours, feverish and insatiable, his tongue sweeping in, tasting, teasing, like he’s trying to devour every gasp, every moan.

 His hands roam with an urgency that borders on worship — gripping, kneading, learning every inch of you that he’s been deprived of for far too long. Then, with a low, needy groan, his fingers find the hem of your blouse, tugging it up, over your torso, leaving your top nearly bare before him. The fabric is barely gone before his lips descend, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. A sharp gasp comes from your throat as chills scatter across the tops of your breasts, your skin prickling at the contrast of the cool air and the heat of his breath.

Wilson takes a slow, deliberate step back, his gaze raking over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of the sight before him. His chest rises and falls, his lips still parted from your last kiss. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, his fingers move to his belt. The slow slide of leather through the loops is deliberate. His knuckles graze his waistband as he pulls the belt free, the flex of muscle beneath his sleeves hinting at the tension coiling just beneath his skin.

As Wilson tosses his belt to the ground, the air feels thicker, heavier, expectation crackling between you, leaving you breathless with want. You have truly never felt this aroused in your life, your heart rate quickening, muscles tense, and every sensitive part of you swollen with desire. You never expected that you would ever really be laying on top of Wilson’s desk, watching him undress and waiting for him to take advantage of your body — let alone that he had thought about it, too.

As he moves back towards you, slacks now undone, you can’t help but notice the outline of his prominent erection straining beneath his boxer briefs. You reach out to touch him, but he meets you first — his hands slipping under your skirt, fingers digging into your skin before drawing the fabric down your legs. As the garment falls to the ground, Wilson kisses up your legs and to your torso, caressing every part he does not touch with his lips with his fingertips. Eventually, he meets your breasts, still guarded by your bra, placing kisses along the valley between them. He then cups both of them with his hands before sliding behind you to unhook the final bit of clothing that was keeping you from being completely nude before him.

As Wilson pulled the thin barrier of fabric from your body, his warm hand replaced the supportive cups that protected your tender breasts. His eyes linger on your chest, admiring as it rises and falls, thumbs grazing over your hardened nipples. Your breath seizes in your throat as he takes one into his mouth, suction pulling between gentle flicks of his tongue. 

As much pleasure as you feel in this moment, you can’t help but remember Wilson’s bulge, hard and twitching just underneath a layer of cloth. You sit forward, propping yourself up on your forearms, prompting a perplexed look from Wilson who was reluctantly releasing his mouth from your breast.

“Everything okay?” he inquires, catching his breath. 

You do not answer him with words, instead you lean forward and bring your palm to press softly against his bulge. Wilson’s eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted in a struggle between ache and pleasure as a grunt escaped him. He was full and swollen as you gripped him firmly through his briefs, precum staining the fabric darker.

You kiss his chest softly as you sneak your hand beneath his waistband. His flesh was hot as your fingers danced across his erection, which jerked in response. You wrap your hand around him, savoring how strained and tense his thick cock feels, before bringing your thumb to glide down the slit.

“I need to feel you inside of me,” you insist with a begging tone, eyes fluttering up at him with need.

Before any words come from his lips, his dick is already out and Wilson is stroking it with painfully slow, drawn-out motions. The head of his cock is swollen and flushed and a prominent vein on the underside is near-throbbing with with every motion.

 “God, yes,” he groaned in agreement with your request, before pulling you down closer to the edge of the desk. “Spread yourself open for me, beautiful.”

Without taking time to think, you separate your legs, bringing your fingers down to glide through your slickness. Wilson revels in the sight, but still moves towards you — his earlier restraint melted away entirely. Placing one hand on your thigh, he uses the other to guide his cock to massage between your labia, tip grazing against your clit, sending shock-like waves of pleasure through you. He stays there for a moment, gliding himself through your folds, properly preparing both of you before lining up with your entrance.

You lock eyes, both of your faces twisted with anticipation and desperation, as he begins to sink into you with a pace so slow and deliberate it is nearly excruciating. At the same time, you were grateful for this patient approach, as the thickness of his cock stretches you out, creating the perfect mix of pain and pleasure across every inch of your body.

“Y/N,” Wilson cries in a hushed whisper, nearly half-way inside of you. “Y-you’re so tight a-and warm… damn.”

You moan in satisfaction at his words, hands searching for something to hold onto as you unravel beneath him. Seeing your fingers wrap around the edge of the desk, Wilson reaches one hand down to intertwine with yours. There is something intimate and touching about how he holds your hand as he presses deeper into you, true care mixing into this moment of raw lust.

As he bottoms out, feeling the base of his dick against your pussy, your free hand clings to his back, fingernails digging into the skin beneath his shoulder blades. Wilson fills you perfectly, stretching you just enough to still surround him like a sheath. You have never felt this full before, which makes you even more aroused, bucking your hips to grind your clit against his groin. It must look utterly pitiful, but you can’t help but search for friction.

“Fuck, you’re stretching me out so good,” you whine, pitch higher than before and laced with pleasure.

Looking up for reassurance, you see Wilson’s face is blown with pleasure, slack-jawed and brows knit together, pupils blown. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles, slowly pushing the first full thrust into you.

It doesn’t take long for him to build up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease, despite your walls attempting to cling to him with every entrance and exit. 

Despite the pace being steady and his strokes being deep enough you feel them in your stomach, there is something so soft in the way Wilson fucks you — more as if it wasn’t fucking at all, but more like making love. His eyes look over you with admiration, like he’s soaking in every motion of your body, and the hand not holding yours roams freely across your skin, frequently nestling fingers against your aching clit. When a cry escapes you as he begins rubbing it in figure eights, he presses a kiss to your lips — not only to muffle the sound but as an indication that he loves to make you feel this way.

He whispers against your lips as he breaks the kiss. “You feel amazing, better than anything I ever dreamed…” You feel him trembling with overwhelm as he continues breathlessly. “I-I’ve never felt — fuck — any pussy as perfect as yours.”

“James,” you gasp, feeling his dick hit against the most sensitive area inside you. “Please, keep going… r-right there.”

Wilson nods eagerly, in surrendering agreement, “Anything you want, my love. I’ll do anything for you.”

He keeps true to his promise, continuing the same pressure and angle of his thrusts until you’re completely undone beneath him — vision blurry and every inch of your body nearly numb with pleasure. The only thing keeping you grounded is your back against wood and his hand still holding yours.

You can barely form thoughts, let alone words when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on them needily and grunting enough that low vibrations hum against your chest. Every inch of you was buzzing with pleasure, but you felt the familiar pressure grow deep within you.

“I - I’m going to cum,” you manage to say, looking down at him with pleading eyes.

Wilson releases his latch from your breast, barely taking time to catch his breath when he provides a pressured reply, “Please, please cum on my cock. Shit — I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

His permission is all you need to let go as he keeps up his pace, working your clit relentlessly with his free hand. Your eyes roll back into your head as the sensation of heat rushes across your trembling thighs, walls clenching around Wilson’s thick cock as you cum. The pressure slowly lessens and your clit is throbbing from overstimulation when you come back to reality, your mind still foggy in bliss.

“That was so fucking hot,” Wilson whines, face scrunched with the sweet agony of pleasure. You can tell he’s close, before he even tells you, through strained breaths. “Y/N — tell me where I can cum. I’m so close, please.”

“Cum in me,” you beg, consumed with feverish need. “I’m on the pill. Baby, please — fucking fill me with your cum.”

A guttural groan leaves Wilson’s lips as he hears your request, his dick twitching inside of you. “Christ — yes. I was hoping you’d say that.”

With a few more strokes, you feel him become rigid inside of you and his breath hitches in his throat as he releases inside of you. The warmth of his cum coating your walls sends a rush of bliss throughout your body, a soft yet satisfied smile growing across your face.

You both try to catch your breath as you come down from your shared high, soaking in the last seconds of being physically one. As Wilson’s tense body relaxes, he nearly collapses on top of you, bare chests still heaving and sweat-laden pressed against one another. You’re both exhausted, yet idyllically happy. You run your fingers through his now-damp hair as his breath slowly returns to a normal pattern.

The quiet hum of the room settles around you and the faint rustle of fabric begins to fill the air. You both begin to dress, but the heat between you lingers, tangible and unspoken. As you pull your skirt up over your hips, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, you instinctively glance at him. His eyes are fixed on you, intense, almost reverent, as if he wanted every moment, every movement, etched into his mind. The tenderness in his stare is enough to make your heart race like he's memorizing every inch of you, this closeness, this shared silence.

You gather your hair, pulling it into a ponytail, a vain attempt to fix the mess it’s become. As your fingers complete the final loop, Wilson steps towards you, cupping your face with his hands and bringing you in for a tender kiss. His thumb traces your cheek with a tenderness so light, it feels almost like a whisper. Your fingers weave through his hair, drawing him closer, as if you’re aching to be closer, wanting to melt into him, as if he hadn’t just been inside you. The moment is quiet and brief — but feels like an eternity. You both linger in it, savoring the silence that speaks volumes.

As the kiss ends, the absence of his lips on yours leaves a hollow ache, but it is almost immediately remedied when he speaks. “Come home with me?” Wilson asks, his voice wrapped in a quiet, inviting warmth. 

His eyes search yours, steady and sincere, yet there’s something more behind it, something vulnerable like he’s offering you a piece of himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long... wanted you,” he says in a near-whisper, his tone thick with emotion. “Now that I’ve had you... I can’t stand the thought of letting you go.”

The sensitivity in his voice makes your heart race, his words carrying all the unspoken hopes you’ve both held onto these past few months. You let the moment stretch between you, just enough to collect yourself, but not long enough to let the fear of doubt slip into his mind.

