#( prime female husband material )

[gentlejack]

( Anne in every scene ) - S02/E01 “ Faith Is All ”

#gentleman jack #suranne jones #anne lister #marian lister #gemma whelan #( prime female husband material ) #i dare to say i am like no one in the whole world. ( anne lister )

[horizon-verizon]

i think of Rhaenyra's life and it's just sad. imagine a 8 year old completely scared after her mother's death. then this new step mother comes and it's fine but then as she births sons little Rhaenyra's whole life turns shades darker while still a child like 😭 no matter viserys adored her so much he neglected her when she needed him. she was a child in court full of adults. didn't even have her uncle by her side and when he came back she was a woman grown and so was plagued by rumours again! and more happened and yet she kept her head high and fought for her birth right for something which was promised to her till the very end no matter how it ended.

my heart just breaks for that little rhaenyra so much. i don't think people really understand what kinda place she was living in since she was a child. a little girl.

Before people start slapping this ask with a "Rhaenyra was 15 when Daemon came back from the Stepstones, she wasn't a woman!", yes, duh.

The point of this ask is to look through Rhaenyra using what circumstances she lives through and in. In Rhaenyra's world/society, she is no longer just a child and up for marriage. Viserys had always considered her marriage to Laenor and Westerosi noblewomen (when they are not in special circumstances) usually get married in their mid-teens. For better or worse, yes, Rhaenyra occupies the place of a marriageable not-child youth of majority who was available for marriage at the time that Daemon came back. I wouldn't go so far as to say others around her would think she is a matured woman, more like that she was considered "old enough". Again, that definition of "maiden". Which is itself coming from factual medieval ideas about female life stages:

It was easy enough to pinpoint the start of medieval adolescence. As the writer John Trevisa put it, it was a ‘full age to get children’: that is, entering puberty. When it ended, however, was less clear. As Avicenna, the great Persian philosopher, wrote in a work that was translated into Latin and widely disseminated throughout the Middle Ages: ‘There is the age of growing up, which is called the age of adolescence and commonly lasts until the age of thirty.’ Avicenna was contributing to the scholarship on ‘The Ages of Man’, used by many medieval thinkers to explain the stages of man’s life. While ‘man’ might be a universal term for humanity, these schemes make it clear they were not about female experience. The 13th-century jurist Henry of Bracton said a woman reached maturity when she was able to take on the responsibilities of a housewife, but few other writers concerned themselves much with the female life cycle. Women were believed to experience the prime of their lives during adolescence, as this was the age when they were considered to be most spiritually pure and physically beautiful. For a female youth, adolescence was tied to her ‘maidenhood’ – both her youth and her virginity – and so with marriage and the loss of her virgin status she was usually perceived to have exited the most ‘perfect age’ of a woman’s life. In short, girls usually became women because of their relationships with men: when they left their natal families and became wives. Boys’ transition to manhood was a longer and more variable process.

GRRM takes medieval ideas about womanhood and gives the word "maiden" a more technical and material existence/role in the Westerosi feudal social system, but the idea remains the same. What's different is that 15-year-old Rhaenyra--as heir and a girl coming into authority in her own right over men instead of subject to her husband's authority in the official manner--now also partially occupied that which is a male office and condition of power, so she would be simultaneously seen as not as capable and someone who should "realize" how much responsibility she's been given.

And that is where Daemon as her boon comes into play. Regarding the timeline of their relationship, Daemon treated her as a child first when she was actually young, and then as a person capable of making their decisions--at least compared to others--as well as protected her claim to the throne. No, the gifts he'd intermittently give her BEFORE he left for the Stepstones were not of the socially isolating kind.

Yeah, this can be considered grooming, semi-Doylistically. Esp since it was not official, open courting that the girl's father approved of.

Why this specification? Grooming entails:

physically or emotionally separate a victim from those protecting them and often seek out positions in which they have contact with minors

gaining the trust of a potential victim through gifts, attention, sharing “secrets” and other means to make them feel that they have a caring relationship and to train them to keep the relationship secret

will often start to touch a victim in ways that appear harmless, such as hugging, wrestling and tickling, and later escalate to increasingly more sexual contact, such as massages or showering together. Abusers may also show the victim pornography or discuss sexual topics with them, to introduce the idea of sexual contact

behaviors are not only used to gain a victim’s trust, but often are used to create a trustworthy image and relationship with their family and community. Child and teen sexual abusers are often charming, kind, and helpful — exactly the type of behavior we value in friends and acquaintances

Daemon never tried to be kind or mild enough to anyone except Rhaenyra and his kids out for well-wishes for that individual or to make them feel good for the sake of it. Even with the gold cloaks, he was a leader who had to keep the loyalty of those under his command, which entails giving a sense of purpose and confidence. The guy is not a man of complex duplicity and machination, he's a guy who has a family heritage of dragonriders that lives in an incestuous family. Both he and Rhaenyra are products and individuals shaped by their conditions. And their conditions allow/necessitate that they look to each other as first partners-by-family-and-sustained/proven-trust, then the sexual/romantic element infused into that base that is uniquely Targaryen/Valyrian dragonrider. *EDIT* REMOVED LAST SENTENCE *END OF EDIT*

Back to the ask, yes, it is a sad story. It is a weird state to acknowledge that as a princess she enjoyed a lot more luxuries and protections than "commonborn" girls and women while also having her own classist view AND how she had been so exposed to adult intrigue before she turned 10. But this is the truth. The most Rhaenyra got to live as an autonomous person doing her own thing--before marrying Daemon--as much as she could was after she left the Red Keep for Dragonstone to become its ruling "Lady" and raise her kids with her lover/guardsman Harwin Strong.

#asoiaf asks to me #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood characters #fire and blood #fire and blood comment #asoiaf grooming #tw grooming #cw grooming #rhaenyra and daemon #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #Daemyra #rhaenyra and alicent #rhaenyra's characterization

[gaaralover55]

It's a long time coming but I have to do it!

I have seen the trailer, fotos and read the story for amazon next "so called" top serie.

Rings of power!

A serie based on J.R Tolkien's lord of the rings and Sillmarion series. This is suppose to play out during the second age and we got follow Galadriel, Elrond and many more characters (Amazons Original Characters) in different stories and much more.

I know many are asking. What do I think about this serie? Do I like it? Do you think it's going to be good?

Well I have to say. If someone had not come put with it's based on J.R Tolkien's work. I would have belived this was some spin off serie of the Witcher.

Yes I would belived that. And no it's bot because there pepole of different colors that is in the serie. Because I am not Raistc and I love that it's not white cast. It's Because the serie is to realistic!! It dosen't follow Tolkien's source material! And turns the characters ooc!!

Like a exempel Galadriel! In the Lord of the rings film she was this calmm, wise, respected and gorgeus Royal elf that ruled over forest Lothlórien as the lady with her husband and lord Celeborn. She is a walking powerhouse because of her magic, heritage and her ring of power Nenya.

And what made her amazing was this! She didn't need to show her strength through being a warrior. But instead with her power and grace!!

So why did they made her into a warrior!?!

She is at least around 5000-6000 years old around this era! She is married! She has a daughter that will later become the wife of Elrond! You know one of the most well known elves in J.R Tolkien stories!! And in the serie he is in politics when in J.R Tolkien's stories what i heatd was sriking, playing music and living the life!!

And I got to know thoose idiots that works on amazon prime made her so-called "young" and "hipp" again and she is not married to Celeborn! She dosen't have daughter and acts like a rebel teenager! It's true that they are currently shitting on J.K Tolkien's work!!

Another thing that annoys me with Galdriel is her armor. Why does she have and I hope it's not what I think its the freaking star of Feanor! If it's the star of Feanor then the writers of the show are going to get hell from FEMALE and MALE fans! Because that's not a a so-called "empowering move"! It's destroy Galadriel's character even more! (Like other elves who was against Feanor and wears it in the serie)

And that is 99.9 procent of the actors who plays elves in the serie( That we have just seen in trailers, pics and more) have modern hairstyles!! From super short to modern styled with long ears with. It makes the actors looks so stupid!! It takes away the beauty and mythical of elves represents!

And why are hobbit's in the story?! They were wandering during this age and was not seen by the other races! And they made into Hobo's!! Crazed hobos!!?? And to thoose who dosen't know! The hobbits where not focused on in the second age!

And why dosen't women dwarfs have beards? In the J.R Tolkien stories the dvarven women was very manly that made male elves look like weak! And juat like the male counterparts they were hardworking and proud over their beards! So why dosen't the dvarf princess have a beard? And is she gonna be a priestess in the serie? Because she is dressed like that.

#rings of power

[misfit-latte]

Thoughts after watching Eternals (and my personal character breakdown of each Eternals member) *contains spoilers

So after days of watching and rewatching ETERNALS, these are thoughts and kinda like a character breakdown of the 10 eternals in the movie

Ajak - so as we all know, Ajak is the leader and thus the prime eternal sent on earth. i liked her character as she is really leading the group and at the same time she is like the den mother of the group. she is like a den mother in a way that she watches over the other eternals but at the same time you can see her leadership on the group as she manages each of their powers (like how Ajak told Phastos during the babylon scene that his invention were too soon, or how she told ikaris during the 1521 part that he doesn't get to say whatever he suggested that time and that he should know his place as she, Ajak, was still a leader). I think, in a way, she chose Sersi to replace her because Sersi loved humanity and would understand and would arrived at the same decision to save humanity from the emergence. All in all, I liked her but I guess I find it a little lacking because she died earlier in the film so there's no further exploration on her personality although she has a great character to begin with.

Gilgamesh - okay, to be honest, i was a little pissed that he died like in the middle of the movie because i thought he'd have more screentime but then again I remember that near to the end scene where the eternals (phastos, thena, makkari) have to fight ikaris and i think gilgamesh was killed earlier because i definitely think that Gilgamesh would match Ikaris strength. I think, personally, Ikaris would lose if he had to fight Gilgamesh. What I like about Gilgamesh was he was strong but there is something about his strength and manliness that didn't feel misogynistic as opposed to most strong males portrayals (see Ikaris but later on that). I also like how he jokes but when you got him to talk seriously (like how he talk to Sersi about her problem talking to Arishem, or when he volunteered to take care of Thena). I also like his relationship with Thena, like they are like an old married couple and sure they just hold hands but I guess because gilgamesh and thena are both fighters, plus if you really think about it, thena is suffering from PTSD (considering she's a soldier that has survived a lot of wars, think of how it damages or breaks someone), I think thena's afraid of intimacy (given that she's used to fighting all the time plus it's like she's always wearing an armor or is ready to fight). If you really think about it, Gilgamesh is husband material to Thena considering that he cooks for her and he took care of her plus he was the only person Thena opened up when she doubts herself if she can still fight again. And that is why I think that Gilgamesh and Thena are romantically involved.

Thena - need i say more on this character. i mean, i think we could all agree that she is really one of the greatest female character as she is portrayed as strong but vulnerable because of what the horrors she must have witnessed and remembered on other planets. like i said earlier, i love her relationship with Gilgamesh I mean come on, the way she smiled as she looks at him when they were eating on the australia dessert or Gilgamesh is the only person that could calm her down or the part where she nudges him when he fell asleep when they were in the amazon. plus i saw this photo on twitter wherein they seemed to cut a scene of thena and gilgamesh who looks like shopping for fabrics, gods i wished they released that scene

Kingo - I loved his sense of humor and how it was incorporated in the film. but it weirded me when he didn't joined the other eternals in fighting against Ikaris, kinda makes you think if he doesn't just want to fight Ikaris or if he wanted Tiamut to live. but i guess it's more on the former as I think that even Ikaris betrayed the other eternals, Kingo still looks up to him as their leader on combat plus he respects Ikaris very much. Although I can't help but think that maybe he's gay or bisexual atleast because of what he commented when he saw Sprite watching Ikaris saying that he likes to watch him too. but i don't know, although i wish he'd have more depth on his character, i find his character lacking something ( i dunno why or what is that). or maybe because he kinda reminds me of a boy/child who's always excited about everything.

Sprite - I applaud the actress who portrayed this because Sprite did seem to be an adult stuck in a child's body. although tbh, i didn't really like her. hopefully to see more to her character on the next film. Also, on the last part when she was made to age or to be human, does she still retains her power or is she just a mere mortal (because when Arishem got the other eternals remaining on earth, she wasn't included).

Phastos - i really liked his character development in the film like at first he doesn't want to associate himself with the humans but it turns out that he'll have a family of his own in the present. plus i like that even though he is more of a thinker, he doesn't back down fighting off Ikaris at the fight scene. like ohmygods, i like how he uses his inventions and tools and how he contained Ikaris. I hope to see more to this character in the future.

Ikaris - I read this tweet or post i think that Ikaris is similar to Homelander (the boys) but i think that's not true and this is why. Ikaris is loyal to Arishem, which is safe to say that he's like how people who joined cults are devoted to their leaders (i know this is a weird comparison but this is the one that i could think of). This meant that whatever Ikaris does, he does it for Arishem, robbing him of his free will. As shown at the last part of the film where he killed himself because he failed the mission that Arishem gave them, we can see how Ikaris feels, like he is indebted to Arishem for existing. But also, you can see his free will being shown bit by bit, like how he felt guilty for murdering ajak, how gilgamesh died for him and when he reluctantly kills sersi. because of too much guilt and feeling as a failure himself to Arishem, he decided to perish like if he couldn't exist for Arishem's, how could he bear existing.

Sersi - to be honest, i find something lacking in her character, i don't know what it is but here's a little breakdown of what i think about her. I think, initially, she never completely moved on from Ikaris but by the end, I guess she and Ikaris had a closure, which finally enabled her to moved on. i honestly don't know where to go from here because her character is an empath and she is powerful, if she knew ho to cultivate her powers just like Phastos did. i think she could be a better character.

And of course I saved my ship for last:

Makkari - i wished she had more screen time. like i loved her character and her chemistry with druig plus the fight scene like Kingo is afraid they'll face off Ikaris but Makkari and Thena wasn't. I wished she had more screen time in a sense that I hope to see her interact with people/humans (although maybe it's how her character was built too, i dunno). also i can't help but think that in the movie, druig translated that makkari can sense vibrations which means that she can sense when someone or something is making noise but by how far? like is it just near her or like even from miles away? i think it's the former because if she knew that druig was alive, she wouldn't feel so emotional at the last part reuniting with him. anyways, hope to see more of her in the next eternals film.

Druig - okay, so i saw this post or tweet i think that says that when druig talks to makkari, even though makkari can understand him, druig constantly signs which is sweet and i mean i druig can hear makkari's thoughts when she's signing language, it's endearing how he looks at her like ohmygods #drukkari ship forever. but anyway, this thought bothered me: if druig can hear everyone's thoughts because of his mind control, does it mean that when the eternals visited him in the amazon, he already knew ikaris had killed ajak? like i feel that druig is taunting ikaris to admit what ikaris had done, like druig is waiting for he right moment to sprang it up to the other eternals. i hope to see more to his character and his relationship to makkari on the next films.

anyways, that's all, if you reach this bottom part reading what's above, thank you and if you have anything you wonder about eternals, why don't we talk about it? huerhuer

#eternals #mcu phase 4 #marvel #ajak #ikaris #sersi #druig makkari #kingo #phastos #sprite #gilgamesh #thena #eternals movie #the eternals #eternals spoilers #marvels eternals

[foodieforthoughts]

Updated: 31th August, 2021

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Chris Evans Fiction

💠 One Shots & Drabbles

Deep in Love - Chris x Reader (Smut, oral, unprotected sex)

Reader wakes up to find Chris ready to take her breath away.

Hopeless - Chris x Reader (Angst, mention of infidelity)

There’s always an end to a love affair.

Morning Ritual - Chris x Reader (picture drabble, Sugarcoated Fluff, implied smut)

Snippet of your video call with Chris one morning.