“Of course, I’ll come with you,” you respond quietly, your voice filled with affection as you press a gentle kiss to his flushed cheek. “I don’t want to be anywhere but with you. We’ve both waited long enough for this, haven’t we?” 

A soft, almost disbelieving smile appears on his face, as he threads his fingers gently around yours. “I’m so glad you said that,” he sighs in relief, his voice thick with sincerity. 

“I’m yours, James,” you assure him, squeezing his hand in return. "I have been for a long time.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmurs in a pleased tone, a look of admiration beaming down at you. 

“I think you’ve shown me that tonight,” you reply with a slight tease. The months of longing, of stolen glances and unspoken feelings, all seem to settle into this one moment—solid, certain, and undeniably real. “Take me home?”

His smile deepens, tender and unguarded as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get out of here,” he says softly, opening his office door. 

The silence as you walk hand-in-hand down the hall is no longer heavy with anticipation but is instead filled with something quieter, more certain. Peaceful. 

Outside, the cool night air hits your skin, stinging as it contrasts your flushed cheeks. Wilson pulls you close as you walk, his thumb tracing soft circles against the back of your hand. Neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of contentment and understanding. Every glance, every brush of his fingers against yours, a language all its own.

When you reach his car, he pauses, turning to face you as if needing to see you clearly beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. His gaze lingers on your face, soft and searching, before he leans in and presses a tender kiss to your lips, sealing some still-unspoken promise.

“Home,” he whispers breathlessly, the single word carrying more weight than it should. As you settle into the passenger seat beside him, heart thrumming in your chest, you know, deep within you, that you’re finally right where you’re meant to be.

[vampirq]

i need college roommate!abby who def plays some sort of sport n always has girls stumbling out her room in the morning. she has no shame ab it too. she acts all jocky n stuff but she’s actually js a sweetheart who has emotional issues 💔

yours truly, -𐦖

hell yea !! this is an anon req but honestly i kinda wanna turn it into a series, so this could be like a “pilot” chapter jus’ giving the gist of things that’ll happen throughout the series. unless you guys think this is absolute shit, i dunno i write for you guys so let me know what you want! anyway, enough yap more reading !!

heartbreaker | a.a

before you even enter the dorm room, a brunette haired girl shoves through the door giggling. her hair is all messed up and her shirt is on backwards, then hearing abby call out, “text me later gorgeous! miss ya already!” you roll your eyes at the sight. it’s pathetic really, can she do anything else besides having a new girl to smash in the dorm every 2 days?

once you actually make your way inside, you call out to abby, “abs that was the 3rd one this week and it’s only thursday you cannot be serious.” you scoff, dropping your bag on the floor. “you’re right, i’m not serious. they’re just quick fucks it helps to build up the stamina ya’know?” she quips, flexing her muscles in the mirror. honestly, you’re way to busy to be worrying about who your roommate is fucking every day. you lost count after that one girl came over. what was her name? nina? nora?

as you began preparing your shower, making sure you have everything you need. your mind begins to wonder. why does abby switch out girls like they’re trading cards. is it really just to build her stamina? you wouldn’t be surprised if it was, she is all about building muscle and shit. or maybe it’s something deeper? like she uses it as a distraction to cover up her feelings.

before you spiral too deep into your thoughts, abby’s voice breaks through the silence, “you’ve been silent for quite some time now. you jealous?” she teases, turning away from the mirror with that stupid smug grin plastered across her face. you scoff, continuing to pack everything you need before you head down to the showers. “jealous of what? the revolving door of girls you got coming in and out like it’s a damn sport?”

abby shrugs, completely unbothered by the statement — after all, she is the basketball varsity team captain. “mm—nah, they know the deal. no promises, no feelings. though i do think that last girl was feelin’ some type of way. i dunno the bitch tried to kiss me.” she brushes it off like it’s nothing, tossing a stress ball up into the air and catching it repeatedly. “you’re a real interesting kind of person, anderson.” you turn to leave, ready to drop the conversation entirely, but the thought from earlier lingers in your mind. is she doing it for fun or to cope?

“hey um,” you hesitate on asking the question but you know if you don’t now, it’ll keep wracking your brain until you do. “does doing any of that actually make you happy or is it just a way of ya’know avoiding stuff.” for a brief moment, abby doesn’t respond. her expression falters slightly but she covers it up with a casual laugh, tossing a pillow at you. “gosh those psychology classes must be really payin’ off. i’m good, nothing — nothing to worry about.” she assures, returning to her usual jock, assholeish self.

but you don’t miss that flicker in her eyes, like there was something wanting to be said but just couldn’t. you know abby has to struggle with some stuff, i mean always wanting to be the overachiever has to come from something, right? you don’t push her though. instead, you grab your shower caddy and head toward to door, pausing to say, “whatever you say abby. just take care of yourself.”

[astrolovecosmos]

Basic Planet Transit Guide

Sun (1 month to change sign): Self-expression, general seasonal energy, confidence, growth

Moon (2-3 days to change sign): Emotions, desires, habits, introspection, people or feelings from the past, intuition

Mercury (a few weeks to a month to change sign): Communication, mental clarity, mental fog, confusion, information, short trips, technology, mental shifts, trade, businesses

Venus (3-5 weeks to change sign): Connections, love, relationships, social life, brief attraction, infatuation, beauty rituals, shopping sprees or new spending habits

Mars (4-8 weeks to change sign): Drive, temper, lust, physical energy, outbursts, accidents, vigor, violence, ambition, motivation

Jupiter (around a year to change sign: Growth, expansion, excess, opportunity or loss, travel, law, risks and risk-taking, luck, optimism, exaggeration, truth, overconfidence or overestimation

Saturn (2.5 - 3 years to change sign): Structure and restructuring, authority, discipline, laws, rules, boundaries, restriction, trails, challenges, work, responsibilities, consolidation, blockages, delays, loss, misfortune, falls, fails, blows to ego or progress, sadness or melancholy, seriousness

Uranus (7 years to change sign): Community, rebellion, revolution, freedom, innovation, new ideas, technology, science, sudden changes, chaos, cataclysmic events, change

Neptune (13 - 15 years to change sign): Fantasy, hopes or wishes, illusions, dreams, creativity, intuition, spirituality, disillusionment, delusions, madness, a generation's "dream", illumination, deception, confusion, breakdowns, disintegration, flooding, drowning, sensitivity, sacrifice, martyrs

Pluto (12 - 20 years to change sign): Power, power struggles, transformation, taboos, sex, inevitable change, destruction, psychological pressure, regeneration, control, obsession, compulsion, death, endings, a generations challenges and transformations, deception, manipulation, intense emotions, trauma

[vulpisnocturna]

Binding Vow

This is purely self-indulgent because I was consumed with the idea of Chrollo and specifically, Yandere!Chrollo. So here it goes. This is filthy and Chrollo is unhinged. Nothing new.

Read on AO3

Part II

Part III

I do not condone this behaviour in real life. This is purely fictional. Please read warnings and avoid if any of them are triggering to you.

Warnings: Yandere Chrollo, dom Chrollo, coercion, dub con (I mean it), psychological manipulation, kidnapping, captivity, possessiveness, obsession, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, praise, slight humiliation kink

Summary: Abducted because Chrollo could not steal your Nen ability, you are ready to give in and trade your power for your freedom. But the choices Chrollo decides to lay in front of you are wholly different. One would say, the illusion of choice. You make him swear a vow to let you go as you make your choice. But one should pay close attention to the words used in a binding vow...

Word count: 7k

One would think so many candles would be a fire hazard, to be frank. They were everywhere, on every wooden surface, on every shelf that wasn’t overcome with books of all sizes with leather spines, on the nightstands and even on the ground. It was as though the leader of the Phantom Troupe had an obsession with a certain type of aesthetic, and would not refrain from littering his surroundings with candles every time he found a new place where his gang could crash. Perhaps, he had a candle for every person he had ever killed.

Though you supposed one would lose count after a while.

If you were to ingratiate him, you knew what he would appreciate having as a gift; although who needed gifts when your profession was stealing whatever you wanted, whatever thing you had a passing whim for?

As far as you were aware, you were the last passing whim Chrollo Lucilfer had stolen. You had known of his power to steal abilities, and even though you had tried to escape when the Troupe had come to abduct you, it seemed he hadn’t been successful in stealing your power. Yet.

Your Nen power wasn’t meant to fight, really, so the possibility of forcing your way through the Troupe had been preposterous. Your ability was that of having regenerative power, to the point where you could heal fatal wounds to yourself and others. He obviously must have wanted it for himself, and you hadn’t exactly had any way of escaping his wishes.

After a month of captivity, though, you weren’t sure you could bear it for much longer. If all he wanted was your power, why not let him “borrow” it, as he so nonchalantly put it? So you could go back to your own life, so you didn’t have to be locked up in that house, so that he would let you go? Would he even let you go, if you gave him the ability? Or would he want to tie loose ends and get rid of you? You shuddered in the cold air of the bedroom you had been confined to in his absence. 

He had left you to your own devices that day for the entirety of the morning, whilst he had spent all his time with you previously. Studying you, asking you questions, letting you know between the lines that he knew who you were, who your loved ones were, where they lived. He had called you a “treasured guest” in the same sentence, with such audacity that you had been left stunned at the complete lack of morals that man had.

But then again, he also seemed to have some twisted attraction to you. They did say the forbidden fruit was always the sweetest, and because you knew of his power, he couldn’t get to your Nen ability if you did not reveal how it worked and fulfilled his conditions. In the last two weeks, he had taken to something you could only define as an attempt at seduction.

He would sit with you in the living room, inviting you to get closer to him, reassuring you he had no intentions of harming you. He would stare at you with those stormy eyes of his that seemed to burn through you like electricity, and his gaze would rake over your body like he was appraising some kind of rare, expensive object he planned to take for himself. Which he probably was.