Make it work - Chris x Reader (picture drabble, 18+, mention of toy, flirty Chris, smutty talks, implied smut)

You knew the moment the package arrived at your door that Chris had some plans for you.

Once in a Lifetime - Chris x Reader (none)

Meeting Chris at a premier for the first time.

💠 Requests

Chris x Indian Reader / Henry x Indian Reader (fluff, implied smut)

Chris and Henry are aroused by their SO's in a saree.

Care Bear - Chris x Indian Reader (fluff, domestic)

Chris cooks dinner for you.

Baby Steps - Andy Barber x Reader (angst turned to fluff)

Reader with a shy Andy after everything that happened in his life.

Gladly - Chris x Reader (18+, hint of smut, mostly fluff, alcohol consumption, stripping)

Chris has invited you on a date at his home and you challenge him for a game of beer pong.

Safe Heaven - Chris x Reader (domestic fluff, talks of anxiety

For better or for worse, you had vowed, and you planned to stick by it.

I wanna touch you - Chris x Reader (smut, RPF, BDSM, oral (male receiving), slight male!sub, attempted fem!dom, slight choking, rough sex, unprotected sex, sexual intercourse, vaginal penetration)

You decide to add a little spice to your relationship.

Promises - Chris x Reader (little angsty, eventually super fluffy)

Chris contemplates how you might not be happy to be with him, only to be surprised by the reason behind everything.

Primed for Sin - Ransom Drysdale x Reader (implied smut, mention of violence)

It was only supposed to be a simple mission, but maybe it was difficult to quit something you were clearly enjoying.

I'm coming home - Chris x Reader (fluffy emotional)

You want to reach home before Chris's birthday but there is this one thing you need to get done before you travel home.

Good Years - Chris x Reader (floofy fluff)

Headcanon of Chris as your husband.

Henry Cavill Fiction

💠 One Shots & Drabbles

Island of Love - Henry x Reader (mention of face riding)

Henry gets a lesson in selfie posting.

Dirty Secret - Henry x Reader (smut, oral (female receiving), squirting, penetration, sexual intercourse, bodily fluids, exhibition kink)

Reader and Henry reunite behind the scenes at the studio.

December To Remember - Henry x Reader (fluff)

You have the best gift to make this year's Christmas the best one of Henry’s life.

Down in History - Henry x Reader (comfort fluff)

Your anxiety is at its peak at your first award function with Henry as a couple.

Shoes - Henry x Reader (super fluff)

Henry is busy assembling his PC and you got him a pair of shoes.

Glad you came - Henry x Reader (smut, fingering, sexual intercourse, exhibitionism, casual sex, alcohol usage)

You are out to the club after a breakup and stumble upon Henry to complete your night.

When the ball drops - Henry x Reader (fluff)

It’s your third year in the Big Apple and you still haven’t found your midnight kiss for when the ball drops, until tonight.

Good morning, Sunshine - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry takes you to watch sunrise early in the morning.

Cherry Angel - Henry x Reader (fluff, proud hubby Henry)

Henry never come to fashion shows but he makes an exception this time.

Did you get TikTok?! - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry secretly got TikTok and his first video features you with a public declaration in the end.

Can't fight the feeling - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry has been keeping his feelings for you to himself but he cannot hold it in any longer and unknowingly expresses it to his assistant.

Chasni (Sugar Syrup) - Henry x Reader (domestic fluff)

Henry finds you singing along to your favorite song from your home country. He joins along with a surprise.

You're my Medicine - Henry x unnamed OFC (slight angst, fluff, mention of road accident)

Perfect medicine for when she is hurting? Him.

💠 Series

Chances - Henry x Reader (Angst, unrequited feelings, hurt/comfort, fluff) ❇️COMPLETE❇️

She loves Henry and takes a chance, a leap of faith, only for Henry to be afraid to confess his feelings, leaving her heartbroken.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue |

I Would Do It Again - AU Henry x OFC (smut, casual sex, office romance, boss/employer relationship, angst, fluff) ✨ONGOING✨

Anya Adams spends the night with a stranger, only for him to turn out to be her boss, leading to a tumultuous series of events to unfold.

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You + Me - Henry x Reader (fluff, kissing, implied smut)

Henry is overworking and you give him comfort, make him feel home.

Until we're grey and old - Henry x Reader/Chris x Reader (fluff, hurt/comfort, reader has raynaud's disease)

Henry and Chris both have their own unique ways to provide comfort to the women in their life.

Irresistible - Henry x Reader (fluffy romance)

You are cooking dinner for Henry but he keeps distracting you.

Footprints in the Sand - Dad!Henry x Reader (pure fluff)

You introduce your daughters to Henry and three years later, you have a complete family.

Tickles and Cuddles - Dad!Henry x Reader (fluff, domestic life)

Your son is scared requesting to not be left alone in his room. Henry takes up on himself to have a tickle fight with his son, content with his life.

You make it easy - Henry x Reader (fluff, implied smut)

You are tired from work and Henry decides to relax you with movie and wine.

Stormy night - Henry x Reader (angst, mention of jealousy)

Henry has been in love with you for a long time, when he decides to tell you, it doesn't end well.

Never let you go - Henry x Reader (teeth rotting fluff)

Henry is needy for your attention and you make him feel loved before he leaves for filming again.

Same, love - Henry x Reader (fluff, competitive Henry, alcohol usage)

You are invited to a party where you meet Henry and bond over your competitive nature.

I found you - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry loves you but hasn't told you yet, but one day when you are losing your mind over work, he decides to calm you with his declaration.

For better or worse - Henry x Reader (mention of pandemic, self conscious reader, implied smut)

You are feeling self conscious, hating the way your body has changed. Henry assures you about how you'll always be perfect to him.

25 to life - Henry x Reader (fluff, implied smut)

Henry has whisked you away for your honeymoon to an island paradise.

Little Guardian - Henry/Kal x Reader (fluff)

Kal suddenly starts following you around the house and you soon find out why.

Better half - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry is your rock and you are content with your life.

Hello, Sailor - Henry x Reader (smut, fingering, slight bondage, male!dom, fem!sub, minor role-playing, vaginal penetration, foul language)

Sexually frustrated Henry comes home after filming a sex scene and he had only been thinking about you.

Epona - Henry x Reader (none)

Henry helps you overcome your fear of horses.

Morning Glory - Henry x Reader (smut, male masturbation, oral (male receiving), vaginal penetration, sexual intercourse, unprotected sex)

Henry had a problem and he needs your help but he doesn't know if you want to lose sleep over it on a early Sunday morning.

Bridgerton - Henry x Pregnant!Reader (spoilers, fluff)

Henry's reaction to you watching Bridgerton.

Say my name - Henry x Reader (smut, fingering, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, sexual intercourse)

Henry give you your birthday present in the kitchen.

Little Things - Dad!Henry x Reader (fluff)

Your daughter tells you about her day with her dad while you are running errands with your son.

Dinner for Two - Multiple characters x Reader (fluff)

Headcanon of dinner ideas for Henry and a few of his characters.

Box of Secrets - Henry x Reader (implied smut, implied use of toys)

You move in with Henry and he finds out about a sexy secret you had been keeping from him.

Mon amour - Henry x Reader (fluff)

Henry whisked you away for a surprise birthday celebration to Paris.

Perfect - Henry x plus size!reader ✴️NEW✴️

Henry comfort you after you are body shamed.

August Walker Fiction

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Deal with the Devil - August x Reader (angst)

An innocent observation of the most dangerous man in the world ends in the most unexpected way.

Wreck Me - August x Reader (smut, kidnapping, drugging, Male!Dom, Fem!Sub, bondage, foul language, spanking, roleplay)

You find yourself tied in a hotel room, having no recollection of how you reached there. August has plans to leave you completely wrecked.

Intruder - August x Reader (implied smut, use of handcuffs)

August is supposed to be away on a mission, but he surprised you after finding out what you desire on your blog.

Thank you, daddy - August x Reader (explicit smut, male!dom, fem!sub, spread eagle, handcuffs, use of toys, fingering, orgasm denial, squirting, edging, cunt slapping, slight degradation, chocking, multiple orgasms, vaginal penetration, cream pie, cum swallow, bodily fluids)

August loves to gift his girl some creamy pie on her birthday.

Walter Marshall Fiction

💠 One Shots & Drabbles

Happy anniversary - Walter x Reader (fluff, implied smut, sexual theme, strip dancing)

On your 1st wedding anniversary, Walter has planned a sweet surprise for you which doesn't go his way.

Third Time's The Charm - Walter x Reader (fluff, singing Walter)

Walter sweeps you off your feet with his voice, making you both give your romance a third chance.

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Show Me the Light - Walter x OFC ⛔ON HIATUS⛔

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

💠 Requests

Helping hand - Walter x Reader (shoulder injury description, fluff, hint of smut, male masturbation)

Walter is injured and gets help from his annoying but cute neighbour.

Captain Syverson Fiction

💠 One Shots & Drabbles

Can't be Tamed - Sy x Reader (Heavy smut, 18+, male dom, female sub, oral (female receiving), fingering, bondage, unprotected sex)

Captain Sy is being aloof of your feelings. You want to make your place known. But can you really tame a lion to be your pet?

Poker Night - Sy x Reader (smut, oral (male receiving), deep throating, penetration, anal penetration, unprotected sex)

It’s Syverson’s last night with her before he is deployed back to duty in the desert. She challenges him for a game of strip poker and ends up on the table.

Under the Stars - Sy x Reader (smut, oral (female receiving), fingering, penetration, sexual intercourse, bodily fluids, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, breeding kink)

Sy takes her on a vacation in the vineyard to relax and fill his starving self of her.

Love Me Tonight - Sy x Reader (smut, fluff, fingering, penetration, unprotected sex, bodily fluids, a little bit of angst and war scene)

Watching a war movie before bedtime was a bad idea.

Mistletoe - Sy x Reader (smut, fingering, oral (Female receiving), penetration, sexual intercourse, unprotected sex)

Sy has officially left the military and for your birthday he takes you for a long vacation in the Swiss Alps.

Empty Nest - Sy x Reader (angst, TW: loss of a child, TW: death, TW: Mention of road accident, lots of sadness)

Sy is trying to be strong but he knows everything is now lost.

Baby maker Sy - Sy x Reader (smut, breeding kink, unprotected sex)

One

💠 Series

Sand and Stars - Sy x OFC x OMC (Warning: 18+) ❇️COMPLETE❇️

Journey through time (photo series) - Sy x Reader (Fluff) ❇️COMPLETE❇️

Your relationship with Syverson over the years.

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💠 Requests

Baby Mama - Sy x pregnant!Reader (smut, pregnant reader, oral (female receiving), pregnancy kink, breeding kink, fingering)

Sy helps his pregnant wife with perennial massage, leading to her being pleasured by him.

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You have doubts if you are enough for Sy when he assures you and gives you a surprise.

Last first kiss - Sy x Reader (fluff)

You have never been in a relationship before, never kissed anyone either. You are about to tell Sy your little secret wondering how he would take it.

Duty - Sy x Reader (angst to fluff, mentions of blood, traumatic events, smut, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex) ✴️NEW✴️

Sy has a secret relationship with a nurse at camp which is more than just sex.

#Foodie For Thoughts #masterlist #Chris Evans #Henry Cavill #August Walker #Chris Evans fanfic #Henry Cavill fanfic #August Walker fanfic #Captain Syverson fanfic #POV #First person PoV #Thirst person Pov #Walter Marshall fanfic #foodieforthoughts #chris evans x desi reader #chris evans x indian reader

[vivithefolle]

Hi Vivi, can you share some thoughts on the "Hermione deserves to be/should have married to XYZ because she is way too good for Ron" mentality of this fandom??

I’m gonna copy-paste a Quora answer of mine, because recycling is important!

Claiming that Ron is “out of Hermione’s league” is a statement rooted in sexism, classism and probably a bunch of other -isms.

It might seem like I’m just throwing buzz-words around but let me explain.

First off, the sexism.

Oh, the sexism.

As I’ve pointed it out in yet another one of my answers  (I’m so sorry for drowning you all in a plethora of links), Ron is very much a female-coded male character.

Ron is emotional, wears his heart on his sleeve, has anxieties and inadequacies, walks off in order to cool down, has a temper, puts other people before his needs, and pretty much adopts Harry when he rescues him in the second book. He’s the Heart of the Trio: he doesn’t rely on sole logic, he can believe something without proof, he is sensitive and thus is the easiest to hurt emotionally.

Whether you call it a “beta male”, a “wuss”, “defying gender roles” or a “soft boy” is your own business, but the core of it is that Ron doesn’t meet the standards for people’s vision of a “desirable” masculine figure.

The little things Ron quietly performs in the books - when he helps Harry into his pyjamas in Chamber of Secrets because Harry’s arm is bloop; when he’s worrying about Hermione’s whereabouts in Prisoner of Azkaban; when he helps Harry unwind after his visions in Goblet of Fire; when he puts food onto Harry’s plate and wakes him up from his nightmares in Order of the Phoenix; when he beams that Hermione was “perfect, obviously” when she passes her Apparition test - all those caring gestures don’t seem like much, but if you bother to think about it, they paint an enormous picture.

Who gets Hermione to stop overworking while making her feel good about her accomplishments? Who comforts Harry from his nightmares and cares for him in the dead of the night, when nobody is awake? Who makes sure his friends are healthy and happy? Who wards off the dark and depressing thoughts, be it with his fists or a joke?

It’s Ron.

When you think about it, “traditional masculinity” in Harry Potter is as much frowned upon as “traditional feminity” is - which sometimes bites Rowling in the butt when you remember how she obviously seems to consider that Hermione and Ginny are the only desirable kind of girls.

Vernon Dursley? The entrepreneur “king of the household” prejudiced suburbian middle-class Dad? Fits in the usual tropes of traditional masculinity.

Dudley Dursley? The typical “boys will be boys” spoiled middle-class only child who’s the apple of his parents’ eyes and even takes up boxing, as if he wasn’t traditionally masculine enough.

Draco Malfoy? See Dudley, but toss in “upper-class posh aristocrat bully who doesn’t like to get his hands dirty so he has henchmen do it for him because he’s too rich for this sh-t”, would remind you of a few Christian Greys or Gatsbys.

Dolores Umbridge? Oh no, cat pictures, decorative plates, talks to teens as if they’re babies and PINK, SO MUCH PINK!!! So disgustingly feminine!!

Rowling very much frowns upon traditional gender roles - with Molly Weasley being an exception because Rowling feels very strongly about being a mother, and relates to Molly a lot.

Right - so, being a beautiful mess of paradoxes and contradictions (a “soft boi” who also punches bullies in the face, a fussy mother-hen who swears like a sailor, a tall athlete with badass scars on his arms who’s nurturing and sweet; in short, a wonderfully human character), Ron is obviously going to be a polarizing character. You painfully relate to him and get defensive when he’s criticized, you feel his characterization hits a bit too close to home so you hate him, or you disregard him completely because you can’t see anything “special” about him…

Now, onto another very, very sexist point that is often made.

People say that Hermione “deserves better” than Ron, often claiming that they “aren’t intellectual equals”, then citing Harry (who is mistaken as being some sort of slumbering genius but honestly, the kid is really a bit daft) or Draco (since apparently, being rich must equal to being intelligent) or, god forbid, Snape (because he’s a teacher and teachers are meant to be clever).

Soooo, I could go the loooooong way and pull out all the receipts that prove that none of these characters are perfectly intellectually matched to Hermione…

Or I could go the long way and simply give you this: this obsession with finding an “intellectual equal” for Hermione reflects the mentality of “women are not allowed to be better at something than their husband”.

Yep.