Despite knowing who he was, despite knowing how sticky with blood his hands were, you were only a fallible human. And he was... a murderer, a manipulator, a thief; and he was also cunning, intuitive, soft-spoken, caring with you in a sick way, and the most handsome man you had ever met. Despite all of your efforts, it was not possible to deny the effect he had on you. And it was not possible to hide it from him. Observant as he was, obsessed as he was with watching your every reaction, every little twitch of your body, every time your breath faltered when he was too close, every time he commented casually how your pupils were dilating, every time his long, willowy fingers grazed your skin, he could see all of it. And all of it was a twisted game of cat and mouse to him.

Another heist, another plot to strategise and accomplish. He was always composed, always neutral, if not for his sly looks, wily smirks and piercing eyes. He always seemed to have the upper hand. It did not matter that he did not have your power, he seemed to be a patient man.

Until that day.

You had assumed he was waiting for you to break by keeping you captive, although treated with enough civility and never physically harmed, because he had not mentioned wanting your Nen power since the one time he had told you he wished to borrow it. In your mind, he was simply determined to stir the pot and then leave you to stew in it for a while, knowing at some point, your desire for freedom would overcome your attachment to your ability. Letting you run your mind wild with suppositions and conjectures that led nowhere as you tried to analyse his reasons and predict his behaviour. And it was working. You were almost done with it. If he asked you to choose between your power and your freedom, you knew what you would pick.

When he came back from whatever the hell he’d been doing that morning, his appearance was pristine. He was wearing his hair down, no headband in sight, a white shirt with the first two buttons undone and smart black trousers. All in all, he was the picture of what you could only define as sex appeal and sophistication mixed together in a heady blur of sharp eyes, chiselled, angular features and a mellow voice that still managed to sting.

He unlocked your door using a Nen ability he’d probably also stolen and closed it behind him, smiling softly at you as he appraised you.

‘Hello, darling. I hope you did not feel too lonely without my company’ he said easily, conversationally. You disliked the pet names he had started to throw at you in the last two weeks. They made it seem like there was more to this relationship than a prisoner and their warden. More he wanted. But not your ability. No. You. And it made your stomach churn every time. 

You decided to ignore him, because what else could you do? You were locked in a room with him, with no escape, and you had been held captive for a month now. What could possibly make it worse than it already was?

But you were so very naïve. You should have paid heed to his shrewd grey eyes, to the way his lips twitched as though he delighted in knowing something you didn’t, in watching you rack your brains in trying to figure him out.

You had been so naïve in thinking that he had kidnapped you and held you captive to steal your ability. After all, he could torture it out of you. 

Did he just enjoy the game? What did he want? Was there another condition that needed you to be willing to share it with him? That must have been it. He needed you to give it to him willingly, that was why he was going after your mental sanity instead of torturing it out of you.

‘You seem quite tense. Sit with me. I have a proposition for you’ he said, gracefully stepping to your side, brushing his fingers on your lower back, sending shivers down your spine just as your nose caught a whiff of his expensive cologne. His scent was just as intoxicating as he was, something masculine yet refined, a blend that made your lower stomach hot. You fought to keep eye contact as he sat on the plush loveseat by the fireplace, tapping the empty space right next to him, his eyes boring into you with curious amusement. 

You grimaced, feeling weak and dizzy as you sat down on the armchair, the only other surface available to you aside from the bed and the loveseat, which was out of the question. Chrollo’s lips twitched in amusement, his eyes glinting with interest as he rested his cheek against his fist. 

‘I have a few choices for you. I assume you are quite unsatisfied with your current predicament, therefore, I am giving you the chance to escape all the doubt that must be swarming your mind by now’ he said calmly, that little smirk still on his lips. You did not give way to hope. You did not lower your guard. Thieves did not return goods. If they got rid of them, it was after getting something else in return. So what was he playing at? What was his angle?

‘Your distrust is quite strong, dearest. You should learn to hide your emotions more, if you plan to attempt to play me. Though I must admit the thought of it is quite thrilling. So feel free to try it. Your first choice is to give me your Nen ability in exchange for the end of this predicament. Your second choice is to give yourself to me now. I trust you understand the meaning behind my words. If that is your choice, you can start by getting up and walking over here’ he said, smoothly, easily, seductively, his eyes mischievous. 

You blinked, swallowing heavily, your lips parting. He… was making you choose between your Nen ability or having sex with him in exchange for your freedom? The choice was not really that. It was an illusion of it. Perhaps he merely sought to humiliate you, because of course, the reasonable choice would be to get it over and done with, have sex with him just that once and walk away with your life and your ability intact. Who in their right mind would pick the first choice? 

He was hot, charming, attractive. So long as you could separate the part of you that knew what he was, what he did, and the shame that came with prostituting yourself to your captor, it would not be that bad. It would be over quickly, you only had to focus on his physical attributes, shut out his horrid persona.

‘You want me to prostitute myself to you’ you said, your cheeks burning with humiliation. He let out a wilful sigh. 

‘That is an uncouth appraisal of it. It is quite clear from your reactions to me that you desire me, too. Is that prostitution? More of a mutual desire, I’d wager. Rather a small price to pay to retain your power, is it not?’ he asked, smiling sweetly, smugly. You ground your jaw, your whole face feeling hot, your eyes stinging with the embarrassment of your current predicament, as he loved to call your captivity.

‘Why would I want to... have sex with someone like you? A... murderer- a thief, a kidnapper?’ you spat, repulsed, sitting rigidly in the armchair, quite the opposite picture to his nonchalant lounging. He let out a soft laugh.

‘Oh, darling. Are you pretending to have steadfast morals now?’ he crooned, voice soft and mellow. Completely unbothered by your accusations.

‘What are you trying to imply?’ you chewed on the corner of your bottom lip, a movement he followed with a hint of ravenousness in his silvery eyes.

‘Your morals seem somewhat flexible to me. You have been eating food paid with stolen money for a month, sleeping in a stolen mansion, wearing stolen clothes. I trust you were clever enough to know this from the beginning of your sojourn here’ he said casually, seeming almost enthusiastic about debunking every argument you could bring to the table. It was as though he found pleasure in discrediting your beliefs and making you vacillate. Perhaps it stroked his ego.

 ‘I had no choice about sleeping here. Should I have starved? Should I have wandered around naked for a month?’ you snapped, regretting your words immediately when you saw him look at you so intensely. As though he was undressing you himself with his eyes.

‘Well, you certainly could have tried to starve yourself. I would have admired your efforts to cling to your pride and ethical dilemma, and you would not be in this moral conundrum now if you had. You would be able to blame me for it. As to your last point, that would have certainly been a sight. Again, the choice was there. I would not have stopped you’ he said slyly, his voice getting lower and more seductive, like a caress on your spine. You bristled.

‘Those are not choices. Like these aren’t’ you pressed, and he sighed, still smiling like nothing could make him waver.

‘Are they not? You have two paths before you. Every human being is offered choices. Now, be a darling and make one. What will you choose?’ he mused. You closed your eyes, your fingers curling on the fabric of your skirt.

‘You will not steal my power if I- give my body to you now. Right?’ you asked slowly, trying to find a loophole in his words.

‘I will not. If you choose to indulge me now, I will not steal your power’ he said. You gulped. You did not want him to lose his patience and take away your opportunity. You also wanted his word that you would be let out alive and unharmed.

‘And this- this predicament will be done once I do that too. You will not kill me- nor harm me after that. I will be allowed to leave this place alive’ you said cautiously, weighing your words. He smiled.

‘Of course. In order to ease your worries, why don’t I make a vow with you? A condition, if you will. And if I break it, I will die. If this is your choice, and you want reassurance before you continue with it, I will of course be willing to ease your worries. Stand up and come closer’ he said, and you tried not to show your relief. If he was promising, there was nothing to worry about. You could do this, keep your life and your well-being, leave with your power. It was not a bad deal. Not a bad deal at all. You should be happy that he seemed to be attracted to you. That he was even giving you a choice in the matter.

You slowly got up, and your legs felt weak as you stepped closer to him, feeling like his gaze was burning through you. You stopped in front of him, tense like a violin string as a grimoire appeared in his hand.

‘Sit on my lap, darling’ he murmured, and you found yourself feeling all kinds of things in your body, from nerve-wracking anxiety to butterflies in your stomach to warmth in your gut and weakness in your legs. You inched closer to him, gingerly sitting sideways on his lap.

You were immediately engulfed by his enthralling cologne, and his arm wrapped around you, fingers curling on your waist to keep you in place. You squirmed, gulping when he dipped his head to breathe against your neck, making goosebumps appear on your exposed skin.

‘Your scent is intoxicating, dearest’ he breathed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear to expose the side of your face to him. You could not deny how seductive he could be, how tantalising his touch felt. But you would not be swayed from the promise he’d made.

‘The vow first’ you said somewhat nervously, and he smiled, nodding and keeping an arm around your torso as he picked up his book of stolen abilities and flicked through it, stopping in front of a binding vow.

‘Now, I vow that I will not make your Nen ability mine and steal it from you. It will remain yours. I vow I will not kill you, nor will I ask anyone else to do so for me. Should you respect the terms I have presented to you, you will leave this place unscathed within a day, with your power still in your hands. Should I fail to respect these terms, I will die on the spot. Do you accept?’ he said, and you tried to find any loophole that would allow him to kill you or steal your ability in his words, even though his fingers stroking your ribcage were distracting, but you could not find anything. You nodded.

‘I accept’ you said, and he picked up a small dagger from his pocket, shushing you when you gasped and tried to get away. He pricked his thumb, showing you the small droplet of blood that was forming on the surface of his skin.