A woman has to be all-around pretty good at everything, whereas a man has to be the absolute best in his area of greatest competence (surely better than any puny female!) with a help-meet there to compensate for his weaknesses. People are very, very uncomfortable when Ron and Hermione reverse this dynamic. Hermione is extremely intelligent and dedicated to intellectual pursuits, but is complete pants at things like self-care and people skills. Ron is bright enough to keep up with her and strong in her areas of weakness.

Even if Ron was as dumb as a sack of rocks (he’s not), his other virtues are more than enough to “justify” Hermione loving him. (Because she needs an excuse?) But no. A woman has to be with a man who outdoes her in her area of greatest strength. - credit to @lytefoot

People don’t want Hermione to be with a man who’s her “equal.” They want her to be with a man who can be The Man so she can know the contentment of being The Woman.

But, with this sexist line of thought, how do we justify how Ron is supposed to be such a bad match for Hermione? Because if it was just about mere sexism, Romione would surely be more popular. Imagine! Ron happily raising the children, being a house-husband and proud of it, while Hermione is out there fighting for justice in the wizarding world! What a power-couple, defying norms and gender roles and not being the least bit conscious of it, prime OTP material for sure! So why do people still want Hermione to put Harry, Draco, or god forbid², Snape in Ron’s place? Is this an irrational hatred of redheads? An Harmionian’s delirious wet dream? A failure to separate the actors from their characters?

It’s all this and, quite frankly, something more: the inherent classism that comes with Ron’s status as an explicitly working-class coded character.

I know, I know, “Vivian! Calm down with the buzzwords, you’re starting to sound like an online pretend-feminist magazine!”

Or “Come on, people who don’t ship Ron and Hermione together aren’t all sexist or classist!”

Of course, of course! I know that! I’m not implying that!

But some of the “reasons” why they claim that Ron and Hermione can’t work - are extremely classist in nature, that’s just it!

Come on, think about it! What are the Number Ones arguments people always pull against Ron? Or the most common Ron-bashing tropes (look at fanfics and watch the number of stories that use at least one of those)?

Ron is stupid/mediocre

Ron is lazy/useless

Ron resents his wife’s hard work/success

Ron is a homophobe

Ron is a drunkard

Ron (the big prude who at 16 had never kissed a girl and sees a first kiss as the prelude to a wedding) is massively oversexed and cheats on Hermione with anything that moves

Not only do these “reasons” completely ignore ALL OF RON’S CHARACTERIZATION - except for the “lazy” bit but come off it, all teenagers are lazy and Hermione’s the exception to the rule - but it matches perfectly with the negative stereotypes associated with working-class white men in fiction.

It’s also very funny to note how many (assumedly middle-class or financially secure) fans look down on Ron for being “whiny” or “greedy” when he expresses the desire to have money of his own, or blame his parents for “not knowing when to stop” or “being irresponsible”, or even look down on them for being “too proud to accept help”!! Also how shocked people are when Ron dares to stand up for himself when Hermione or Harry act badly towards him. How dare this country boy not listen to the wisdom of his social “betters”?

So, obviously, because our Heroine can’t go with a Nasty, Mediocre Working-Class Man, she must be paired off with someone of Proper Status: say, a Hero that was raised in a middle-class home and might be a bit psychologically damaged but it’s nothing all those gold coins in his vault can’t fix; or this Rich Posh Aristocrat who actively rooted for her death, he’s a little bit eccentric and has some exotic pet-names to call you, but I’m sure you’ll learn to love him and will unearth the gold coins in his bank account… I mean, the heart of gold that lies within the surface; oh, why not a Way Too Big An Age Difference Teacher if you’re looking for a “cultured man” who has zero things in common with you; we can also bring Convenient Plot Device Famous Rich Foreign Athlete if you want some diversity and you don’t feel original!

But we can’t - oh, we mustn’t let her be with this Terrible Working-Class Boy! His brothers are fine, they have money, they have jobs, so they’re obviously Not As Mediocre. But let our precious Hermione be with this Just-Got-Out-Of-School hooligan? She can’t possibly be in love with him! You’ll see darling, you’ll get bored eventually! He’s too mediocre for you, you deserve a man who outclasses you - I mean, who can provide for you! You’re a fragile little flower who scars people for life when she’s not happy with them, what makes you think that this boy can possibly handle you even though he’s done so for the past seven years?

You wanted it, you got it.

People are shallow, have misconceptions about Ron’s character that they are unwilling to correct or use classist and sexist arguments to try to make it so that either Ron is the Devil himself / Hermione is a higher kind of being that can only orgasm if sufficiently “intellectually stimulated” / what-have-you.

#vivi answers #ask #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione #ron weasley defense squad #ron weasley defence squad #sexism #classism #hp meta #fandumb #hp fandom

[rithalie-sideblog]

The daughters of Dracula

When Vlad Dracula first hears the prophecy he laughs and bellows with a voice that shakes his castle to the bone. 

Him? Falling in love with a mortal woman? Inconceivable, unheard of, simply a figment of an old man's scribbling imagination.

But then Vlad Dracula starts to think. And wonder. Because for all of his wealth and goods he managed to accumulate he was born a beggar and a thinker, as such happens when one learns life on the streets.

Prophecies have power.

So Vlad Dracula devises a plan. To make sure, he won't fall for the novelty that is a mortal woman, much less give her a son to fulfil the damned prophecy.

The first step he takes, he scours the village for his prey.

Mortal women, of all height and weight, from the plump daughter of the baker to the muscled heiress of the mercenary group. He kidnaps them from ungrateful families and bargains for them and soon his castle is filled with women's voices, their whimpers and terrified sobs. 

He avoids the young ones, as pretty as they might appear because Vlad Dracula might be a monster, but even he had rules by which to live his immortal life.

He never harms the women, despite their hostility and suspicion towards him. He leaves them be for the longest of times and watches as they slowly make the castle their home.

The women clean the spider webs, dust the old forgotten rooms and chambers. 

As they slowly grow more bold, they begin to take down the most horrid paintings from the walls, wash their clothes in the well in the middle of the cursed garden, stringing lines of laundry between the sculptures of demons and gargoyles.

Vlad watches it all happen from his tower, curiosity taking over him as he waits. Observes. Studies.

Finally, one woman seeks him out.

A pretty one, with her hair the color of honey, tangled way past her knees with her unable to cut it without any sharp object.

She demands a knife with a trembling voice and desperation laced with fear.

"Give it back soon." Says Dracula in his velvet voice as he gives her a dagger.

The woman never takes her eyes off of him as she backs away from the room, weapon held tightly in her hand.

By the end of the next week, most women have their hair cut, or braided into something new.

The honey-colored woman comes back with the dagger, placing it delicately in Vlad's outstretched hand. 

And she stays to talk.

A few years pass before most of the women warm up to Dracula, even if for him, it hadn't been much more than a blink.

They smile at him when he passes the corridors of his once gloomy castle, some wave to him, kneeled over the freshly planted potatoes in the gardens that once hosted the most exquisite of Louvre's hedges.

They come to him for his judgement, they trust him with their pleas and for his part, Dracula does his best to judge fairly. Years after Dracula's decision, the first woman wishes for more. He does not chase her away, even if his dark heart remains unchanged, curiosity driving him dangerously close to the edge of destiny's sword.

Vlad wonders if he should kill the woman before she can give birth to his descendant. If she were to bear a boy, the prophecy would come true and everything Dracula had done would have been for naught.

"It's a girl." announces one of the women as she comes out of the birth chamber, hands covered in blood up to her elbows. Vlad tries to not stare at them much as the relief washes over him.

A daughter, no son to slay him, no vengeance to come forth from his mother's mistreatment.

His plan is saved.

There are two more births that follow, and with each child being born a female Vlad grows more confident. Convinced he managed to beat the prophecy, he once again disappears into his tower.

He meets his daughters sometimes.

Pretty creatures, not a flaw to be seen on them. With hair the color of honey, mahogany and obsidian, they look at him with eyes of crimson and sunlight and moonlight, their sharpened ears uncovered proudly in the safety of his home, his vast galleries and libraries.

Dracula goes down deep into the guts of his castle and brings up the jewelry, old dress materials and sewing kits for them to use. He does not care what they do with the gift, but something like pride flashes in his eyes as he catches a glimpse of them covered in gold and silk.

As they grow, they get more and more bold, coming to his tower and asking questions about the world and life outside their castle.

Their Inquiries rarely go unanswered.

Dracula begins to let the mortal women go, the youngest of them past the age of her prime now. Some of them leave, but some of them stay, unwilling to uproot their lives again and comfortable with what they learned. Dracula begins to travel, living his years free of the burden of the prophecy, confident that his fate has finally been changed.

So when an angry woman shows up at the door of the castle, a three-year-old with crimson eyes' hand, gripped in hers, it comes as quite a surprise.

Dracula kills the woman, for she was not one of his, one of them, despite the claim she made upon Dracula's paternal role in the child's life. 

The daughters that greeted her warmly once she arrived had not known such violence before. They lick their lips and wrangle their hands at the sight of blood before them, and when Dracula sees that he gives them the woman's body to feast upon.

The boy is spared, if only for the foolishness of one of the women who rushes him outside when the carnage begins. 

He runs and when Vlad finds out about it, he flies after him in hot pursuit, but the boy is nowhere to be found. The prophecy protects him and fate is on his side and no matter where Dracula looks he cannot find him.

No harm befalls the woman who helped him, but upon hearing about the prophecy she weeps, for she did not know what calamity she brought upon her host. She leaves the castle in shame.

Three daughters of the Dracula grow hungry for blood, their beauty shining in its ethereal light brighter than before. Vlad feeds them and begins to teach them. Slowly but steadily he allows them entrance upon his dark and shrunken heart. They become his confidants as Dracula admits his defeat against the prophecy, preparing for the final act of the play. 

If his daughters showed promise even unattended, they shine with brilliance under his attention. Soon the castle is alive with the sound of magic, verbal disputes and turned pages.

When the child, now a man fully grown, comes back, bearing the Alucard title, Dracula steps forward to battle his destiny. He makes his daughters swear not to join him, and stay far away from the fight, for he had made arrangements for his knowledge to live on in them were he to fail.

Alucard is strong, but not as strong as his father.

He is quick, but not as quick as Dracula.

He is vengeful and drunk on the prophecy's promises, but not quite as desperate as Vlad is.

And yet, what finally brings The almighty Dracula to his knees is the fact that Alucard isn't quite as honorable as him.

When the edge of Alucard's blade rests against the honey-haired daughter of the Dracula he stops fighting.

After many years of undead existence, his daughters became his legacy, and he refuses to lose even a slight part of it.

Dracula's pause gives Alucard a chance to defeat him, and as he does that, all three daughters cry out in anguish.

Dracula's body caves in itself and turns to ash, and as Alucard lifts his fist in triumph, ready to claim the castle and all of its wealth as he was promised, he is met not with the radiant smiles of the saved woman but with weeping and sneers. The woman may have hardly loved the monster who kidnapped them, but his presence meant safety. It meant freedom to pursue what they desired, no mortal husband or any kin present to dictate their lives.

Three daughters of the Dracula weep the loudest, and through their tears they growl and hiss, blind in their rage. They chase Alucard out of the castle, the man unable to defend himself against their fury.

The brown and dark-haired ones stay on the stairs of the castle, but the honey-colored one chases Alucard to the edge of the woods, red droplets of blood flying from the spot where he threatened her. She almost gets him, her claws marking the tree, behind which he ducked with three deep lines.

And when the dust finally settles and the castle stops trembling with the sobs of the grieving women, they all come together to plan.

The rumors grow, ones of an imposing castle deep in the woods, that one day disappeared from all maps. 

Some say it's still there, just concealed with the magic of a really powerful witch, no matter what the church claims about having burned them all.

Others think it crumbled to the ground, unable to stand any more without its master there to keep it together. 

The Vatican claims to have destroyed it in the name of God, the village men grow bold enough to boast about the treasure they supposedly stole from there.

Alucard's tale grows, even as the man shrinks into itself, once his prophecy has been fulfilled and his sole reason to exist finally slayed. 

Very few remember Vlad Dracula's daughters, but there are traces of them left in the history.

Hushed female voices telling each other stories over the fire. Tales of the place where husbands' heavy hand won't ever reach. 

Rumors of libraries and workshops where all the knowledge is at your fingertips, your fate finally yours to choose.

Whispered clues to find the farthest tree on the south of the main road, its bark marked with three fine lines in the shape of the hand, and to march three hundred steps north of it.

And finally, three names to call forth when you reach the clearing, given to their daughters by the desperate mothers who wish for a better life to happen upon them.

Do you know the names? 

Did you ever have to call for them, deep in the night, three hundred steps away from the tree where a daughter almost avenged her father's death?

Don't you know the heart of greed and entitled desires? Have you ever heard of self-fulfilled prophecies? Didn't you see the hate in the eyes of the people?

Don't let them know.

Whisper the daughters names in the night, gain their strength. 

And don't let the world know where we are.

#dracula #writing #short story #inspired by castlevania but has nothing else in canon #Alucard was also in the movies! #It's the term here #not a specified blond-maned character #short study #rithalie #rithalie writing #vampires

[dwellordream]

“After the pageants were suppressed, the early modern alehouse became a prime place for the cross-fertilization of everyday jesting and theater. Many forms of popular performance, such as sports, games, morris dancing, jigging, and ballad singing, took place at the alehouse; and in the remoter reaches of the country, traveling players sometimes gave plays and interludes in alehouses. Satirists were fond of accusing playwrights of culling material there; one called the tavern: a broacher of more newes then Hogs-heads, & more jests then newes, which are suckt up here by some spongy braine, and from thence squeaz'd into a Comedy .... Tis the best Theater of natures where they are truly acted, not plaid, and the businesse as in the rest of the world up and downe, to wit, from the bottom of the Seller to the Great Chamber.

What part did women play in this "Theater of natures"? Historians take a narrow view. Many agree with Barry Reay's statement that alehouses were "male-dominated milieus, then as now.  Peter Clark maintains that "respectable women" did not go to the alehouse alone and that many people bitterly resented all alewives for profiting from husbandly drunkenness and harboring prostitutes. From the 1590s onward, alehouses certainly faced growing competition from male-headed breweries, while misogynist prejudice fueled the campaigns of social reformers who pummeled home brewers with killing fines, as Judith Bennett has shown. Nonetheless, the alehouse was far from an all-male space. 

The issue is an important one because the alehouse was often the real social center in a neighborhood, the place where news and rumors flew, where people traded jokes, jigged jigs, sang and bought ballads, and heard chapbooks read aloud. Furthermore, it served as one of the few places one could speak one's mind, offering "a sanctuary for relative freedom of speech, for cathartic release in story and song, jest and mockery." If women were there, they could hardly have been segregated from this rich circuit of text, speech, and performance. Wrightson argues persuasively that many women ran alehouses or worked in them, while wives went there with husbands, maidservants and young women gathered there, and lovers met and were even wed there.

Thomas Platter, astounded by the number of drinking places in London in 1599, wrote, "what is particularly curious is that the women as well as the men, in fact more than they, will frequent the taverns or alehouses for enjoyment." In ballads, jests, and woodcuts, the alehouse is often shown or described as a mixed-gender space. Maids huddle with their sweethearts, while wives carouse with their husbands or nag them to go home. Women sitting together gossip, laugh, and sing; complain about husbands; and escape their domestic chores. Despite all these signs of female presence, Clark concludes by casting men as the players - and women as their servants - in what he, too, calls "a neighbourhood theatre": 

The enduring reason for the success of the English alehouse in the centuries before 1830 is that it was quintessentially a neighbourhood theatre in the widest sense, in which ordinary people could be actors and observers. Against the backdrop of its flickering fire men could gossip and rant, joke, laugh and posture, sublimate their miseries in drunkenness, applaud their own success in generosity and games. [With] their pots and tankards kept brimming by an explosive Mother Bunch or the serving wench... they could discover a further dimension of themselves and their lives. 