‘I won’t hurt you. I just need a drop of your blood. Your hand, if you will, darling. Or the vow won’t work’ he said, and you gingerly let him lift one of your hands and prick your thumb. He pressed yours against his, and you could see the aura surrounding your fingers working. You relaxed a little when he threw the dagger away, supposedly letting it pierce the wood of the highest bookshelf so you could not reach it in an attempt to attack him.

He wiped your thumb and his with a handkerchief, tossing it on the table and letting the grimoire disappear.

‘I hope I was successful in easing your worries. Now, where were we?’ he murmured, round, pretty eyes heavy-lidded, lust-laden as they scanned your face. You felt as though you were in the lion’s den for the first time, or more fittingly, a small butterfly trapped in a spider web. Just waiting to be devoured.

He cupped your jaw, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb, leisurely taking his time in savouring you. Part of you wished he would just get it over and done with, another part of you, a shameful one, burnt at every action he took, at his stifling seduction. You might as well enjoy it and hope he was good at the very least, right? No one could blame you for it. Your survival was at stake, after all.

You stopped thinking altogether when his lips grazed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your lips. He was slow and sensual in all of his movements, but there was something that slipped through the façade, something possessive about the way his fingers curled around your throat, trapping you in place as his lips pressed against yours.

They were soft. Soft and smooth, warm and demanding. You could not deny the pull they had. You were coaxed into seeking them out whenever he pulled away slightly, pressing them against you again, more and more passionately each time, almost manipulating you into wanting him to get rougher.

And he did. His teeth sank into the pliant flesh of your bottom lip, pulling lightly, and his tongue was quick to soothe the sting, taking advantage of your little gasp to slip in your mouth and lay siege on your tongue. It was all akin to a game of pull and push with him. He wheedled you into letting go more and more with each time he gave you something only to take it away and revel in how you sought it again. Just as he had presented the illusion of you wanting this from him, he was now making you act on it as though you had always desired nothing more.

Until your fingers were tangled in his soft raven hair, pulling lightly at it, and you were seeking his soft lips and their taste reminiscent of rich red wine to suck on his bottom lip languidly. Until his teeth nipping at your bottom lip had you mewl in his mouth.

‘Eager, are we? How sweet’ he breathed, and you felt the trap snap, the mechanism trapping you like a helpless doe caught by pincers. All of his teasing had led to this, to making you see that you wanted him, wanted this to happen. And as much as you could deny it, your actions spoke loudly, and your body’s reaction did too. The knowledge that you were already turned on and that if he decided to reach between your thighs he would see just how responsive you were to him made the mortification burn in your chest.

You had wanted to keep your dignity and show your distaste for what was happening, but he had managed to reduce you to a docile doll just by kissing your lips. And his sardonic smile and eyes told you that you were right in that assumption.

And before you could hope to collect yourself, his mouth was on your throat, hungry but still slow, leaving you wanting more. He licked a long stripe along your pulse, making it shoot up as his fingers curled around the roots of your hair and pulled, exposing your vulnerable neck to him. You could not restrain the whimper that escaped you as he kissed and started sucking a sensitive spot between your neck and your shoulder, sure to leave a mark to remind you of what you had done, of your flexible morals, as he’d called them.

His fingers clutched your side, wandered down to your hip and the swell of your ass, grazed your thigh and snaked under your skirt to grope at the plump flesh of your backside. You were too lost in the pleasure of his mouth and tongue on your throat to truly consider your situation and who it was that was touching you so possessively, so greedily. If anything, it only stoked the fire within you.

‘Good girl’ he crooned, sending a jolt to your clit with the dirty praise. You squirmed on his lap, eliciting a soft chuckle from him and a graze of his thumb over your stiff nipple. You were wearing a simple satin shirt with a flimsy bralette, and the friction of the material was torturous against your nipples.

Chrollo pulled the shirt out of your skirt, making quick work of the buttons with one hand whilst the other was still kneading your ass and his mouth was still on your throat. He slipped the garment off you, pulling away to observe you. You gulped, averting your eyes at the sight of his hungry stare, quivering as his fingers ghosted your sternum, your ribcage, the swell of your breasts.

‘You are so beautiful, darling’ he murmured, his lips softly pressing against your collarbone, his fingers deftly lowering the straps of your bralette and unhooking it. He tossed it aside, groaning softly as his hand cupped your breast, kneading it in his fingers, pinching your nipple and rolling it between thumb and index finger.

You tried to stifle a moan, to which he seemed to take offense, because he stopped and bit down hard on your shoulder, making you whine in the process.

‘I want to hear you. The more you stifle your voice, the longer I will tease you. Understood?’ he said, and you meekly nodded, only to speak up when he gave you a meaningful glance.

‘Yes’ you hissed, and he seemed pleased, because he hummed and made you arch your back so that his tongue could lick your stiff nipple and flick it. You were careful not to stifle the small whine that left your lips, and he rewarded you by sucking your nipple in his mouth, scraping it with his teeth and making you cling onto his shoulders.

He bunched up your skirt up to your waist, leaving you exposed as he trailed his fingers to your inner thighs, in a silent request to spread your legs. You were not wholly aware of how swiftly you complied, you only knew that when he first cupped you through your panties, your eyelids fluttered and a soft moan poured out of you.

‘You are soaked for me, pet. Your morals do not seem to extend to your body. Try as you might, you want this, and you cannot lie to me’ he purred, dragging his fingers and pressing against your clit, holding you still when you squirmed away from his touch. You let out a loud moan, your hips jerking. He pulled your panties to the side, rubbing your clit and dipping two fingers inside you, curling them, making your head drop on his shoulder as you moaned against his neck, enveloped by the scent of his cologne.

‘That’s it. That’s my good girl. If I knew how much you liked being fingered on my lap, I would have done this much sooner. No matter. I’ll make it up to you, darling’ he breathed, voice slightly strained as though he was holding back something much more primal from taking over, but you were too dazed to take much notice of all the filth he was spewing and how he sought to humiliate you further, because his touch admittedly felt like heaven. His willowy fingers inside you kept pressing against all the right places, and you could not help but clench around them, your hips twitching into his hand every time his palm rubbed against your sensitive clit.

You were lost in the motion of his fingers as you rutted against his hand, shamelessly chasing your own high as he continued to praise you and kiss you, rewarding every sound you made with a curl of his fingers that had you melting in his arms. Until you could not take it anymore.

‘Can’t- ‘m close’ you huffed out, breathing erratic, chest heaving as his fingers pumped inside you, and he hummed, licking your neck and sucking on it again.

‘Cum for me, pet’ he urged, and your eyes scrunched up, a lewd moan ripping through you as you tensed up on his thigh, sound fading away as you came undone.

You slumped on him, breathing heavily, your cunt throbbing around his fingers as he lazily fucked you through your aftershocks, your hair clinging to the back of your neck from the light sheen of sweat that had formed there.

‘Suck’ you heard, and dazed as you were, you obediently opened your mouth when he presented his fingers, sucking and licking the pads of his fingers, tasting yourself. You had to cling to him as he stood up and walked over to the bed, lowering you on it and observing you as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off.

There was no denying it, he was attractive. Lean but toned, with graceful abs adorning his flat stomach, jutting collarbones and well-defined biceps; with the way the candlelight danced on his pale skin, making it glow with soft orange hues, he truly looked like he might be a fantasy of sorts.

You supposed he looked like a fallen angel, as his name suggested. Like the Alexandre Cabanel painting of the fallen angel, dangerous but so tempting. It was unfair that he should also be able to make you come undone so easily, when you had vowed to not give him the satisfaction.

He smirked at you, undoing his belt, slipping it through the hooks, catching you staring first at the clear dampness on his thigh, then at the evident bulge of his erection.

You supposed he would fuck you now. If you were being honest, you had thought he wouldn’t have taken such interest in your pleasure, but now, it seemed only fitting: it was all to aid his game, to stroke his ego in humiliating you by showing you how you could not abide by your morals, how you’d moaned and whined to be touched by those blood-stained hands.

Instead, he kept his trousers on, only going so far as to unbutton them to give himself more space. He seemed... quite gifted in that area too, you thought with a grimace. Was there anything that did not favour him? It seemed that fortune graced the wicked in that nonsensical world, because he had it all.

He caged you underneath him, his hair tickling your face as he drew you into a heated kiss, his hands roving down your body, fingertips digging into your hips, tongue pressing against yours.

He was quick to unzip your skirt and slide it off you along with your panties, leaving you completely exposed whilst he still retained his power by not undressing completely.

‘You were so precious squirming on my lap, so good for me. You deserve a reward’ he crooned against your ear in that soft, melodious voice of his, making you swallow heavily as you wondered what he might do to you now.

He did not leave you guessing for long. His mouth traced your collarbone, his head lowering as he licked your sternum and left a dark lovebite above your nipple, another reminder that would bring you back to this room, to what he was doing to you for the following week. He seemed intent on marking you whenever he could, and until he had littered your chest with purple brushstrokes, until you were but a moaning mess, he refused to move on, no matter how much you tried to squirm away and whimper at some of the harshest ones on your ribcage.

He continued to kiss down your stomach, massaging your thighs, cupping your ass and lowering his head to kiss your thighs. You were rendered breathless and unable to stop thrashing and moaning as he sucked another lovebite on your inner thigh, keeping you pinned down and at his mercy. You just wanted him to bury his head between your thighs, you were close, close to begging for it, were it not for your pride. Were it not for who he was.

Fortunately, you did not need to stoop that low. His tongue flattened and dragged up your cunt, tensing and flicking your clit from underneath as he got to the top, tearing a breathless moan from you.