Clark's scene making shunts women to the margins. When male historians write about popular culture, comments Lyndal Roper, women are usually "confined to walk-on parts" in precisely this way, with the result that "most accounts of popular culture are actually about men's culture." Somehow the alehouse, a vitally important site of social drama and popular culture in town, village, and city, was often run by women and patronized by women yet at the same time remained off limits and off-putting to women. This leaky paradox is built of the same assumptions I challenge vis-a-vis the jest. 

Widely believed to be a discourse available only to men, the jesting literature actually has far greater female presence than has been noticed. And like the clientele of the alehouse, not all the women who are players in the jesting culture are well-to-do, respectable, or literate. Using available evidence, one can reconstruct an alehouse scene that looks quite different from the mostly male resort created by Clark. In 1600 women could gather in London to drink ale made by another woman, at an alehouse she owned and ran, hear a female ballad seller pitch a song complaining about drunken husbands and impotent lovers, and buy a copy of the penny broadside. They could compose a mocking song together, to be used in shaming a recalcitrant neighbor. 

This hypothetical but entirely possible group could gaze up at walls and doors plastered with ballad woodcuts of condemned rogues, horned husbands, country lovers, and bizarre births. Women were rarely named as authors of ballads and pamphlets; but in a world of cheap and mostly anonymous print, this consideration recedes in importance next to questions of transmission and reception. Some of the jests they told and heard were undoubtedly the kind Thomas Wilson deplored: "it is not onely meete to avoyde al grosse bourdyng, and alehouse jesting, but also to eschew all foolish talke, and ruffin manners, much as no honest eares can ones abide."

My study of jesting culture has convinced me that some women were fully capable of this kind of speech, inside the alehouse and out. Down among the lowliest texts and the smallest transactions, women were undeniably present as sellers, performers, spectators, and buyers. The key role of the alehouse in the microeconomics of the neighborhood constitutes a running theme in jests and drama. The alewife who drives Sly out of her alehouse in The Taming of the Shrew dominates a scene familiar from jests: the tussle between the lackpenny lush and the loud, brash, and muscular alewife. Such bouts were not always decided in favor of the male customer, perhaps because there were too many alewives listening. 

In one jest a hostess confronts a rude justice who always insists on taking leftovers with him. Fed up, she pours ale and pottage into his saddlebag. When he rails at her, she is ready: "Oh sir," quod the wife, "I know well ye are a judge of the realm, and I perceive by you, your mind is to do right and to have that is your own, and your mind is to have all things with you that you paid for. ... I have therefore put in your [bags] the pottage that ye left because ye have well and truly paid for them. For if I shold keep any thing from you that ye have paid for, peradventure ye would trouble me in the law another time." Here ye may see that he that playeth the niggard too much sometime it turneth him to his own loss.

In the brief moment of a jest, a humble alewife can get the better of an educated and far more powerful man. This is not to imply that women's active role in ale culture escaped censure. Vital yet often derided, the alehouse was an especially fraught social and economic arena; and women who kept alehouses were often subject to misogynist attacks. Although her product was crucial to subsistence survival, and although ale was the daily drink of every man, woman, and child, the alewife had been the special target of satire since early medieval times. Everyman is seduced in an alehouse. Pageant drama satirized a lusty, boozy alewife, who appeared as a ghost sent to hell, clashing her "cuppes and cans" and lamenting her cheating ways.”

- Pamela Allen Brown, “Ale and Female: Gossips as Players, Alehouse as Theater.” in Better a Shrew than a Sheep: Women, Drama, and the Culture of Jest in Early Modern England.

#history #brewing #renaissance #pamela allen brown #better a shrew than a sheep #tudor #elizabethan #jacobean

[gardenofkore]

Florence Trevelyan Cacciola (née Florence Trevelyan Trevelyan) was born in Newcastle upon Tyne, Northumblerand, on February 7th 1852. She was the daughter and only surviving child (her older sister Edith had died in 1850 at just one year old) of Edward Spencer Trevelyan of Hallington Hall (cadet son of Sir John Trevelyan, 5th Baronet Trevelyan of Nettlecombe, Somerset, and of Wallington Hall, Northumberland), and of Catherine Ann Forster.

She was baptised in St. Andrew Church in Hartburn, Northumberland, with her family name serving also as a middle name, so that she would have been able to keep it even after married.

On August 23rd 1854 Edward Spencer Trevelyan committed suicide, leaving his wife and his two years old daughter living alone in Hallington Hall.

Over the years, Florence and her mother developed a great interest in gardening and in establishing "pleasure gardens", such as gardens open to the public. Perhaps the fact that Florence's uncle, Sir Walter Carverley Trevelyan, 6th Baronet, was a renowned naturalist and geologist, might have provided some sort of influence.

In 1877 Catherine Forster died and her daughter inherited Hallington Hall. The year after the childless Sir Walter died too. Following the wishes of the late baronet, his inheritance was surprisingly split: his title was inherited by his nephew Alfred Wilson Trevelyan (son of Alfred Wilson Trevelyan senior), while Wallington Hall was left to his cousin Charles Edward Trevelyan. Despite being senior to her cousin Alfred (Florence's father was older than Alfred's one), and a closer relative than Charles Trevelyan, Florence, as a female, was passed over in the succession of the family titles and estates. In 1879, Miss Trevelyan, already mistress of herself, set off for a two years tour across Europe and North Africa, accompanied by her cousin, Louisa Harriet Spencer (daughter of Beatrice Trevelyan and Ernest Augustus, youngest child of Spencer Perceval, the only British prime minister to have been murdered). During a stop in Alassio, the two girls visited Parco Fuor del Vento and the villa Molino di Sopra as guests of General William Montagu Scott McMurdo, owner and designer of the park. Florence could thus admire the terraced hill, planted with olive, orange and palm trees and cypresses, and adorned with four pagoda style buildings. From there she could also see Gallinara island, shelter for herring gulls and protected plant species.

In 1881 Miss Trevelyan visited Taormina for the first time. The Sicilian city at that time was still recovering from the turmoil that had followed the Unification of Italy in 1861. Economical backwardness had also forced many to emigrate and so depopulate the territory. Taormina impressed very much Florence, because it reminded her of Alassio. In particular, she thought the islet of Santo Stefano (donated in 1806 by King Ferdinando I to the city) resembled a lot to Gallinara. Together with her cousin, she stayed in Taormina from January 28th to February 14th 1881. On August of the same year, the two girls were back in Northumberland. It's during this time that Florence became somehow close to Queen Victoria, to the point of being invited to Balmoral Castle (fun fact, in Taormina Florence is still popularly regarded a Queen Victoria's niece. Perhaps everything started after people saw a photo of Florence with her mother, Catherine Ann Trevelyan. Certainly the majority of people didn't actually know the actual appearance of Queen Victoria, so Mrs Trevelyan was easily mistaken with her illustrious sovereign, after all they were only 4 years apart) . In fact, despite the fact that the Trevelyan were mere landed aristocracy (and Florence, as the daughter of a cadet son, wasn't even entitled to be called lady), they were well-connected with the higher society. It was rumoured that at some point Florence had attracted the attention of the womanizer Prince of Wales, future Edward VII. Also, according to this version of the story, once Queen Victoria was made aware of this dalliance, she wasn't amused in the least. To ensure the end of it, she supposedly kindly offered Miss Trevelyan a generous annuity to keep her away from her son. Handsomely rewarded for her renunciation, Florence left Great Britain to never come back again. The main supporter of this rumour is Dino Papale, lawyer and journalist, distantly related to Florence's future husband. In his book Taormina Segreta - La Belle Epoque 1876-1914, published in 1995, he claimed Florence had been basically exiled from the court and high society because of a supposed fling with Prince Albert Edward. 

Whatever the real reason was, Florence left once again the country with her cousin Louisa. In 1885, they were back in Taormina, lodging at Timeo Inn, adjacent the Greek Theatre and owned by La Floresta family. The two women had brought with them their five dogs, and to avoid inconveniencing the other guests with the animals' yapping, in 1889 Florence funded at her own expenses the building of an upper level. When one of her dogs, Sole, fell ill, Florence was desperate since she couldn't find in all Taormina a veterinarian to tend to the animal. Desperate and in tears, she asked her neighbour Salvatore Cacciola for help. Mr. Cacciola, who lived in a mansion also adjacent to the Greek Theatre (the then Palazzo Cacciola, now Palazzo Acrosso Papale), had been Professor of Anatomy and Histology at Padua University. He tended to the dog and managed to heal it, earning the woman's appreciation. Florence and Salvatore soon got closer, especially since Cacciola had studied in Malta and was thus fluent in English. He came from a wealthy family, in the future he would even be Taormina’s mayor for almost a decade, and being a Freemason leader (he would found the Rinascimento lodge), he shared with Florence an interest in esotericism. The two quickly fell in love and married on July 5th 1890.

Once settled in Palazzo Cacciola, Florence decided to expand the already vast garden by buying one plot of land after another, until the whole slopy countryside that linked the villa to the sea was annexed to the Cacciola's property. Apparently, this decision earned her in 1894 a reproach from English archaeologist Arthur Evans. While completing the 4th and last volume of The History of Sicily from the Earliest Times, which he had written together with his (by then deceased) father-in-law, Edward Augustus Freeman, Evans criticised Mrs Cacciola's mass purchasing as it would have prevented future archaeological digs in a place so near to the Greek Theatre, and with sure archaeological and historical relevancy. ("This, with others of the most interesting and beautiful sites of Taormina, has passed into the possession of an English proprietress, who has barred the access and warned off the civilized portion of mankind in four languages", p. 110-111) Previously, on June 1890, Florence had bought the former islet of Santo Stefano (which German baron and photographer Wilhelm von Gloeden baptized as Isola Bella, beautiful island, as it is globally known). There she had a house built, and rare and expensive exotic flora planted. These plants soon merged with the islet's local vegetation creating a unique natural environment, enriched by the presence of many (and sometimes rare) species of migratory birds, insects and reptiles, like the red-bellied lizard (Podarci Sicula Medemi) which only lives there.

In 1891, Florence gave birth to a stillborn son. She decided to leave her husband and moved away from Villa Cacciola, going on to live alone even further in the countryside, in a small cottage on mt. Venere. Nearby the house, she had a mausoleum built, and a roadside that connected mt. Venere to Taormina. She became particularly involved in the charity works, like establishing a fund that would have provided the daughters of fishermen with a dowry. Furthermore, she immersed herself in the creation of an English-style garden (or landscape garden) which she will name the Hallington Siculo, after her English childhood home. Like she had done with Isola Bella, Florence mixed exotic with native plants to create a peculiar habitat. In order to make the place even more special, she had the garden scattered with many small follies (Mrs Cacciola called them "beehives"). These picturesque buildings were made of local materials: bricks, wood, and various types of stones, and even capitals and other from the Greek-Roman period and XV-XVIth century decorative elements. The hives served as a bird observatory and places where she could relax while reading or having tea alone or with friends. Taking inspiration from her esoteric interests, she added a small megalithic construction (a cromlech) made of limestone, with the ulterior intention to re-use the advanced materials. As an animal lover, she also had some cages installed to house peacocks, parrots, canaries and pigeons. These renovations plus the amazing panorama seen from the garden (ranges from mt. Etna, the Ionian sea and the surrounding countryside), makes the Hallington Siculo a true heaven on earth.

Florence and her husband had become incredibly well-known in Sicily and abroad. In 1896 (and again in 1904 and 1906) they were visited by Kaiser Wilhelm II of Prussia during his stays in Taormina, while in 1906 it was the time of King Edward VII of the United Kingdom (Florence's supposed former flirt) and his wife Queen Alexandra. Other personalities included Gabriele D’Annunzio, Edmondo De Amicis, Oscar Wilde (she would finance after he got released following the charges of omosexuality), Otto Geleng, D.H. Lawrence, Ignazio and Franca Florio, Joseph and Tina Withaker.

Following her son's death, she had developed diabetes. To cure her, her brother-in-law Carlo, the only pharmacist in Taormina, injected her with strychnine (at that time considered a cure for many illnesses). In September 1907 her conditions worsened, so that she had to go back to Villa Cacciola. There she died a couple of days later, on October 4th. Respecting her wishes, she was buried in the mausoleum on mt. Venere.

Dying childless, she had named as her heirs two of her father's cousins, Robert Calverley Trevelyan (her long-time penfriend and confidante) and his brother George Macaulay Trevelyan. Her husband obtained only the usufruct of Isola Bella, the Hallington Siculo, and the plots on mt. Venere, which after his death, would have gone to his wife's English relations. Florence's heirs had to follow strict rules, all devoted to the preservation of the flora and fauna which inhabited those places. And so, the peacocks, goats, doves, canaries, and so on, which had been a great company for her in those past years, had to live in health and comfort, tended with cure and love. As for the vegetation, nobody was allowed to work the land, cut any tree, or build houses. Salvatore soon remarried with his maid Ida Mosca, and adopted his young nephew Cesare Acrosso, who will later become a lawyer and the last fascist mayor of Taormina. Taking care of his first wife's properties soon became for Mr Cacciola a real hassle. In order to get free from this, in 1923 he asked for his nephew's aid and got in touch with his political enemy Giovanni Colonna, Duke of Cesarò (Acrosso was his secretary). In exchange for his political retirement, Cacciola obtained that the Hallington Siculo was expropriated for "public interest". The garden became then property of the town of Taormina, was dismembered, reduced to a quarter of its original size, and renamed "Parco Giovanni Colonna Duca di Cesarò". On February 19th 2019, thanks to a municipal decision, it changed again its name, becoming "Parco Florence Trevelyan", finally giving her original owner and curator the proper recognition.

As for Isola Bella, at Salvatore Cacciola's death in 1927, it was inherited by Cesare Acrosso (alongside with Cacciola's palace), who will sell it in 1954 to Leone and Emilio Bosurgi. The two businessmen brothers, disregarding Florence Trevelyan's will and wishes, built 12 individual homes, plus a small pool perfectly camouflaged between rocks and vegetation, to accommodate and entertain friends and clients. When their firm went bankrupt in the 80s, they were forced to auction off the islet. In 1990 Isola Bella was finally bought by the Sicilian Region, which transformed it into a wildlife reserve, reverting back to what Florence had intended. 

Every year, on October 4th, a small ceremonial is held before a bust portraying Mrs Trevelyan in her dedicated park. It's a commemoration open to all of those wishes to remember and thank a woman who did so much for Taormina in her time, and left a lot to the future generations.

#women #history of women #history #historical women #women in history #florence trevelyan cacciola #contemporary sicily #taormina #salvatore cacciola #Province of Messina #people of sicily #women of sicily #cesare acrosso #giovanni colonna di cesarò #myedit #historyedit

[wowzers-howzers]

Ok *slaps hands together* got some good good content right here. Rohan x wife!reader x Jotaro

Reader is joot’s wife, sex pollen stand trope, you know the deal. It’s obviously smut so like yea. Also, it’s a collab with @sacreddarknesss and we listened to Dreamscape the entire time we wrote. Brit Knee is an OC me and my friend came up with on the fly.

Mori mori mori moriocho radioooooo

Morioh was a quiet town, save for the occasional unruly stand user. Rohan sighed to himself in boredom. The only bad part of this town was the fact that there was nothing to do. When inspiration is lacking, the only thing to do was wander around until it struck.

The artist stands up, slowly stretching his back out. Hearing a few pops, he smiles to himself. Maybe he could go check on that new cafe downtown? Or maybe he could people watch down at the beach? Options.

Rohan checks his Rolex and notes that it’s a little after lunchtime, prime time at the cafe. He decides to go there and packs up his camera and a small sketch pad should inspiration strike him.