‘You taste so sweet’ he huffed out against your skin, blowing cold air on your clit and making you whine and scoot away. He dragged you back, a wicked light in his stormy eyes as he glanced at you and licked your clit, rolling it on his tongue.

‘F-fuck’ you breathed, your hands shooting to his hair, pulling lightly, trying to ground yourself as he continued to toy with your clit, sucking it and licking it fervently. You could not hold yourself. If he was amazing with his fingers, he was incredible with his tongue. Judging by how he seemed to have a way with words, you should not have been surprised that he was so maddeningly good at pleasuring with his tongue. It was making you lose your mind.

Even if you had tried, you would not have been able to restrain the need to keen, whine and moan every time he sucked your clit, dipped his tongue inside you or drew figures around your clit.

He was insatiable as he flung your thighs on his shoulders, seemingly unbothered with the way you trapped his head and rutted against his face. In fact, he seemed thrilled to follow the movement of your hips, giving you more and more until you were babbling and keening incoherently, unable to even speak.

‘Fuck- Ch- Chrollo...’ you whined longingly, unable to realise your slip of moaning his name in the throes of pleasure. But he heard you loud and clear, because he groaned, and his name on your lips only seemed to spur him on. In a few seconds, he was sucking on your clit, giving you more pleasure than you’d ever thought was even possible, until the torturous knot in your stomach snapped and released and you came with a cry, tears prickling the corners of your eyes, your hair tousled and messy on the pillow, your muscles tensing, toes curling and fingers clawing at the sheets.

You kept your eyes closed for a while, easing into your breathing, feeling as though your body had completely melted, feeling as though you couldn’t even move.

‘You can still take my cock, can’t you, darling? After all, I have made you feel so good. It’s only fair. Do not worry, you will not mind. You seem to love being fucked by the one you spoke of with such revulsion. It’s quite endearing, watching you struggle with your morals’ he crooned, and you opened your eyes, watching him stroke his cock a few times. It was quite long and fairly thick, slightly tilted upwards.

You were too fucked out to consider his taunting, but you knew he was right. Both mindsets could not peacefully coexist in your mind: how could you be so willing and find so much pleasure in someone like him? How could you hate him and love what he was doing to you? It might have been an involuntary physical reaction, but you should have had more resolve, more restraint. Otherwise, what did that say about you?

Chrollo lined himself between your legs, rubbing his cock along your labia, on your clit, instantly making those thoughts fade in the haze of pleasure as you let out a soft sigh and automatically tried to hook your legs around his slender hips.

He gripped your thigh, pushing the tip of his cock inside you, easily slipping inside inch by inch with how shamefully wet you were, and yet, you already felt so full, like he was stretching you to the limit. You clawed at his back, raking your nails across his shoulder blades, gasping and whimpering along with his soft moan.

‘Fuck. So tight... so wet. Such a perfect little cunt’ he huffed out, his lips parting in pleasure, dark eyebrows furrowing. You tried to steady your breathing, tried to relax your muscles to accommodate his size, clung to his shoulders for support.

He wiped a tear from the corner of your eye, continuing to push inside you, albeit slowly, until he was buried to the hilt. You clenched around him, and the soft groan he let out made your stomach drop with a surge of pleasure. He bottomed out and slammed back in, tearing a broken moan from you as he set a ruthless pace, his eyes darkening with lust and the slip of his mask, hunger palpable in his every movement and the way he sought to fully claim you.

He lifted your legs higher up around his waist, his fingers tightening around your throat, not pressing on the front, leaving you room to breathe but making you even more dizzy than you already were.

His pelvis kept slapping against your clit, drawing out whines and pants from you, and with every thrust, he seemed to grow more accustomed to where you liked to be touched, because as soon as his cock pressed against your g-spot, your back arched and your head thrashed from side to side, a lewd moan echoing in the room as you clamped around him.

‘There, huh? Let me do it again, darling’ he breathed, one hand lifting both your legs and bending them at the knees, letting you rest them against his chest as he rammed into you, hitting the same spot again and again, relentlessly building the pressure inside you, making you see stars.

‘Mhh- too much... Chrollo’ you whined, trapped underneath him, feeling as though you might implode if he didn’t stop- or if he stopped, for what it was worth.

‘Moan my name again, pet. Let me hear how filthy it sounds on your lips’ he grunted, the sound of skin slapping against skin both enticing and dirty as he continued to fuck you into the mattress.

When you didn’t reply, suddenly aware of how you were moaning his name, reinforcing how you knew- wanted it to be him to fuck you at that moment, he let out a breathless laugh.

‘Looks as though you might need some convincing’ he said, slowing down and eventually slipping out of you, letting your legs down. You whimpered, desire clawing at your gut, your cunt clenching around nothing as you opened your bleary eyes and set them on him. He gave you a smirk, flipping you on your stomach and lifting your hips, spreading your knees with his and pushing on your lower back to make you arch into him. You lifted yourself on your elbows and heard his tongue click against his teeth condescendingly before he pushed your head against the mattress and smacked your ass with a resounding slap.

You yelped, biting down on your lower lip, mortification once again mingling with pleasure as he pushed his cock back inside you, letting out a soft groan.

‘Use your hands one more time and I will tie them up behind your back. It will feel better like this. For me- and for you’ he said, fisting your hair and gripping your hip, starting to pound into you from behind once again.

It did feel better like this. Deeper. Unbearable. He stimulated your clit with every thrust, the tip of his cock kept pressing against your cervix, and you did not know if you could bear it much longer.

You found the bridge of your nose damp with tears, and struggled to recognise your own voice in the filthy moans you were letting out. It was humiliating and it was impossibly pleasurable, and the mix was somewhat addicting, tainting. It was ruining every shred of sanity left in your brain.

Until he got what he wanted. Because it seemed as though he always did. He could steal anything, including his name from your lips said with such want and bliss that had you not been fucked stupid, you would have wanted to die.

‘Ahh- Chr- Chrollo! Fuck. Gonna cum’ you screamed, sobbing, clenching around him, getting even closer to a mind-shattering orgasm with every moan and groan he graced you with.

‘Good girl. My girl. Mine. You love this, mh? Tell me how much you love this. Tell me how badly you want to cum all over my cock’ he urged, voice possessive and low, and you could not stop yourself, could not do anything but acquiesce, because you needed- needed to cum.

‘Yes! Please. Please let me cum. Please. Need it so bad’ you whined, sobbed even, desperate for reprieve, hoping he would have mercy on you, hoping he would let you finish. His fingers reached under you to rub at your clit, and you could hardly contain a sob of wild pleasure and the jolt of your hips.

‘Since you asked so nicely. Go on, pet, cum for me’ he huffed out, still thrusting inside you at that unrelenting pace, and as though he had power over your own body, you felt the release hit you like a wave of overwhelming pleasure that made your vision white and your ears fill with static.

He was quick to cum with a breathy moan as you squeezed his cock through your orgasm, holding you tightly as he spilled inside you. He continued to push in and out slowly, until you stopped throbbing and squeezing around him.

‘Fuck’ he breathed, letting you collapse on the bed and doing the same next to you. You both stayed silent for a minute or two, catching your breath, feeling the cool air on your feverish skin.

‘Let me clean you up, darling’ he said, and you didn’t have the strength to object as he got up and walked away, the sound of his footsteps quiet as you kept your eyes closed until he came back with a glass of water and a wet towel, his trousers back on, but still shirtless. He wiped your inner thighs gently, with more care than you wanted to admit someone like him could be capable of, and carefully lifted you up so you could drink the water he’d brought you.

You took small gulps, finding it felt amazing trickling down your dry, raw throat after all that crying and screaming. He only put the glass on the nightstand when you had finished it all.

‘Thanks’ you said absent-mindedly, your mind slowly coming back to you in coherent thoughts as you attempted to cover yourself with the duvet. He gave you a languid smile, tucking your hair away from your face and lying next to you.

But it was finally over now. You could leave. Your deal had revealed itself to be better than you wanted to admit, but now, you were finally free. You could put this all behind you.

You tried to get up and gather your clothes, but your body felt like a ragdoll. He had really done a number on you.

‘Careful, dearest. You should wait a little’ he said, smiling at you, his eyes soft, his expression unreadable. You let out a shuddering breath.

‘Want to get... my clothes, and leave’ you said, getting up and hastily putting on your clothes, feeling a little dizzy. You walked back towards the bed, retrieving your underwear and your skirt, putting them on, almost falling were it not for his arms catching you and holding you still.

You felt weird. It had surely been intense, but so intense that your vision was slowly darkening around the edges and your arms and legs felt as heavy as lead?

He pulled you on his lap, and you protested weakly when he started to stroke your hair and kissed your forehead.

‘No- you said I would be free after this. Let me leave’ you slurred, and he shushed you, tenderly stroking your back in soothing gestures.

‘Oh, darling, I never said you would be free’ he said softly, still holding you. You blinked, confused, his face blurry as you stared at him.

‘You said- I’d be leaving this place- with my power... un...scathed within... a day. What d’you do to me?’ your words were garbled together, slurred like you were drunk. And you felt so heavy and tired.

‘I put a few sleeping pills in the water I gave you. Nothing that will harm you, so don’t worry your pretty little head. I don’t need to steal your power if I keep you. You will leave unscathed, but I never said you would leave alone. You should really pay more attention to the words of a vow, my love’ he said, stroking your hair, his soft voice lulling you into sleep despite how horrified you were in your mind. He had tricked you. Had no plans of freeing you. You hadn’t considered he might keep you. Hadn’t considered the depth of his obsession with you. Hadn’t considered there was more than one reason why he had kept you captive.