Walking briskly down the sidewalk, Rohan sees a streak of pink in the corner of his eye. Odd; He slows his walk to a stop and looks around cautiously. Something isn’t right.

Rohan’s emerald eyes flit across the street and at the various suburban homes lined up neatly as far as he can see. Nothing seems off, until he notices an unusual plant breaking up the monotony of the pristine lawns. It looks to be a large Calla lily in full bloom. That shouldn’t even be possible, Morioh doesn’t have the proper climate to support those. Odd.

Deciding to investigate, Rohan crosses the road and silently creeps toward the flower. Inspecting the leaves, suddenly a fine mist sprays out from the stalk of the flower. A sickly sweet scent envelopes Rohan in a stupor. His senses are overwhelmed with the strong smell and he finds himself on his knees coughing. His eyes are watering from the aroma.

“What the hell?!” He shouts, covering his mouth with his shirt. Rohan quickly scans his surroundings, hoping to find the stand user, but he has no such luck. Damn. He fishes his phone out of his messenger bag and dials Jotaro’s number. He was given orders to call Jotaro should any stand related problems arise.

Rohan waits with bated breath as the line rings several times. His hands grip his pants tightly, knuckles turning white from strain. Rohan feels his entire body burning, like a flame swallowing him up. A haze falls over his vision. This stand could pose a serious threat if he doesn’t get Jotaro here now to take it out.

Finally, the line clicks and a female voice greets him on the other side.

“Hello? Who is it?”

Rohan’s throat tightens up and his mouth goes dry.

“Get Jotaro,” he manages to sputter. He hears a commotion on the other end as (y/n) fetches her husband. Rohan swallows roughly, trying to ignore the pulsating tension flowing through his body.

“I don’t know where he is. Are you okay?” Concern is evident in her voice.

Rohan clenches his jaw.

“Enemy stand. Go to the old bookstore. I’m across the street,” he gasps out.

The dial tone drones on. He hopes that she is hurrying. He doesn’t know how much more he can deal with choking every time he breathes.

Rohan lays down on the cool grass, his senses heightened and feeling every blade of grass against his skin. His head pounds with what feels like a migraine and his vision swims deliriously.

He can’t get the sound of her voice out of his head. The soft tone plays on repeat.

Jotaro’s wife was a wildcard. She was a powerful stand user, but she rarely used her powers, preferring to be a support on the back lines. She had a quick wit and didn’t hesitate to give verbal lashings to anyone she believed deserved it. The image of her stuck in his head. No matter how hard he tried, he could never quite capture her in drawing. Her soft features, silky hair, lovely curves. Wait. Rohan tried to snap himself out of it. He had never thought of her in any sexual way, mainly out of respect to Jotaro, but now? He couldn’t help imagining her plush thighs in his hands, her gasps for more, how warm and soft she would feel around him. What was he doing?

Rohan feels a new tension in his stomach and notices his pants tightening slightly. He moves to sit up and groans at the friction. Why was he so hypersensitive? It must have something to do with that stand.

Panicking slightly, he realizes that he may not be able to actually fight the stand user. His mind is too clouded and stuck on his base desires. Part of him has the sick desire that (Y/N) will help him with that after they defeat the stand user. Rohan imagines her form, covered in glistening sweat after an exhausting battle, chest moving up and down as she pants.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears a shout of his name. Oh. His name. The way it flows out of her mouth has him whining. More. He wants her to say his name more. (Y/N) sprints across the street and kneels down next to Rohan.

“Are you hurt? What happened? Did you see the user?” She rapidly fires questions at him. Rohan stares at her in a daze, unable to speak. She frowns slightly and puts a hand to his forehead.

“You’re burning up!” She shouts, but Rohan can only comprehend her soft skin on him, hoping to feel even more. He barely chokes down a whimper when she takes her hand back.

Her (e/c) eyes shoot around her surroundings, looking for anyone who may be watching. She slowly stands up, clenching her fists as she calls out her stand.

She notices movement behind the curtained window of the house whose lawn they were in. Bingo!

Bounding to the door, (y/n) quickly rips the door open and grabs the user before they have the chance to even react.

“What did you do? Tell me what you did!” She yells at the cowering man in her grasp. He looks back at (y/n) in utter disbelief, how had he been found out so quickly? He smirks as he stands up slowly, looking over the female, assessing how much of a threat she is. (y/n) glares at the man, his long blonde hair parting on the left side, with hints of a strawberry pink highlight going down the middle of the part. His blue cyan eyes look her up and down rapidly, perhaps if he activates his stand in time he could have a chance of seducing her.

He smiles widely now that he has the skeleton of a plan forming in his mind. He adjusts his belt buckle, showing off both the gender symbols, his entire outfit screaming 80’s. The white bell bottom pants, the pink v-neck shirt, and the bedazzled pink scarf around his tense neck showing off one of his many amazing hobbies.

“Why hello there beautiful, what brings you over to my humble abode?”

“Well I can’t kick your ass without coming inside now can I?”

“Aweee easy kitten, I don’t mean much trouble. I just wanted to help your friend out there, it seems like he was a little wound up.”

“What the hell did you do to him!”

“Heh, well sugar, I’ll tell ya, if you let me have a little fun with ya.” His smile grows wider as (y/n) glares harshly at him, ready to kick his ass into the next millennium.

“Listen, I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but there is now way in hell I would ever even consider ‘messing around’ with you. Now tell me what the hell you’ve done to my friend or I’ll beat your ass!”

“Oooh~, kinky. Well, my dear, my name is Brit Knee and it seems that I’m going to have to teach you a lesson on how to be much nicer to people, you naughty little thing.~”

(Y/n) grimaces in disgust. Fucking cretin. Brit waves his hand up dramatically in the air as his stand materializes, a bright pink stand covered in calla lillies emerges from the ground. It’s face is made from one giant calla lily, and it makes a noise which roughly sounds like a horse neighing. It raises its petal covered arms and fires lillies at (y/n), who quickly doges out of the way.

“That’s it!” (y/n) yells summoning her stand, a giant dolphin-human hybrid emerges from behind (y/n).

“Tell me what you did,” she growls out, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him in the air. Brit chokes at the pressure on his neck.

“Fine!” He sputters. (Y/N) drops him to the ground abruptly, standing over the pathetic man ready to fight if he tries anything.

“Bare Naked Ladies is an aphrodisiac, but I can’t take away its effect,” he cries. “Once you inhale it’s fumes, if you don’t have sex within 24 hours you die!” Brit whimpers on the ground, curling into a ball. “I can’t do anything now so please don’t kill me!”

(Y/N) scowls in disgust. This stand’s power is absolute hedonism. What’s this about dying? She never knew a stand could do something like that.

“What do you mean? Are you even telling the truth?” She interrogates the bawling man.

“I said what I meant! He will die! I swear I’m not lying! Please don’t kill me!” He continues cowering like a little bitch.

“Well how do I stop it?” She questions.

“Well...uhhhhh...hmmm...my best recommendation is take him to a whore house,” he mutters under his breath.

“A what?!”

“Get him a prostitute!” Brit Knee cries out.

“He’ll have to fuck it out of his system!”

“What the fuck kinda stand is that?!” She screams.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me! I am creature I cannot help this!” He cries. (y/n) glares at the broken man before her, almost pitying him. But then she pushes her pity aside and decides to deck him in the face.

-Time skip-

Rohan is curled against the ground, cradling his massive headache. (Y/N) slowly approaches him, hearing him groan in pain.

“How could I be so stupid? Putting my face in a plant! I, the great Rohan Kishibe, have made an utterly terrible mistake!” He cries out to himself.

“Shut up, stop being a baby,” (Y/N) scowls at him. “I found the stand user, he’s done. Let’s get you fixed up,” she leans down to pick up the smaller man.

Rohan cries out almost immediately after (y/n) touches him, which makes her pull away in shock. She sees him sweating and clenching his jaw. Rohan struggles to get to his feet alone.

“Don’t touch me,” he breathes out.

“Are you okay to walk?”

“Who did this?” Rohan demands.

“Brit Knee bitch,” she solemnly answers. “Sorry, that was a joke,” she trails off.

Rohan doesn’t even acknowledge her, “Where is Jotaro?”

“I don’t know. I’ll take you to the hotel in the meantime, you’re in no state to go anywhere alone right now,” she reasons, offering an arm to Rohan again, which he promptly refuses.

“We can call Koichi when we get back. He may know where Jotaro is.” (Y/N) looks sympathetically to the artist. He was drenched in sweat and visibly struggling to keep a grip on himself. He walked with a drunken stupor and (y/n) couldn’t help but grab his shoulders to steady him.

“Please,” he begs her, “I don’t know if you should do that.”

“Well I do know that you can’t walk so unless you have a better idea, this will do,” she snaps at him. Picking him up in her arms, she speedwalks to the hotel, ignoring any passerby’s who look oddly at the pair.

(y/n) enters the hotel, doing her best to ignore the gazes of the staff and any guests who happen to walk by. They probably thought she was having an affair, as they knew that she had checked in with her husband who was definitely not the man she was carrying up to her room right now. Rohan tries his hardest to ignore the problem arising in him, but it’s hard to do when the woman you’ve been silently pining after is holding you in her arms. (y/n) quickly makes her way to the suit and enters, using her foot to kick the door closed. She makes her way over to the bed, gently setting him down, much to his dismay.

Rohan breathes in the smell of the sheets and notices how much they smell like her. How many times had she and Jotaro laid in this bed together? If only she knew how badly he wanted to take Jotaro’s place, holding her and loving her until neither of them could stay awake.

Oblivious to Rohan’s thoughts, (y/n) quickly dials Koichi’s home phone. She bounces leg to leg, praying for someone to pick up soon. The line connects and she smiles brightly, happy for a breakthrough. Rohan notices her smile and can’t help but breath out heavily, wishing he could make her smile like that.

“Hello, this is the Hirose residence. Who is this?”

“Hey Coochie,” (y/n) laughs to herself at her joke, “Is Jotaro there?”

Rustling is heard on the other end as Coochie goes to check, a distant sounding “yes” is heard as he readjusts the receiver.

“Yes he’s here, want me to get him Mrs. Kujo?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” He sets the phone down and runs off leaving (y/n) on hold.

(Y/N) worriedly looks toward the artist resting on her bed, hoping that Jotaro has an answer on what to do about this. The phone is picked back up and a gruff voice answers.

“(y/n), what’s wrong?”

“Well, ya see, um…” she trails off. “Rohan got attacked by a stand, I took care of the user but there are some...residual effects.”

“Residual effects?”

“Um, he is, uh, incapacitated by, well I don’t know how to put it. The user said something about fuck or die.”

“What?”

“Fuck or die? I don’t know but he made it clear that if Rohan doesn’t get release within 24 hours, he will die.”

“Well isn’t there a strip club in this town? Take him there. He has enough money to get a happy ending,” Jotaro reasons.

“I don’t think so? Even if they did, I really doubt it’d be like American strip clubs where money will get you anything.”

“Does he have anyone who he can call for this?”

“What, like a booty call? Him? Fat chance of that, but I’ll ask,” she answers. Calling out to Rohan, “Do you have anyone who um, you could ask for, hm how should I put this? A favor? Of the sexual kind?”

“I’m not a whore,” he shoots back.

“Yea that’s a no from him,” she informs her husband.

“No wonder he is so awful. Can’t even get laid. Well, do what you have to do.”

“What? What are you saying Jojo?”

“Fuck him. Quick and easy. It’s not like we have any other options. We can’t just let him die. Good grief, woman, what do you think I’m saying?”

“But! I can’t just! I-I can’t do that!” She protests.

“Why not? You aren’t cheating on me, and it’s not like he will come back for more. If that’s the only way to save him, I’ll allow it.”

“Jojo! I feel like I should have a say in this!”

“Okay. What do you want to do about this? Do you have any better suggestions?”

“Not really, but there must be some other way,” she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

“What’s the issue then?”

“I-I don’t want to do this alone…”

“Good grief, speak your mind!”

“Please come back. We can do it...together?”

“I’ll be there in 5 minutes,” he abruptly ends the call.

(Y/N) let’s out an unsteady breath. What had she just agreed to? A threesome with her husband and Rohan? How would that even work? She glances over to Rohan, seeing him panting.

Five minutes pass agonizingly slowly. Finally, the door to the room is opened and quickly slammed shut as Jotaro stalks into the room.

Jotaro glares at the man on the bed, “Pathetic.”

Rohan scoots away from the side of the bed closest to Jotaro, inadvertently bumping right up against (y/n).

“Are you sure this is the only way?” (Y/N) looks at Jotaro.

Rohan covers his lap under the fluffy duvet and looks down.

(Y/N) rubs his back, to which Rohan responds with a low gasp.

Jotaro’s eyes squint, “It seems this is the best course of action.”

Rohan looks between the two, silently praying that one of them will break the tension and just start.

(Y/N) shakily puts her hand against Rohan’s chest.

“Don’t worry, we will take care of you,” she soothes.

Rohan shudders at her low voice and pushes against her touch. Jotaro gets the message and stands behind (y/n) resting his hands on her hips.

She nervously pulls Rohan forward into her grasp and gently kisses him.

It’s like a shock to his system. Rohan can’t help himself as he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her back onto the bed, her legs straddling him. Jotaro leans over and leaves soft kisses up and down (y/n)’s neck, ending by sucking against the junction where her neck meets her shoulder.

Rohan’s hands roam all over her body, coming to rest on her chest. He gives an experimental squeeze, eyes lighting up when he hears her shuddering groan. Jotaro holds her hips tightly in his own grasp, hot breath fanning across the back of her neck. The taller man pulls her ass towards himself and slowly grinds against her, feeling himself start to harden.

(Y/N) reaches a tentative hand down to Rohan’s lap, and squeaks in surprise when he roughly grabs her hand and pushes his hard length against it. Rohan shakily sighs, finally getting some form of friction. Taking his lead, she massages him, pressing the palm of her hand firmly along his cock.

She sighs as Jotaro, kneels behind her, giving her support from the awkward angle she was in. He gently caresses her ass, ghosting his large hands over her heat.

Rohan whines against (y/n)’s touch and quickly breaks apart from her soft kisses to take his shirt off, finding the constriction unbearable.

“Calm down there buddy,” (y/n) laughs nervously, only to be met with Rohan’s lust-blown eyes. His mouth is parted slightly, panting. Rohan looks to Jotaro, as if asking permission to do something. Jotaro nods slightly. Rohan roughly pulls your shirt up and off of you, leaving you in a bra. Jotaro makes quick work of that, flinging the now useless garment somewhere in the room.

You gasp in shock and Rohan greedily takes one of your nipples into his mouth, already roughly grabbing and massaging the other one.

“R-Rohan!”

He growls against you and lightly nips at your sensitive chest. Jotaro, not one to be outdone, pulls your pants down and off of your legs, leaving you in your underwear. He presses one hand roughly against your clothed slit. Your back arches against him.

Rohan pulls you down to sit on his lap, relishing in the heat between your legs rubbing against him deliciously. Jotaro glares at him, resigning himself to holding your head back for heated kissing.

You wiggle your hips, gyrating on Rohan, sending him into even more of a frenzy than before. Jotaro snakes an arm around you to reach down your front side. His hand momentarily rests against the elastic band of your panties before diving underneath, teasing you with one finger against your lips. You whine against him, trying to adjust your hips to feel more, but Jotaro refuses to give in and finger you. Instead, he gently presses against your clit, adding more and more pressure every time you move against him.

“J-jojo, please,” she whines needily.

“Please what?”

“Please go in, please use your hand, I can’t take the teasing,” (y/n) grinds against Rohan and Jotaro’s fingers.