‘I cannot be parted from you, my love. Your place is by my side. Now close your eyes. Sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us’ he said gently, soothingly. And you could not help but do as he said, your eyelids growing heavier and heavier, your thoughts muddying and fading away along with your consciousness.

Part II here

Part III here

[illmoraineakoi]

Influencer Arc Bad End: Green's channel gets deleted and we all trade stories on how cool it was to be apart of it while being very sad it's gone, never to return. At least it was good while it lasted :(

Influencer Arc Meh End: Green's channel is left up but no new videos are ever posted. It's never mentioned and barely referenced ever again. It's over almost as soon as it began, and we're all are left to reminisce about how fun it used to be like a particularly fond memory from our long-gone childhoods.

Influencer Arc Best End: Green learns his lesson but keeps the channel, often posting funny little in-universe videos that we can all love and enjoy without the fear of it psychologically ruining him. Life is good :)

[blackstarlineage]

The Harm of Physical Discipline on Black Children: A Garveyite Perspective on Abuse, Colonial Trauma, and the Need for New Approaches to Parenting

From a Garveyite perspective, which champions self-determination, empowerment, and the uplifting of Black people globally, the physical discipline of Black children—often normalized in many communities—is a direct result of colonial conditioning, intergenerational trauma, and an internalized acceptance of oppressive tactics. This form of discipline, though widely practised, ultimately hinders the development of strong, confident, and independent-minded Black youth who can lead the charge toward liberation.

This analysis will explore why physical discipline is a legacy of slavery and colonial rule, why it contradicts Garveyite principles of Black self-empowerment, and why alternative methods rooted in respect, understanding, and cultural restoration are necessary.

1. The Colonial Roots of Physical Discipline in Black Communities

Many Black families defend beatings, whoopings, and corporal punishment as “tradition,” but in reality, this practice is a remnant of colonial rule and slavery rather than a cultural legacy of African societies.

Fact: Pre-colonial African societies relied on communal discipline, verbal correction, and rites of passage to instil values in children—not beatings inspired by slave masters.

Example: During the Transatlantic Slave Trade, slave owners brutally whipped and beat enslaved Africans to instil obedience through fear. This method of control was later internalized and passed down through generations.

Example: Colonial governments in Africa and the Caribbean used severe physical punishments to enforce European laws on Black populations, reinforcing a hierarchy of control based on violence.

Garveyite Takeaway: If beating children was an effective and righteous method of discipline, it would have empowered Black people under slavery rather than kept them in a state of fear and submission. If it did not liberate us from white rule, why should it be used to prepare our children for liberation?

2. The Contradiction of Physical Discipline and Black Empowerment

Marcus Garvey’s teachings emphasized the need for strong, independent-thinking, and self-disciplined Black individuals to lead the charge for global African liberation. Physical discipline directly contradicts this vision in several ways:

How Physical Discipline Weakens Black Children Instead of Strengthening Them:

1. It Instills Fear, Not Critical Thinking:

A child who is beaten does not learn why their actions were wrong—they only learn to fear punishment.

Fear-based discipline leads to obedient followers, not revolutionary leaders.

2. It Damages Self-Worth and Identity:

Black children who are frequently hit may internalize self-hatred and associate discipline with violence instead of wisdom.

How can we tell Black children they are kings and queens while treating them like enslaved people?

3. It Perpetuates the Cycle of Oppression

Many Black parents justify beatings by saying:

“I do this so the police won’t have to.”

This statement is an admission that corporal punishment is a tool of white supremacy, used to “prepare” Black children for life under oppression instead of preparing them for liberation.

Example: Malcolm X, Huey P. Newton, and Marcus Garvey were not obedient, fearful children—they were defiant, critical thinkers who challenged the status quo. We need leaders, not people conditioned, to obey authority without question.

Garveyite Takeaway: We must stop preparing our children for submission to oppression and start raising them to become liberators and builders of Black power.

3. The Psychological and Emotional Damage of Physical Discipline

The Scientific and Psychological Evidence Against Beating Black Children

Numerous studies confirm that physical punishment leads to negative long-term effects rather than producing disciplined, successful adults.

Research has shown that children who experience corporal punishment are more likely to:

Develop low self-esteem

Exhibit aggressive behaviour in relationships and society

Struggle with mental health issues like depression and anxiety

Be less likely to challenge authority, even when that authority is unjust

Example: Many Black adults defend beatings by saying, “I was whooped as a child, and I turned out fine.” However, if we examine how much internalized trauma, anger, and distrust exist within the Black community, it’s clear that we did not “turn out fine.”

Garveyite Takeaway: A truly free and empowered people do not need to rule their children through fear—they lead them through wisdom, cultural education, and self-determination.

4. The Double Standard: Black Children vs. White Children

One of the most dangerous consequences of normalizing corporal punishment in Black households is that it prepares Black children to accept violence as normal, while white children are often raised with nurturing and encouragement.

How This Affects the Black Community in the Long Run

White children grow up being told they can achieve anything—Black children are often told they need to be beaten into obedience.

White children grow up to become bosses, entrepreneurs, and leaders—Black children, conditioned through fear, are often expected to follow rules instead of challenge them.

The system punishes Black children more harshly in schools, knowing their own parents won’t fight back against abusive authority.

Example: Black children are three times more likely to be suspended or expelled from school than white children for the same behavior—yet Black parents still tell their children to be quiet, obey, and never challenge authority.

Garveyite Takeaway: Beating Black children does not protect them—it only weakens them while their white counterparts are being raised to dominate the world.

5. A Better Approach: How to Raise Black Children for Power and Liberation

If physical discipline is a product of oppression, then the solution is to return to African-centered parenting methods that build strong, confident, and intelligent Black youth.

Garveyite Alternatives to Physical Discipline:

1. Restoring African Values of Communal Discipline

In African societies, elders disciplined through community correction and mentorship, not through beatings.

Teaching, storytelling, and cultural reinforcement were the primary methods of guidance.

2. Rites of Passage Programs

Black children need structured rites of passage to transition into adulthood, teaching them responsibility, self-discipline, and leadership.

3. Building Self-Discipline Instead of Fear

Encourage critical thinking and accountability instead of forcing obedience.

Teach children to analyze their actions and take responsibility without violence.

4. Lead by Example

Many Black children experience hypocrisy from parents who demand respect but show none.

Children learn from watching—if they see strong, disciplined, and intelligent parents, they will embody those traits.

Example: The Nation of Islam emphasizes self-discipline, structured education, and accountability over beatings, producing many strong, disciplined leaders.

Garveyite Takeaway: We need Black children who think critically, move strategically, and act boldly. This will never be achieved through fear-based parenting.

Conclusion: Breaking the Chains of Slave Discipline

The physical discipline of Black children is not cultural—it is a practice forced onto us through colonial rule and slavery. If we are to build a strong and liberated race, we must break the cycle and return to African-centered, Garveyite principles of discipline through empowerment, knowledge, and cultural restoration.

Final Thought

Marcus Garvey did not build the UNIA by beating his followers into submission—he inspired them through discipline, knowledge, and leadership. If we want strong Black leaders in the future, we must raise children who are strong in mind, not just fearful of punishment.

[wealthunter01]

What is the role of luck in forex trading? Is it worth counting on?

THAT WAS CLOSE!!!!!!! Forex trading is a complex and dynamic market that requires a combination of skill, strategy, and luck to achieve success. While many traders focus solely on developing their skills and refining their strategies, luck can also play a significant role in determining outcomes. The concept of luck in forex trading is multi-faceted and can be difficult to define and quantify.…

[praveenroshmi-blog]

Pa...

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - January 15, 2024

🎊 - As we embark on another journey around the sun, I am thrilled to bring you the first newsletter of the year, packed with inspiring, informative, and sometimes downright amusing stories.

1. Marijuana meets criteria for reclassification as lower-risk drug

Marijuana has a lower potential for abuse than other drugs that are subjected to the same restrictions, with scientific support for its use as a medical treatment, researchers from the US Food and Drug Administration say in documents supporting its reclassification as a Schedule III substance.

2. South Korea passes law banning dog meat trade

The slaughter and sale of dogs for their meat is to become illegal in South Korea after MPs backed a new law. The legislation, set to come into force by 2027, aims to end the centuries-old practice of humans eating dog meat.

3. After 20 years in a tiny cage, these 'broken bears' are finally feeling the grass beneath their paws

These bears, termed "broken bears" due to physical and psychological trauma from years of abuse, are treated at the Tam Dao rescue center with individually tailored diets, physiotherapy, and medical care. The bear bile trade, which involves extracting bile for traditional Asian medicine, has been illegal in Vietnam since 2005, but a black market still exists.

4. France just got its first openly gay prime minister.

Gabriel Attal is France’s youngest-ever prime minister at age 34 and the first who is openly gay.

5. Australian ‘builders without borders’ repairing war-torn homes and schools in Ukraine

Manfred Hin, a 66-year-old builder from Townsville, Australia, spent most of 2023 volunteering in Ukraine to rebuild homes and schools damaged by Russian attacks. Having contributed to over 50 house and a dozen school renovations, he worked with Ukrainian charity Brave to Rebuild, mentoring young volunteers and sourcing three tonnes of donated tools.

Inspired by Hin's story, Tasmanian carpenter Hamish Stirling also joined the efforts, learning Ukrainian, traveling to Europe, and volunteering for three months to help rebuild homes.

6. The age-standardized death rate from cancer has declined by 15% since 1990

The age-standardized death rate from cancer declined by 15%

Cancer kills mostly older people – as the death rate by age shows, of those who are 70 years and older, 1% die from cancer every year. For people who are younger than 50, the cancer death rate is more than 40-times lower (more detail here).