Suddenly, Jotaro dips his fingers into her wet pussy, roughly finger-fucking her. She screams out, slamming her hips down, making Rohan moan as well.

Hearing him, (y/n) looks down and sees how painfully clothed he still is.

“Rohan,” she mewls. “Take your pants off, please~”

He visibly shakes, hearing her beg and say his name so sweetly is like music to his ears. He slides his pants down, leaving him in only boxers. (Y/N) palms against him before grabbing him through the thin material. He gasps at her hard touch. Keening against her for more, Rohan bucks his hips into her grasp.

(Y/N)’s thighs squeeze against Jotaro’s hand, prompting him to take his hand out, seductively licking her moisture from his fingers before giving her another open-mouth kiss.

Tasting herself on him, she moans against him, tilting her hips against him to give him a roll. Jotaro breathes out heavily before pulling back and stripping off everything. (Y/N) finds herself licking her lips, watching her husband take it all off for her before he rejoins her on the bed. Jotaro presses his thick length against her still clothed pussy, rubbing in between her thighs, groaning at the feeling.

Rohan watches with rapt attention, the pure eroticism of the action making him drool. He watches (y/n)’s face as it contorts in pleasure. Rohan grips himself, tugging himself out of his boxers, grabbing her hand to grip him directly.

His tip is leaking, after being so needy and wanting for so long, he can’t take much more waiting.

Jotaro grabs (y/n)’s hips, hands playing with the band of her panties before ripping them off.

“H-hey! Those were my good ones!” She protests.

“Shut up, I’ll buy you more,” Jotaro silences her, one hand holding her neck, not putting pressure on it yet, but just holding it there. Rohan, taking the moment she is distracted, runs his fingers through her folds, gathering up moisture.

She squeaks in shock, watching as Rohan puts the finger in his mouth, sucking her essence off of him.

“Exquisite,” he sighs, gazing at her adoringly.

“Mine,” Jotaro replies, possessively grabbing (y/n)’s body, positioning himself at her entrance.

“Me first,” he grunts, relishing in the feeling of her tight walls clamping down on him.

(Y/N) let’s out a shaky gasp, never getting used to how well her husband fills her up, just how large he is. Jotaro finally bottoms out, only to pull her hips back up before dropping her back on his dick. Rohan watches, eyes stuck on the sight of her cunt swallowing the large dick whole.

“Make yourself useful,” Jotaro glares at Rohan, prompting him to stimulate her clit while she bounces on his cock. Rohan eagerly complies, using his hands to rub against her.

(Y/N) cries out, overstimulated from Jotaro’s dick jackhammering into her combined with Rohan’s skilled hands working her clit.

“G-Gonna cum,” she gasps out, thighs clenching, hips bucking against Jotaro.

“Cum for me, show him how well I treat you,” Jotaro growls in her ear.

(Y/N)’s orgasm hits her like a freight train, spasms ripping through her body as her vision whites out from the pleasure. Her pussy clenches onto Jotaro’s cock, bringing him to release too.

He holds her hips steadily against his own, panting in her ear as he empties himself out into her. Rohan finds himself transfixed by the sight of Jotaro’s cum oozing out of her.

“Here. Your turn,” Jotaro removes himself from her folds still breathing heavily.

“Blow his mind, honey,” he whispers against her ear. (Y/N) shudders at the gravelly tone in his voice before nodding, falling down to cage Rohan between her arms. Her arms support her weight, not wanting to just fall against the smaller man. He is broken out of his stupor when she lines herself up against his cock and sinks down slowly.

To say Rohan enjoyed it would be an understatement. It was pure bliss, Jotaro’s cum acting as a lubricant, allowing him to slide against her velvety walls. The warmth made him feel like he was melting underneath her, eyes rolling back as she finally reached the bottom.

Giving an experimental roll of her hips, Rohan’s arm shot up to her back, his nails digging in in pleasure.

“A-Ah~ (y/n)! Please,” he begged. Oh how the mighty fall. The great Rohan Kishibe, reduced to a begging fool at the slightest provocation. If he had the mental wherewithal to be ashamed, he would be, but right now, the only thing he could think about was how warm and wet her pussy was as she bounced up and down on him.

(Y/N)’s sweat-covered body warmed up again, the angle Rohan’s dick hitting her in just the right way. Her back arched, pushing her pelvis against him. The new position added just the right amount of friction against her clit with every bounce of her body.

“Rohan, I’m, fuck, I’m cumming!” She shouted, her hips losing rhythm as she ground herself against him, clenching down. Rohan moves his hands to her hips and roughly pulled her up and thrust into her, not wanting to lose the delicious friction.

Gasping out, (y/n)’s body went into overdrive, the added pleasure wiping her out entirely. “F-fuck~!”

Rohan moaned his approval, hips canting to meet her hips every time he dropped her down onto his dick.

“So close,” he cried out. Unable to hold out any longer, Rohan slammed with more fervor. Like an animal seeking release, Rohan held her body tightly against him until finally the coil of tension snapped, crying out as he rode out his orgasm.

“(Y/N)!” Rohan couldn’t help but scream her name, shooting his cum inside her to mix with Jotaro’s. His vision was filled with stars, drool spilling out of his parted mouth, body entirely blissed out.

Jotaro watched in amusement, he knew his wife was a dream in bed. He watched as she rolled off of Rohan to the side. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her to the bathroom to clean her up.

“You’re welcome,” he said, kicking the bathroom door closed to clean (y/n) up.

Rohan, thoroughly spent, stared up at the ceiling, unable to move from his pure exhaustion. His body finally started ramping down, finally relaxing after hours of pure tension.

#My writing #rohan x reader #rohan x reader x jotaro #jotaro x reader #part 4 jojo #rohan kishibe #jotaro kujo #youtube

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (8)

Chapter 8: Ensnared | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: Hi guys, I’m happy that you’re enjoying the story so far! But I have to let you know that I’ll be in a quick pause from publishing chapters for a while because I have to drop off my laptop in the shop again to have my new SSD put in (because I don’t know how to do it myself). They said it might take five working days, but that will still depend on my place in line. So this might be the last chapter for now, but I hope I get this baby back soon!

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Part 7 | Next: Part 9 | Masterlist

9 of ?

“Hey, Irele, I got a job for us!” the Twi’lek boy, Frelik, panted as he supported himself on the arch of their door, as if he came sprinting from the town to their house in the salt flats.

“For who? Where? When!?” Irele bombarded back, and luckily Frelik answered all questions.

Irele looked over his shoulder, he had reached her house using the sand skimmer that all five of them worked together on. She told them to wait, hurried back inside, jumping to the floor from the first landing of the stairs to the rotunda and sprinted to her bedroom. She was all over the place—flashing from one side of the room to the other, swiping her pack with her tools and her scarf lying in different spots.

“I’m going out!” she announced in a voice loud enough for Owen and Beru to hear, wherever they were, and there was no time for either husband or wife to respond. They just heard the door whiz open and then shut.

Another wrangling job with her friends. It was a normal day, but it was something she enjoyed.

They’ve traveled about ten miles east of Mos Espa. The skimmer did its job, it resembles perhaps a smaller rendition of the complementary hovercraft that comes with a sail barge. Through his binoculars, Frelik spotted a cluster of brown speckles in the sand—a Bantha herd, he had found. Their quarry.

“Drello, full speed ahead!” cried out the tan-skinned Twi’lek to the human male. The boy cranked the lever of the motor and they pulled forward.

They stopped their skimmer in a safe distance, atop a small hill that overlooks the Banthas gathered around a watering hole—a rare sight in this planet. After peering through the lens, Frelik handed the binoculars to no one in particular, Irele took it out of his hands.

“Those aren’t domesticated, alright,” she panned slightly to her right. “We can slide our way down there. We’ll have enough cover so they won’t be startled by us.”

Before they got themselves on the move, Irele scanned the area for any signs of Tusken Raiders. It was not uncommon to have a run-in with Tuskens who were also trying to wrangle up mounts for their numbers; should that happen, the most logical—and only—move is to try your luck for another herd. A group of adult Tuskens versus a small band of children are in no good odds whatsoever.

“We’re clear. We’re the only ones here,” she reassured then returned the binoculars to Frelik. They sprinted back to the skimmer to retrieve their sleds and boards.

“I’m gonna ruin your win streak today, Irele!” prided Drello.

She clapped back after pulling her goggles down and smirked, “We’ll see about that!”

The children ran to the edge of the slope, the Twi’lek siblings shared a sled, Heeda—the other human female besides Irele—had her own sled that can only fit her. Golden blonde and sandy brown tinted the girl’s hair, and a bright-eyed face that proves her to be the youngest of the group, being only a year behind Irele.

A trail of sand plumed as they zipped down. It was a collective skill for them to resist squealing and cheering in delight as they slide down a two- to three-mile long sand slide. Irele and Drello surfed with a quiet confidence in the middle of this friendly competition between the two of them; sweving and leaving snake-trails along the sand, as one overtook the other.

Show off! Said each teenager in their heads, referring to the other.

Only a few meters remain before the group lands on flat grounds. They hopped out of their rides and hurried behind the rocks.

“I thought you were gonna beat my streak, Drello?” jeered Irele.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever!” the boy chide, and the girl snickered under her breath.

Another cautionary look through the lens before they approach the herd and then they scrambled to their positions. For every job they took together, there was always a harmony amongst them, a testament to their three to four years of friendship forged by their odd job life.

As always, Irele was in charge of the actual wrangling—along with Drello and Frelik. The two other girls’ jobs were to tranquilize the animals should any of them escape or refuse to be mounted.

The three vaulted over the rocks, leaving Heeda and Venee—Frelik’s sister—behind. Producing ropes out of their packs as they prowled quietly in the Banthas’ blind spots. Given the beast’s width, the children are practically invisible if they stay directly behind them. They became slower when they crept slower, the ropes primed into a lasso. In all their years in practice of this dangerous trade, they’ve mastered how to cleanly hoop the rope around the Bantha’s thick, spiraling horns.

A solid tug indicated that their ropes have rung around the base of the horns, they jumped onto the giants’ backs. Drello’s Bantha bucked its massive head, attempting to wriggle the rope off. Unfortunately, the boy had caught perhaps a more aggressive one than the rest of the herd; and to add insult to injury, his ropes have tangled around his leg and a few strands of the Bantha’s fur caught along with it.

“Drello, hold on!”

“Irele!” Drello yelped. “HELP!”

“Stay still!”

Seeing the trouble from their post, Heeda and Venee primed their dart guns.

“Wait for my signal, Heeda,” Venee warned. Fives seconds when they saw a clear shot, “Now!”

Two darts charged with a strong dosage of tranquilizer pierced their way through the Bantha’s curtain of fur and thick hide. The girth of the needle was thick enough to penetrate the animal’s skin. Drello’s Bantha seemed to have slowed down and the boy finally won some control over the beast.

“Troublemaker, are ya?! I’ll sell you to the first butcher I see in town!” grumbled a vexed Drello.

“Aw come on, don’t be like that!”

“What? He was the one who tried to buck me off while my leg’s caught in the rope,”

“Maybe he doesn’t like you,” Frelik suggested jokingly and the rest of the children giggled in agreement.

For the Banthas who didn’t put up much of a fight and were tamer, Irele suggested strapping their skimmer to the beasts.

“Since they got ropes around their horns anyway, we can just tie the other end on the winch!” she suggested, and everyone loved the fun idea.

There were no objections from her friends. In fact, they were all in on it! Heeda and Venee wanted to the ride bareback on the Bantha while the other three would sit in the skimmer. All five teenagers giggled in excitement and delight as their idea is about to be put into play, until Irele’s smile vanished, she flinched when she felt a needle prick the back of her shoulder.

“This is PG-957, target has been found and marked.” a sinister, muffled voice spoke through his comlink gauntlet.

No one noticed the tiny dart that had landed in her shoulder, but she easily swatted it off like it was some kind of debris. Little did she know that the tiny bullet that hit her packed such a punch. In her easterly side, she saw two distant figures calling out to her. The first figure waved a piece of cloth to get her attention, the second cupped their mouth with their hands to amplify their voice.

Irele!! Come quick!

“Hey, Irele, what’s wrong?” Frelik asked as he noticed his friend has suddenly gotten quiet.

“Smoke?” she muttered under her breath.

She squinted her eyes, sheltered her head with her scarf and confirmed that a pillar of smoke was in the distance as the Banthas pulled their skimmer.

“Do you see that?” she asked to no one in particular.

“See what?”

“That! That column of smoke over there!”

Frelik and Drello exchanged confused glances, and then back to Irele who had her back turned to them.

She squinted again, the two figures appeared to have gotten closer to where they are, and she could hear their voices.

IRELE, HURRY, IT’S YOUR FAMILY!!

“My home!” she bursts.

“Whoa, hey, Irele, where are you going!?” Drello tried to stop her by grabbing her sleeve but she slipped away.

Irele literally jumped out of a moving skimmer, taking her things with her as well.

“Irele, hey! Come back!” Heeda screeched.

“Where is she going!?” Venee exclaimed.

“There’s nothing over there!” Frelik insisted to his friend as he—along with his companions—watched her sprint into the distant nothingness.

Irele sprinted as fast as she could, those two figures materialized into a pair of older human males. Her friends literally lost her in the desert just when they were about to make their way back to Mos Espa, where they client awaits.

“I can’t see her anymore! Frelik, can you!?”

The Twi’lek growled in frustration, “No, she went straight into the storm!”

“Is she crazy!?” his sister protested.

“We have to go after her!” Heedra insisted.

“We’re not equipped for a sandstorm, Heeda, we can’t turn around. We have to get back to town and get shelter!” Drello argued.

They have no choice. They continued in their original path but they wordlessly promised that they’d come back for her.

Irele followed the direction of the smoke, knowing that it’s coming from the homestead. The adrenaline made her forget the aching of her legs, exhausted from running. She cared not if her friends didn’t believe her, her vision narrowed to the direction of her house. She didn’t even notice that the two males she followed were out of her sight.

The tower of black smoke got bigger as she closed the distance further. At the top of her parched lungs, she cried out for her family.

“OWEN!! BERU!!” she screeched.

She caught sight of her homestead in flames—or so she thinks—the dirty white dome of her house was charred black, a gaping hole put into the front door, the machines in their rotunda had been blown up, and tattered rags scattered across the front of the house.

“No…” she gasped. “NO!! OWEN! BERU! WHERE ARE YOU!?”

She repeated these three names, but an answer did not come.

Irele… a voice called to her.

“Owen!?”

Irele… do not fight it. It instructed her. It was a deep, ominous voice, and after the last word, a sharp robotic breath followed.

She recognizes that voice anywhere. She’s heard it in her nightmares, during the nights where she cannot sleep.

“No… No… Bring them back!” she cried.

She did not know it was an illusion. The sniper who had planted the needle into her flesh had followed the girl aimlessly going into an incoming sandstorm.

Poor Irele spun around in a panic, thinking that she was standing in the premises of her home, when in fact that she was standing in the first few inches of the storm. It was all a blur in her eyes, but she persisted looking for her family. The sniper, a trooper with a unique black armor, watched the poor girl spin until she got dizzy and weak.

Meanwhile, Darth Vader remained unmoving in his meditation chamber, dead center in the black, cold floor. He could hear Irele’s cries, her screaming of Owen and Beru’s names, and he could feel the hot, prickling wind that swats her face. The leather of his gloves squeaked as he tightened his already-closed fists.

Irele…

“No…” she exhaled one last time. “Bring them… back…”

“Target incapacitated. Requesting transport.” The trooper reported and was answered by an incoming transport craft to retrieve the trooper and a knocked out Irele.

–

The storm had eventually died down, but the teenagers’ anxiety did not.

Once they’ve gotten rid of the Banthas, they instantly hopped back on their skimmer and retraced their steps to the location where they lost Irele.