7. Germany Reached 55% Renewable Energy in 2023

In 2023, 55 percent of Germany’s power came from renewables — an increase of 6.6 percent, according to energy regulator Bundesnetzagentur, reported Reuters. Europe’s biggest national economy has a goal of 80 percent green energy by 2030.

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That's it for this week :)

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[kkoct-ik]

PLEASE explain ur shin DID thoughts I wanna know so bad

boy am i glad you asked (LONG POST)

prefacing by saying the sou DID headcanon is very special to me to the point that i talk about it as if it is canon. i know it is not canon. i'm not arguing that this is what these moments mean, i'm arguing this is an interpretation that i really enjoy, and this interpretation of sou's character speaks to the DID experience Unnervingly well.

i use sou & shin interchangebly, they are parts of the same person, but generally i say sou for during the death game and shin for before.

so. first.

the important bit — sou's dissociation from shin tsukimi

during his first trial, shin tsukimi is given the winning percentages. there he learns that 'shin tsukimi' cannot survive the death game.

to escape shin tsukimi's weakness and inevitable death, shin abandons him, and instead takes on the name and certain characteristics of midori, to build a new self — sou hiyori. he disowns his identity as shin tsukimi to psychologically escape from his fate, so that he can psychologically survive in this moment and keep living.

a part of DID is the repression and disowning of the weak and hurting parts of you, and in turn outwardly becoming & functioning as someone or something else that can survive.

sou very literally dissociates from the weak parts of his identity and becomes & functions as someone else to survive.

and that's the absolute basis of the headcanon. turn back now if you want to. the rest is me slowly losing my sanity.

me slowly losing my sanity

so. listen. here's the thing. theres a lot more in sous behaviour that you could interpret as DID if you know where to look.

it's not quite as simple as "there are two of him: shin tsukimi (who was weak, easily manipulated, and incredibly scared) and sou hiyori (who is not that)". there are quite a few more moving parts to this guy, and also a lot of grey areas where his identity breaks down and develops over the course of the game.

the sou we first meet is timid, but not particularly vulnerable: polite, but observant. you get the vibe he is silently taking note of everything you do, because he is. during the first main game, he takes control of the discussion by claiming to be the Keymaster, both securing his survival, and giving himself a level of control over the discussions.

when the information he found on the laptop and his attempts to throw suspicion on Sara causes everyone to doubt him, he begins to panic. he brings up the moment Nao hit him - something that must have been triggering to him, considering what defines 'sou hiyori' is that he is not weak like shin tsukimi is.

i like to think in this moment a subconcious part of him realises that the present sou hiyori is not removed enough from shin tsukimi to be free of danger. despite his distance, he's weak enough to be attacked - he could have been killed, and now he's at the mercy of the masses.

his protective parts and mechanisms need to kick in at 200%. so they do.

under the pressure sou snaps and goes into a a very aggressive protector part. sou projects outwards his vulnerability complex, calling everybody else 'weaklings' who are going to die (reinforcing his dissociation from shin tsukimi). he suddenly openly rejects the value of trust and human cooperation, in an attempt to make himself seem untouchable and entirely in control.

section: sou's protector part

i love this guy so i marked out a section just to break down his protective mechanisms. this is a direct continuation from the paragraph i just ended.

after his first instance in the first main game, sou's protector part (easily spotted by his fucking mastermind persona) appears multiple times to cover up moments of vulnerability. it makes him out to be a liar, but it also makes him seem incredibly calculating and dangerous, which works just fine for him.

during the token trade game, sou 'fakes' amnesia to avoid being singled out for his actions during the first main game. he reverts back to his polite & timid demeanour for a portion of the chapter, and also sleeps for a large portion of it (due to his sickness). but to allow himself this leeway (either to play up or let slip his weakness) he employs protective mechanisms: he enthusiastically tells Sara that his memory loss was a lie, and that he's been playing them all for fools. he intentionally gives her the impression that every moment of weakness he has let slip or otherwise is part of an elaborate plot.

whether this is purely for the sake of managing how the person he fears most percieves him, or because in this part he is genuinely so disconnected from his vulnerable parts and weakness that he refuses to acknowledge it was real, is up to interpretation to me. but i do love how many layers of lies and contradiction he symbolises.

(i choose to believe his amnesia was a genuine moment of vulnerability, because the scene makes me So Happy if i read it as a vulnerable part slipping through the cracks, who's entirely disconnected from the stressful events of the main game and is genuinely terrified. i like to think his later claim it was a lie was because he could not risk Sara genuinely witnessing his repressed weakness that he swore he disowned at the door. but i digress)

he has a similar 'moment of weakness' during the second main game, where he makes it more explicit that he is not necessarily him telling the truth when he says his earlier weakness was a lie. he relies on other's confusion and the fact people think he is one step ahead of them to protect himself.

he continues to employ his mastermind persona even after the shin tsukimi reveal - although its effect is somewhat lost now that everybody knows that he has vulnerable parts (and people he loves) to protect, and that his persona exists for their sake, not because it's his true personality.

mfw when the ego protection mechanism crumbles because i was vulnerable once and now my protector part hates me.

section: shadow sou

i was going to immediately follow onto shinai and what we can learn from him, but i want to clarify shadow sou first.

the long and short of it is i think he's the closest thing we have to a midori introject. while you could argue sou hiyori has introjected traits (which he most certainly does: he takes his name for christ's sake), i think shadow sou most explicitly takes after him, especially if you read soushin as an emotionally abusive relationship.

(lingo: what is an introject? an introject is an alter who represents internalised traits and figures. for example, if you had a personality who treated you like your mother treated you, and reinforces the beliefs you internalised from her, that would be an introject of your mother. they do not have to be accurate to the real person's personality; they only echo how you saw and internalised them.)

shadow sou speaks with sou like an familiar but condescending friend, comments on sou no longer being shin, and exists to reinforce shin's feeling of weakness. midori encourages shin to become the person you want to be; shadow sou is the one to pressure shin into becoming someone else. midori is a 'scary friend' of shin's, shadow sou physically frightens and attacks shin during his moment of panic.

as far as we know, we never meet shadow sou from Sara's point of view, so i interpret him as a more internal alter. there's a lot to play off with sou's / shin's / shadow sou's relationship: i think they are soooo cute. i just wanted to point out the similarities between him and midori.

section: shinaiiiiiiii: what can he tell us?

ok yaay onto shinai. although not strictly a version of sou (not his repressed weak personality, not his polite but wary personality, not his masterminding ego protection personality, and not his internal shadow self), because he is a computer program, he does give us a certain perspective on who sou used to be.

disclaimer: we know shinai was trained by midori's love poetry, and thus you can argue his personality could be slightly altered to be more suited to midori's purposes. for the sake of this section we will take things with a grain of salt: it's what shinai can suggest about shin, not tell.

shinai gives us the impression that shin tsukimi was polite, had somewhat low self esteem, and was conflicted on midori: on one hand, he scared him a lot, but on the other, he considered him close, and they spent a lot of time together.

during the maple boss fight, shinai sobs for midori to help him. i get the impression that despite being afraid of him, shin still relied on midori for security and reassurance (sou's lantern dialogue to corroborate).

my friend suggested that shinai's / sou's conflicting accounts (with part of him being afraid of midori, and the other seeking assurance from him) could in itself imply that shin (even before the game even began) is made up of two alters with opposing attachment styles. i dont disagree.

sou vs the shinai test data

this one will be short i promise.

i really like sou's morbid interest in the shinai test data. and i know the joke is that it's love poetry and sou is embarassed and repulsed by how midori saw him, especially now that he knows how cruel midori can be, but the scene also spoke to me as a dissociative person; there is nothing more viscerally uncomfortable than learning about things you did as a different personality. it messes with your brain, because it was you, but it also wasn't you - it can't be you, you don't remember it, and it's not the kind of thing you would do, but you did - and so your dissociative rejection signals go absolutely insane. so i like this tiny scene for personal reasons.

and thatse it (i think). i think i said it all.

tl;dr:

this is my headcanon :33 or well. a graphic i made a few months ago as i was solidifying the headcanon. some minor things ive changed my opinion on / perception of since but it gets the idea across.

that said i fully support any other interpreted sou hiyori systems. go fuckin wild. i spoke to a friend a bit ago about their personal DID sou take and i had so much fun.

thank you for hearing me out

[praggiere]

Howdy!! Here’s a pinned

My name is Dean and I post various things in my camera roll. Mainly just selfies and my poetry. Sometimes more in depth, long form literature. This is kinda just a whatever pile account honestly!

A little about me!! I’m a transmasculine bi butch, I took T for 5 years and got top surgery in 2021. I love reading on topics like queer lit/history, sexology, and psychology. I also love DnD, baldurs gate, the fallout series, and I’m a power lifter! — oh, and I also work in trades.

I am a Welsh-Canadian settler living within the un-ceded territories of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh Nations. (So called Vancouver)

This page is 18+! Please don’t follow/engage with my posts if you’re a minor, especially on photos of myself! I love making new friends so don’t hesitate to Dm me either. Im also single and totally open to flirty/sexual convos, but I’m not looking to settle down into anything romantic or exclusive.

Thank you for reading!! [[do not engage list // boundaries and such are under the cut!]]

I do not engage with any of the following groups or people at all!!

Minors

Anti Palestine // Pro Zionism

cishets can follow but pls don’t interact with my thirst traps lol

TERF’s, SWERF’s, Radfems, LGB alliance, transmedicalists, lesbian separatists, misogynist/misandrists, etc. (did I miss any? Whatever, go die)

Proship/darkship/incest and abuse fetishists

Anyone who supports the creation/distribution of ‘fictional’ material depicting animal/child sexual abuse (loli, shota, feral porn)

Ofc also zoophiles, pedophiles, and all enablers (DIE)

If your gonna come on my account and try to discourse me about my own identity, I’m just blocking you. Not my problem you don’t know your queer history. I’m open to questions and explaining things for those who approach in good faith though.

That out of the way! Here’s some boundaries and such:

Like I said, I’m open to DM’s always! I love making friends, flirting, etc. but please don’t just drop in asking for or sending unsolicited nudes, I don’t mess with that. I also do not engage sexually with anyone under 20

I am okay with both feminine and masculine endearments! I actually really love it and get euphoria from using a mix of these in the same sentences if that makes sense

I don’t kink shame at all, and I’m okay with talking to people about things even if I’m not into it— but please don’t talk about intox play with me at all. I experienced sexual abuse under the influence and it’s very uncomfortable to talk about for me, sorry!

I am not always the best at replying to messages! I work a lot and I’m tired all the time so please be patient if I take a bit to get back to you :)

I’m also a vers in theory lol, when it comes to irl stuff I’m a stone top but I’d love to bottom, just not ready to. I’m chill texting/sexting on the topic of bottoming though!

Some like, kinks of mine I guess cbsjncjsnx

Yes!!: edging, pussy worship, menses, omorashi, shibari, leather everything, piercing (like, getting/giving them lol), light bondage/humiliation, PRAISE, petplay

No thank you!!: noncon, intox, scat, vomit

[luulapants]

Do you have any tips to be more punk in 2025 specifically for minors?

Hey, great question! Let's take a look at our list and see what still applies and what we can flip around for you.

Cut fast fashion - Still applies! Try clothing swaps with friends.

Cut subscriptions Analyze your media consumption - Do you tend to play phone games that are psychologically manipulative? Are algorithms taking you to content that makes you upset? Track your screen time, think about what's being sold to you, and resist only consuming the media that is fed to you.

Green your community self - Forget touching grass, find ways to touch dirt. Spend time outside in nature. Go for hikes, look at trees, track how plants and animals change over the seasons. You're part of the natural world, so go connect with it!

Be kind - Still applies! Try handing out more compliments.

Intervene - Still applies, and especially applies to bullies, including teachers. This can be as simple as saying, "That was a really messed up thing to say. I think you owe X an apology."

Get closer to your food - Still applies! Try packing your lunch.

Use opensource software Reject Web 2.0 - Before you try to learn Linux, people your age need to start by learning some basic computer and coding skills. My generation was given computer classes and had social media that encouraged custom coding. Yours has been deprived of this education and given prepackaged web content. Reject AI. Right click + inspect element + fuck around. Learn Raspberry Pi. Become the cyberpunk hacker you want to see in the world.

Make less trash - Still applies! If mom won't let you start a compost in the backyard, propose starting one at school!

Get involved in local school politics - Know what's going on with your school board, with school administration. Start an underground, uncensored school newspaper with the real dirt.

DIY > fashion - High school is where a lot of adults learned their bad habits about keeping up with appearance/fashion demands. Refuse to buy in now and make homemade the new cool.

Ditch Google - Still applies! And also check your app settings to see if you have apps with unnecessary permissions.

Forage - Still applies!

Volunteer - Still applies! There might be fewer opportunities for minors, but you'll never know until you ask. Don't be afraid to be the only young person at the volunteer session.

Help your neighbors classmates - Offer to study with students who are struggling. Become someone people can trust to tell if their home situation is difficult. If you have friends who don't get enough to eat at home, bring them home for dinner. Check on people.

Fix stuff - Still applies! This can be a fun activity with friends, too. Let's all hang out and see if we can fix this busted stereo!

Mix up your transit - Still applies! Is taking the bus considered lame at your school? Do it anyway.

Engage in the arts - Still applies! Pay attention to art events that your classmates are putting on. Go to the school play - or join! Stop in the art classrooms to see what people are working on.

Go to the library - Still applies, public and school libraries! Talk to the librarians - they know things. Find out if there are after school programs you can take advantage of.

Listen local - Even more local! Stop by the band room after school to listen to practice. Does someone in your school have a band? Listen to them, cheer them on! Start a band! The great thing about punk music is that you can be really, really awful and still sound punk as hell.

Buy local Barter local - Lots of young folks don't have much control over or access to money, but that doesn't mean you and your classmates can't engage in barter. Figure out what you have to offer that other people might want, and trade for stuff you want. I used to cut hair and pierce ears in exchange for weed and rides to the mall. Maybe you can sew a friend's jacket in exchange for them bringing you a homemade lunch.

Become unmarketable - Still applies! PLEASE do this.

Use cash Steal ethically - Before engaging in shoplifting, make sure you know who you're stealing from! Stealing from Walmart is morally correct. Stealing from a family-owned grocery, a local coop, or a local artist? That fucking sucks, dude. Don't do it.

Give what you can - And only what you can. We ask a godawful lot from teens. You're in school all day, you're doing extracurriculars and maybe working and doing homework. You probably don't have a lot of money. You probably don't have a lot of time. But maybe you can bring your elderly neighbor's trash cans up from the street. Find the small actions that you have space for.

Talk about wages - PLEASE! If you have a job, this applies to you even more. Why? Because the adults working at your minimum wage job probably can't afford to be rabble rousers, but what do you have to lose except your shitty part-time Panera job?? A teenager who doesn't actually need their job to live has the opportunity to be the voice of truth in any workplace.

Think about wealthflow Resist indoctrination - Education systems are being gutted. Algorithms are feeding us misinformation. Cocomelon probably gave you ADHD or some shit - Jesus. It's a mess. Do what you can to practice critical thinking, expand your literacy, read stuff that seems boring. Start a book club or philosophy club with your friends. Ask who's profiting from a given situation. Resist knee-jerk reactions. Becoming an educated, thoughtful person is one of the greatest acts of resistance a young person today can engage in.

[savage-sinister]

Fandom History | Media Literacy | Anti Censorship Whump | Self Ship | Villains, Monsters & Criminals Polyshipping | Shipcest | Age Gap | Enemies to Lovers Fandom Old | Fictive System | Fictionkin

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Bad person alert! This account is run by bad people! If you don't like bad people don't follow this account!

AO3 Account: thesavagesabretooth fic & art only tumblr: @sinisterartsandfic

System Tag and Kintype Directory.

Our drawings are for our own entertainment only. We do not take commissions or trades. You are free to repost our drawings or use them in any non-commercial way (avatars, phone backgrounds, etc).

👉 he/they | queer | married | adult | elder millennial

👉 plural | fictionkin (serious/spiritual) 

👉 Muti shipper | Poly shipper

No DNI we block at will 🫡

Please do not send us asks about babies, pregnancy, or raising children.

Source fandoms: Resident Evil, Final Fantasy 7, One Piece, Metal Gear, Marvel Comics, Persona games, Slayers anime, GTA V, Great/Ace Attorney, Homestuck, Danganronpa, Fire Emblem Three Houses, Urusei Yatsura, Digimon, Girls Frontline, Steven Universe, Pathologic, Jem & The Holograms, Peter Pan, Welcome to Demon School, Disgaea, Sherlock Holmes media

non-source fandoms: Invader Zim, Kill La Kill, ABC’s Lost, Twin Peaks, Silent Hill, Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, Vampire Chronicles (books), Doctor Who Labyrinth, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Final Fantasy (4-6, 8,9), Pokemon, Black Lagoon, Miami Vice, Bioshock, Bioshock Infinite, Prey 2017, Dishonored, Call of Duty, Red Dead Redemption, Frankenstein, the Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Gargoyles, Fallout New Vegas

Favorite genres: horror, mystery, thriller, noir, crime fiction, psychological thriller, supernatural horror, sci fi horror, gothic lit

Shipping, plurality and squick explanations:

Our ships: We are a polyshipper and a multishipper. We ship multiple characters together in the same context, in the same relationship, in the same fics etc.

A "ship" for us does not equal in OTP or an ideal relationship. We use the word "ship" to denote any romantic or sexual relationship between two characters, even when that relationship is unhealthy, toxic, twisted, and bad for one or both participants. Ships are a narrative tool, not something aspirational. 

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Plurality: We are a plural system– many people living together in one body. We have been plural since we were children, and we have been blogging about our plurality for 15+ years.

Please do  not use psychiatric or pathologizing terminology for our plurality. We do not refer to ourselves with terms like DID, alter, or introject, and our system members do not have defined roles.

Our preferred terminology is: plural, system member, and fictive.

System members tend to sign or tag posts and refer to one another with a two emoji 'signature' rather than a name. Unsigned posts are understood to be a product of multiple members or a joint consensus. 

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squicks / tropes we prefer to avoid

non-con of any kind (but especially underage non-con and non-con incest) 

pregnancy & babies (especially as the joyful and expected result of a romantic hetero-presenting relationship)

nonbinary or trans characters deciding it's better for them to perform their assigned gender at birth

Characters submitting to the will of a lawful aligned god.

Parental control and discipline being shown as narratively positive and correct 

characters giving up their careers and aspirations and 'settling down' when they fall in love

prophecies that are unavoidable and/or narratively depicted as inherently good and just

characters following the life-path set out for them by their parents/following in their parents footsteps

filial duty and filial piety in general

pretty much anything to do with traditional family structures, gender roles, and lawful aligned religion, honestly

wing whump / characters having their monstrous or inhuman traits harmed

monstrous or inhuman characters becoming human (especially when presented as positive)

soul destruction / soul death

characters being metaphysically kept apart for all time

any kind of 'conversion therapy' or metaphorical conversion therapy (especially being portrayed as positive)

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We are: 

non-christian | magical practitioner | chaotic neutral

polyamorous  | largely aplatonic

trauma survivor | abuse survivor

Weird | Freakish | Monstrous