The sandstorm had erased her tracks, but they followed the direction where she aimlessly ran to.

Frelik heavily relied on his binoculars to find any sign of Irele. They had gotten far enough from the path they took when the Banthas pulled their skimmer. Drello may not be the most skilled wrangler, but he was a good tracker.

“We were here when she started talking funny, saying that she sees smoke when there’s nothing at all,” Drello pointed out the subtle indents of their skimmer and the Banthas’ hooves. He then angled his body to his easterly side, mimicking Irele’s position before she ran off. “And then she ran off there.”

“It’s strange,” Frelik added. “I heard her say the word ‘Home’ before she ran… but her house is in that direction.”

“Maybe the heat got to her?” Heeda theorized.

Frelik shook his head, “We didn’t even stay out that long, Heeda.”

“Come on, talking will take us nowhere!” Venee grunted. “Drello, what can you take from here?”

“We go to that direction,”

The skimmer hovered in a steady, leisurely pace; they were careful not to miss anything. The wind picked up as they got farther, a minor aftermath of the sandstorm in the middle of its calm; on his right, Frelik spotted something fluttering in the distance.

“Look! Drello turn us over there,”

Drello went straight ahead for that fluttering brown shape in the wind. Heeda picked it up and they all gathered around it.

“This is Irele’s scarf,” Venee mumbled pessimistically

“Then she must be close!” Heeda’s hopefulness contrasted the Twi’lek girl’s mood.

With only her lost scarf as a clue, it took the group all day trying to find her. The sunset beckoned them to stop. It never crossed their mind that they have to tell this to Owen and Beru, and they were scrambling over on what to tell them, how to say and explain it all, and that they’ll witness firsthand the wrath of Owen Lars—as well as his grief.

Reluctant, they drove their skimmer to the Lars homestead, with only a piece of Irele to bring home to her family. Up to now, not one of them have decided who will speak to Owen—neither do they have the courage to walk up to the front door.

They agreed that they go together, however, they hesitate to come an inch closer.

Eventually, Owen appeared out of the door.

“Oh, good thing you kids are back before dark.”

Silence from the children. Drello clutched onto Irele’s scarf so hard that it creased.

Owen’s eyes shifted left to right, counting in his mind, and it hit him.

“Where’s Irele?”

The teenagers flinched—shoulders flinched, sweaty fists clenched tighter, and knees were knocking.

Owen repeated the question until he spotted the scarf crumpled up into a ball.

“That’s Irele’s,” he pointed weakly at it. “Where is she!?”

“We… We’re sorry, but we lost her…”

“Lost her? Lost her!? Lost her how?!”

The raising of Owen’s voice attracted Beru—carrying Luke—to go outside. She finds Irele’s group being confronted by her husband.

“Owen, what’s going on here?”

“Irele didn’t come with them.”

“What?!” Beru gasped, her brown eyes widened.

Venee stepped forward, “We were on our way back, honest! But she started acting strange. She looked distraught about your house, she said she spotted smoke coming from here but…”

“What smoke? We were perfectly fine here all day!” Owen interrupted.

The Twi’lek girl continued, alternately looking to her friends. They vouched her every word with nervous yet truthful nods.

“That’s the thing, sir. What’s worse is… she ran into an incoming sandstorm. That’s when we lost her.”

Heeda stepped in Venee’s side, “It’s true what Venee said. We tried to look for her when the storm passed, honest! We just didn’t want to stay until dark because of the Tuskens.”

“We’re sorry,” Frelik said sadly and with a misplaced guilt. “But this is what we can only find of her.”

Drello unfurled the scarf and held it in both hands, presenting it to Irele’s brother. The young boy stepped forward to hand it over to the man who was hesitant to take it from his hands. Unable to accept that this was a rhyme to the fate of his late stepmother.

“No…” Owen’s rage melted into grief and distress. His heart wrenched. “Oh no…”

“Owen…”

Luke tugged the collar of Beru’s jacket and quietly asked, “Aunt Beru, where’s Irele?”

Unable to grasp how Irele’s friends had lost her, neither can Beru explain it to her nephew-in-law.

“Irele’s… Irele won’t be home for a while, dear.”

“Why?”

At a loss, Beru gave up looking for answers, there were no right ones after all.

“I don’t know, darling, I don’t know…”

As soon as Irele’s scarf came to Owen’s hands, he did not care anymore who would see him break down to tears. His knees melted, his back arched as he embraced a remnant of his dear sister—his remaining closest kin next to Luke—as he was fueled by the burning determination to find her.

Even if it meant he will have to repeat his father’s steps in finding Shmi all those years ago, then he would do the same for Irele. But for this night, the dunes heard his sobs and buried them underneath each and every grain of sand.

The next few days seemed desperate and hopeless. Owen had called up every men who were willing to come with him in search of Irele, her friends joined in as well. By the day, their numbers thinned out—majority giving up on the search as they could not find any other relevant leads except the scarf and the girl’s last known position.

“Give it a rest, Owen! The girl’s probably lost, or worse, fallen into a Sarlacc pit while in a heatstroke daze.”

“DON’T YOU DARE SAY THAT ABOUT MY SISTER!” Owen swung with a finger pointed at the man who claimed such an assumption.

Knowing that this was not worth his time and energy anymore, the scout gave up and turned tail. Owen originally rounded up at least fifty men scattered across the outskirts of the major towns, even as far as the Dune Sea; though little by little, they all gave up on the search as well as Owen himself. Some with a heart apologized and wished him luck in finding the teenage girl.

“Oh, Irele…” Owen huffed, exhausted. “Where are you…?”

He was forced to stop the search just a few hours before sunset. He sent her friends home earlier. Upon returning to the house, he watched as Beru quickly walked out of the kitchen with a hopeful face—only for that hopefulness to fade away when she saw that her husband arrived alone.

She awkwardly dismissed herself and returned to the kitchen. Leaving Luke playing with a toy cruiser and shuttle on the table. Owen sat across him, the boy continued playing and reentered the little world he’s created with his ships, accompanied by little scaled figurines carved out of painted wood.

And from that day forward, something in Owen changed. In the following years, he would have grown old and sterner especially towards the remaining youngest family member—his nephew. Never mind if Luke would resent Owen’s ways in disciplining him or keeping him grounded, if it meant keeping him safe and preventing the same fate to happen to the boy, then he would do it.

He cannot afford to lose another part of his family.

#cal kestis #cal kestis fic #cal kestis x fem oc #fem oc #cal kestis x fem oc fic #irele skywalker #cal kestis x irele skywalker #cal kestis x irele skywalker fic #force-sensitive! oc #anakin's younger sister #skywalker! oc #darth vader's secret apprentice #long-lost sibling #anon #for anon #anon request #fic request #star wars #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars jedi fallen order fic #jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order fic #swjfo #jfo #swjfo fic #jfo fic #sw fic

[sciencespies]

Some women were big-game hunters, complicating ancient gender roles

https://sciencespies.com/humans/some-women-were-big-game-hunters-complicating-ancient-gender-roles/

Some women were big-game hunters, complicating ancient gender roles

Archeological evidence from Peru has revealed that some ancient big-game hunters were, in fact, women, challenging what science writer James Gorman wrote was “one of the most widely held tenets about ancient hunters and gatherers – that males hunted and females gathered.”

“Man the Hunter” is a narrative of human origins developed by early 20th-century anthropologists armed with their imaginations and a handful of fossils.

They viewed hunting – done by men – as the prime driver of human evolution, bestowing upon our early ancestors bipedalism, big brains, tools, and a lust for violence. In this narrative, hunting also gave rise to the nuclear family, as women waited at home for men to bring home the meat.

As an anthropologist who studies hunting and gathering societies, I was thrilled by the discovery of female skeletons buried with big-game hunting paraphernalia, a pattern that raises important questions about ancient gender roles. But I found most of the media coverage it generated disappointingly inaccurate.

Responding to the finding, journalist Annalee Newitz wrote: “Nicknamed ‘man the hunter,’ this is the notion that men and women in ancient societies had strictly defined roles: Men hunted, and women gathered. Now, this theory may be crumbling.“

In fact, that theory died a well-deserved death decades ago.

Hunting origins

In 1966, 75 anthropologists (70 of whom were men) held a symposium called “Man the Hunter” at the University of Chicago to address one of humanity’s grand questions: How did people live before agriculture?

The researchers had lived with and studied contemporary populations of hunting and gathering peoples around the world, from jungle to tundra.

It was there in Chicago that real-life data confronted the myth of Man the Hunter. Researchers showed that women worked just as hard as men, and plant foods gathered by women were crucially important in hunter-gatherer diets.

Hunter-gatherer movement patterns were driven by a variety of ecological factors, not just game. And many hunter-gatherers were quite peaceful and egalitarian. Hunting wasn’t the sole driver or unifying theory of human evolution after all.

By the late 1970s, as anthropologists carried out further research on hunter-gatherers and paid attention to issues of gender, the myth of Man the Hunter fell into disfavor.

Updating beliefs

Even so, subsequent research has affirmed a simple division of labor among hunter-gatherers: men mostly hunt, and women mostly gather. When anthropologist Carol Ember surveyed 179 societies, she found only 13 in which women participated in hunting.

But it is a mistake to conflate this pattern of “most hunters are men” among hunter-gatherers with the myth of Man the Hunter. That myth was born of assumptions, not careful empirical research.

Through decades of field research, anthropologists have developed a more flexible and capacious view of human labor. According to this view, women are not bound by biology to gather, nor men to hunt. In fact, several accounts of women’s hunting in foraging societies had emerged by the mid-1980s.

In this context, ancient female hunters are an expectation, not a surprise. And the focus on Man the Hunter distracts from the more important question of how a society with female big-game hunters might be constructed.

After all, women are perfectly capable of hunting, yet in most hunter-gatherer societies they don’t do it very often.

Hunting and child care

One prominent explanation, elaborated in 1970 by feminist anthropologist Judith Brown, is that the demands of hunting conflict with the provision of child care.

This was supported in a recent review of women’s hunting that surveyed traditional societies around the world; the authors found that pregnant or lactating women do not often hunt, and those with dependents only hunt when child care is available or rich hunting grounds are close to camp.

These constraints play a role in shaping risk preferences. In hunter-gatherers, men’s hunting is risky, meaning it carries a high chance of failure. Men tend to hunt alone or in small groups and target big game with projectile weapons, which often require fast-paced, long-distance travel.

In contrast, women prefer to hunt in groups and focus on smaller, easier-to-capture prey closer to camps, often with the aid of dogs.

Women are often crucial to the hunting success of others, whether through logistical or ritual assistance. Husbands and wives sometimes work collaboratively; in these instances, women may help trap an animal, then club it to death and carry the meat home. And in big-game hunting societies, women provide support to hunters by manufacturing clothing, weaponry, and transportation equipment.

They may also participate in hunting directly by locating, then surrounding and driving game toward a killing location, as seen among high-latitude reindeer hunters and Plains bison hunters. As the authors of the new paper speculate, this is likely how the Peruvian female hunters killed game.

Updated views on plant gathering provide insight into why women may choose not to hunt altogether. No one questioned that hunting is hard, but early anthropologists often assumed women’s gathering was simple and easy.

This turns out to be wrong. Like hunting, gathering demands extensive ecological knowledge and skill that is socially learned and cultivated over a lifetime.

As a result, hunter-gatherers face tough choices about how to divide difficult labor in a 24-hour day. In this context, economic considerations show that it pays to specialize: modest comparative advantages – speed and strength, and the incompatibilities posed by child care – can lead to divisions of labor that increase overall food acquisition by the group.

From this perspective, women’s decisions to hunt less than men may be a rational decision about allocating effort.

The Batek people

Many have assumed that by not hunting, women are relegated to lower status. But is that true?

I conduct my work among the Batek people, hunter-gatherers from the rainforests of Malaysia who are widely considered one of the most gender-egalitarian societies in the world. They have little material inequality, share food widely, abhor violence, and emphasize individual autonomy.

When day breaks at camp, Batek men trek far, usually alone, to hunt monkeys with blowpipes. The women gather tubers or fruit in small groups closer to camp. Nothing prohibits women from hunting, as is the case with some hunter-gatherers where, for example, touching hunting weapons is forbidden.

Batek women sometimes join in group hunts of bamboo rats, but it is otherwise rare. However, there are exceptions. Some teenage girls establish an interest in blowpipe hunting that carries into adulthood.

The Batek people say this division of labor comes down to strength differences, incompatibility with child care, and differences in knowledge specialization.

Hunting has great cultural significance, but women’s knowledge of plant distributions is crucial for collective decisions like moving camp. The Batek conceive of themselves as a co-operative and interdependent group in which each person makes a unique and important contribution toward a communal goal.

Beyond Man the Hunter

Contrary to news reports, the archeological findings from Peru accord well with current knowledge about how and why men and women divide labor among hunter-gatherers. And it has little to do with the myth of Man the Hunter.

The Peruvian hunter-gatherers were big-game specialists who used spear-throwing technologies that were likely relatively easy to learn. This may have enabled more flexible divisions of labor and broader participation in hunting by women, similar to what we see among some hunter-gatherers today.

The social implications beyond these facts are not clear. That’s because one’s role in food collection has no simple relation to status or power dynamics.

New research on neglected topics like the determinants of women’s status and risk-seeking economic behavior in traditional societies promises to shed light on this issue. But as the case with the Batek people shows, among a liberated society of equals, status and power has little to do with who brings in the meat.

Vivek Venkataraman, Assistant Professor of Anthropology and Archaeology, University of Calgary.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

#Humans

#Humans

[dipulb3]

Analysis: Female directors are having a moment

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/analysis-female-directors-are-having-a-moment/

Analysis: Female directors are having a moment

In the year of our Lord 2021, it feels like female directors are finally getting more opportunities — and more acknowledgment.

Take, for example, this past Sunday’s Golden Globe Awards.

Three women were nominated in the best director category for the first time.

Only one woman had ever won the category prior to Sunday, and that was Barbra Streisand in 1984 for “Yentl.”

Here are some of the women who are making waves and headlines in Hollywood:

Chloé Zhao: The “Nomadland” director became the first woman of Asian descent and only the second woman ever to win the best director award at this year’s Golden Globes.

The film’s star, Frances McDormand, told The New York Times Zhao really understood the actress’ affinity for the character who packs up her life in a van and becomes part of an older community of people who work odd jobs across the country.

“Chloé tapped into the truth of it which was at different points of my life, I’ve said to my husband, ‘I can’t take this anymore, I’m dropping out,'” McDormand said.

Regina King: The acclaimed actress-turned-director was up against Zhao at the Globes.

She has been on quite a streak in her career the past few years, including nabbing the best supporting actress Oscar for “If Beale Street Could Talk” in 2019.

Now, the former child star is being hailed for her big screen directorial debut in “One Night in Miami,” adapted from Kemp Powers’ stage play about a meeting between Cassius Clay, Jim Brown, Sam Cooke and Malcolm X.

The night of the Golden Globes, King told “E!” it was “bittersweet” that she, Zhao and Emerald Fennell marked the first trio of female nominees, given that this is 2021.

Emerald Fennell: Another actress who has stepped behind the camera (we are starting to see a trend here), she has received critical acclaim for writing, directing and producing the thriller “Promising Young Woman,” starring Carey Mulligan.

The movie is not only cheeky but gets into some uncomfortable territory, so much so that it has been praised for turning the revenge genre on its ear.

“It’s just part of the fun of making something, the smoke and mirrors and the misdirections,” Fennell told IndieWire. “I love all that stuff, all of my favorite movies have that sort of thing in them. It’s very interesting, isn’t it, how much we want violence, how much instinctively as an audience we’re begging for blood.”

Robin Wright: “The House of Cards” star did some directing on that Netflix series, so she wasn’t a total neophyte when it came to both starring in and directing her first feature film, “Land.”

Wright plays a woman struck by a family tragedy who gives up her successful life in the big city and moves to a remote area in Wyoming.

She told Women’s Wear Daily that she was delighted with the film’s reception so far.

“We feel so blessed that people are feeling the movie,” Wright said. “It is very relevant to what’s going on today, of being disconnected from our loved ones. We’re not living the norm. The message in this movie is about that very thing.”

These leading female directors represent just a handful of creatives proving women are making inroads on the Hollywood scene.

The numbers don’t lie: For the second consecutive year, the percentages of women directing top-grossing films increased, reaching “recent historic highs,” while the overall percentages of women working in key behind-the-scenes roles remained relatively stable, according to a study by San Diego State University released in January.

“Women accounted for 16% of directors working on the top 100 grossing films in 2020, up from 12% in 2019 and 4% in 2018,” wrote study author Martha M. Lauzen, founder and executive director of SDSU’s Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film. “Women comprised 18% of directors on the top 250 films in 2020, up from 13% in 2019 and 8% in 2018.”

A rising tide raises all ships, especially when a woman is at the helm, so here’s to more female directors on the horizon.

For your weekend

Three things to watch:

‘Coming 2 America’

Prince Akeem and Semmi are heading back to Queens, New York. Eddie Murphy and Arsenio Hall reprise their respective roles for the sequel to the hit 1988 film.

This time the prince is in search of his son and heir to the kingdom of Zamunda. My question is what have the rose petal droppers been up to all this time?

“Coming 2 America” starts streaming Friday on Amazon Prime.

‘Boss Level’

Former special forces agent Roy Pulver (Frank Grillo) is trapped in a time loop that constantly repeats the day of his murder. To break the cycle, he must hunt down Col. Clive Ventor (Mel Gibson) while also trying to save his ex-wife (Naomi Watts).

That sounds like some seriously fast-paced action.

“Boss Level” starts streaming Friday on Hulu.

‘Biggie: I Got a Story to Tell’

March 9 marks the 24th anniversary of the unsolved murder of rapper Christopher Wallace, aka Biggie Smalls or The Notorious B.I.G., at age 24.

Arguably one of the best and most beloved hip-hop artists of all time, Wallace is the subject of a new doc that looks at the legacy of his life and death. Currently streaming on Netflix, with “rare footage and in-depth interviews, this documentary celebrates the life of The Notorious B.I.G. on his journey from hustler to rap king.”

So, call your friends and let them know so your crew run-run-run, your crew run-run to catch it.

Two things to listen to:

Sweden has blessed us with the likes of ABBA and Spotify. Now add Zara Larsson to that list.

The 23-year-old singer, who got her start as a youngster on a TV talent show, is dropping her third studio album, “Poster Girl,” on Friday.

March is the month we celebrate women — and who is more empowering than Oprah Winfrey?

The answer to that is no one.

Check out “Oprah’s SuperSoul Conversation‪s” podcast if you want to feel motivated, inspired or just need the uplifting vibe that is trademark Oprah. ‬

One thing to talk about:

Are we over awards shows?

My Appradab colleague Brian Lowry reported that “Globes ratings plummeted more than 60% from the 18.3 million viewers who watched last year, per Nielsen data, to an average audience of 6.9 million.”

Yikes.

With the pandemic going on you would think plenty of people would be tuning in to shows like the Golden Globes, but, apparently, not. Even in a “normal year,” there seems to be less enthusiasm for award shows than there used to be, and that begs the question if Hollywood needs to find a different way to celebrate the industry.

The pandemic is causing us all to reevaluate things.

Something to sip on

Looking for a new show to watch? We asked some of our friends around Appradab what TV binge has helped them decompress in the time of Covid.

Phil Mattingly, senior White House correspondent

I basically have an encyclopedic knowledge of Bravo shows due to my wife’s fandom/the disappearance of sports the first few month of Covid. Not sure I should acknowledge that publicly.

Alisyn Camerota, Appradab New Day anchor

I’ve been watching “Succession.” It depicts a dysfunctional, rotten world, and somehow I find that soothingly distracting from our daily stress.

Stephanie Elam, Appradab correspondent

Fantasy, take me away! I’ve turned to shows that allow me to escape reality — “Once Upon a Time” with my daughter, “Lovecraft Country” and “His Dark Materials” without her.

Ana Cabrera, Appradab Newsroom anchor

“Criminal Minds” on Netflix. I know it’s old, but I’m a newcomer to it! I’m a sucker for mystery and suspense.

Pop back here next Thursday for all the latest entertainment happenings that matter.

[orangetail-works]

A Phoenix and a Raven: Oblivious

Chapter: Oblivious

 A/N: This prompt was a request off of Tumblr as well from @onceuponaminute16. Don't want to put much of the prompt in here as it would spell out the entire oneshot. I hope you will enjoy, and as always happy reading.

Peace had finally settled between the kingdom of men and the magical Moors. Queen Aurora and her husband, the now crowned King Phillip, ruled their blended people with compassion and righteousness. The Dark Fey who chose to rejoin the land of their ancestors made strides to understand the humans and their ways. There were always to be disputes and small scuffles between two meeting cultures, but for the most part, respect and a willingness to understand won out in the end.

In the Moors, Maleficent kept the peace with the tree sentries and those of the Dark Fey who wanted to protect their new home. Her days were spent flying over the large expanse of the Moors, talking over matters of discontent with all types of clan leaders at the Moor Palace or discussing the upcoming celebrations of Dark Fey tradition that she was yet again unaware of. She had grown up under the watchful eyes of fairies that were nothing like her. Her parents were the only other Dark Fey left in the Moors and when they perished in the war when she was a babe, she had no one to learn from. Her people were strangers to her.

At the moment, the Dark Fey Phoenix was perched along a sturdy tree branch as she looked over the group of children from Ulstead and Perceforest interwoven with the children of the Moors. They walked and talked with one another and shared stories of their own between them. Their parents and guardians stood a little way off, still in sight, but mingling much like their children.

The children ran after one another, taught each other their games they would usually play and some of the Dark Fey even try to lift the humans with them as they flew overhead. Maleficent was transported to the times of her own childhood where her and Stefan would tell each other stories and run around the Moor's woods and rivers, unaware of the large divide of their species. Such good memories that were tainted of the greed of the past.

Her attention was caught as a dark figure flew in between and around the children. The raven cawed after the small group that had chased after him as if he was laughing. He may just be. He stayed low enough that the human children could play along and the fey did not have enough height to use their wings as an advantage. He always made sure that everyone was on equal footing.

Her faithful servant still stayed with her, still an ever present constant at her side. He would tour the Moors with her as she made her rounds, he would insert well thought arguments in debates and was always there to be an ear when she needed to talk of any worries. She had told him that he was more than free to be who he needed and wanted to be with the peaceful reign of her daughter and his fledgling. He refused, as he stood by his vow to be there for whatever she may need, even if the debt had been more than repaid years prior. His heart had remained pure despite his constant company with someone who's heart was definitely not. Her hand went to her chest to feel her heart beat faster than normal as she kept her mind on him. Her dark heart would leap with the thought of the hope and light in his own. But her mind and mouth stayed silent and showed no affection while he was in the form of a man, when he had a hand to hold... or arms to wrap in... or even lips to-

She hissed at her thoughts and banished them back into her mind. There was no room in her life for that kind of hope and dreams. She tried to love like that once and the heartbreak nearly cost her another. She cannot let that happen again.

Diaval banked in the air as he turned with a flip in the air and let out a victorious caw. He was keeping a good pace with the children.

“That will not do,” Maleficent smiled to herself. Her hand flicked out in golden magic and suddenly the raven shifted in midair to the man.

Diaval squawked and hit the ground, flat on his front. Maleficent tried to hide her laughter, but couldn't stop an ungraceful snort that slipped passed. Not even a second after he hit the ground, the children were upon him. They laid their small bodies over his legs, his arms and a couple of them sat on his back. The poor creature was covered shoulder to toe in children of all races and creeds. He struggled to look up and directly at her tree. Her narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of her in the branches.

“You have caught me!” he said dramatically toward the children, “I will have to submit!”

“Then you are our servant!” one of the Dark Fey children of the jungle clans crowed from his back.

“I will give you favors, young lord, but I am servant to no one but the great phoenix herself,” he explained and the children climbed off of him so he could stand. Once he dusted himself off he knelt and looked at the children more or less eye to eye, “Though I am sure you would all do well to a handsome servant as myself, my life is linked to only one other. And that's the way it will stay for I would be found no where else.”

Maleficent heard his words and her heart beat faster in her chest.

He looked over the heads of the children to look at Maleficent who didn't move, but her eyes wide. He knew then that she could hear him as well as see him.

“You should never leave her?” a young boy asked with his arms crossed, “What would you do if one of us saved your life? What would you do then?”

“I would owe you a great debt, but my vow would still be to my mistress,” Diaval explained, “I am loyal to a fault as most ravens are. Honest. I would not and will not stray.”

“What if you were to find love?” a female Dark Fey child of the Desert Clan asked as her brown wings shuffled behind her in a bit of shyness, “I've heard that ravens mate for life, what if you should find a she-raven to nest with? What of your mistress then?”

“You mean to talk of love?” Diaval asked and the children all gathered around him as if he was telling a tale. His eyes flicked up to where she was still in the tree. She seemed to have leaned toward them to hear better.

'Maybe it was time to let her know without doubt...' Diaval thought to himself.

“Lord Diaval?” the jungle fey asked him and pulled at his sleeve.

Diaval cleared his throat and smiled back at the group of children, “I know well of love and it would not change anything between my mistress and myself. I love deeply, but I will never have want to leave my mistress.”

“So, you are in love with someone?” a human girl asked this time, her hands clasped together in front of her in a show of excitement. He could tell that the young one was a romantic.

He chuckled at her and rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, “Have been for a while now, yes.”

Maleficent's thundering heartbeat suddenly stopped at his words. A cold washed over her being. He loved someone, has for some time.

How could she have not known? They spent many days and nights together, when had he even met such a radiant creature that they could steal his heart? Was it during the many and continuing Dark Fey celebrations? It must have been. It was true that many of Fey women were drawn to him as they described him as prime mate material, but she didn't think that any of them made more strives to grab the raven-man's attention and affections.

“OH! Who is it?!” the same romantic girl asked as she grabbed at his arm and shook him to garner his complete attention.

He chuckled quite amused at her excitement, “Isn't it apparently obvious?”

Maleficent felt like she would fall off the branch. It should be obvious? To children it should be obvious?

She shook her head and ignored the cold feeling in her chest. She stood on the large branch under her and took off into the sky toward her nest.

Diaval suddenly looked up at her departure and scrambled to his feet. He took a couple steps toward her retreating form with a furrow at his brow. He stood still for a moment or two trying for the life of him to figure out where he had gone wrong.

“Lord Diaval?” the jungle fey pulled at his hand, “What happened?”

“I don't know, little one,” Diaval frowned slightly.

“You love the Phoenix.”

Diaval turned quickly to see a couple of the mothers of the children approach. They must have been listening in on the conversation as well. He knew that some of the ladies of the courts and of the Dark Fey have expressed interest in him, but he was always careful to respectfully reject such advances. His heart, just like the rest of him, was spoken for.

“How?” Diaval asked.

“As you said, it was obvious,” another woman added on and saw the drop in Diaval's head in rejection, “But something tells me that she isn't as good seeing the obvious as others.”

He huffed a sad laugh, “That she is not.”

“So?” another woman from the hamlet stepped forward.

“So...” Diaval questioned in confusion.

“You're going after her, aren't you?”

“I have no wings,” he said as he flexed his hands to show the digits.

“But you have legs,” the original woman said, “And if I were to let the person that held my heart know that they do, I would use whatever I had to get to them.”

Diaval looked at the ladies and then the children in thought. He took a deep breath and nodded, “You're right. This form never stopped me before.”

  Maleficent sat in her low nest in the Rowen tree, close to the Heart of the Moors. She saw the preparations of the celebration not too far away. She had unwrapped her horns and head to let her hair hang loose for the festivities. In the moment she was just finishing the wire wrap around her horns. She did not feel at all like celebrating, but she felt like she owed her people to at least try. Besides, she needed a distraction. If Diaval was in love and wished to pursue his lady, she would be seeing less and less of him as he did so. She would have to find other avenues to entertain herself- no, that wasn't right. He was more than entertainment.

He was her confidant, her closest adviser and friend. He helped her raise Aurora, he was as much a parent to the queen as she was. He was the voice that echoed in her mind when she thought of decisions that affected the Moors. He was the company that she sought out the most outside of Aurora. She took a deep breath and laid a hesitant hand on her chest as her heart began to ache just slightly. Then she turned a little angry at him. He didn't even think to tell her of his feelings? Didn't their friendship give him the leeway to talk of such things with her? Did he not think her worthy enough to meet this woman?

That was ridiculous. He trusted her with everything, even if he didn't agree with some of her choices. He always stood by them with her. Maybe it was as obvious as he said and she just chose not to see it. Maybe she needed to try harder with her own kind. Strike more friendships so his inevitable loss wouldn't sting so harshly.

“...mistress.”

Maleficent leaned out to look down from the tree to find a huffing Diaval, “There you are.”

“You left me with the children in this,” he gestured to his human form, “Had to trek half way across the Moors, I did.”

“Stop your belly aching,” she rolled her eyes and turned on her cold exterior, her heart locked away, “You seem just fine.”

“Easy for you to say with your glorious wings,” he pointed up at her.

Maleficent glided down from the tree, her horns decorated and her gown clean and in a bright yet deep green. She held her head high and looked him over. His clothing was a bit scuffed up from his trek.

Her hand swirled with gold magic as she cleaned him up and changed his clothing to something similar to her own. She thought that it may be the wrong thing to dress him to match herself, but she had done so before and if this woman was to have a problem with it, she could tell her herself. If she couldn't stand up to Maleficent, then she didn't deserve Diaval.

“Something is wrong,” he said suddenly at the lost look in her face.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she huffed and walked toward the Fairy Hill.

His hand quickly snapped out and gently took one of her own, his fingers entwining with hers, “There is. Please, talk with me.”

His eyes searched hers as she looked back at him. She waved her other hand not connected to his to turn him back into his raven form, “I don't want to talk.”

He beat his wings to keep airborne and caws fell silent at his beak. He knew something was troubling her. His own troubles would have to wait. He landed on her shoulder and she let him stay there as they made their way to the beginning of festivities.

As the celebration turned into full swing, Maleficent felt more and more out of place. Dark Fey of all kinds danced and cheered with the other Moorland fairies, but none of them really went out of their way to include the Phoenix. She was in a corner as she watched on. Her original thought of talking with the others only led to her confusion or boredom. She tried to make conversation about the Moors and their merge into with the other fairy kind around them. Even talked of humans and how they were with the new fairy kind from their observations. They participated in the 'small talk' as Diaval had once explained to her, but they didn't know how to really talk with her. They didn't know her passions and her skills. They know what they knew, and that was enough. She eventually turned to the outer ring to watch on as she always had.

Diaval stayed attached to her shoulder the whole time, never asking once to be changed to man to go partake of the Moorland buffet or wander around with the others. He stayed with her. Maybe his lady love hadn't arrived at these festivities.

A hour into her self appointed banishment to the outer ring of the festivities, Boora approached her.

“Good evening, Phoenix,” he greeted and bowed his head toward her.

“Boora,” she tilted her head back.

“Are you to sit away this blessed event with only a bird for company?”

Diaval's feathers puffed at Boora as a slight caw was huffed out.

“Diaval is splendid company,” she offered as explanation even though she had yet to say one word to the raven all night. She absentmindedly scratched under Diaval's chin, “I have not found another that has kept my interest as he has.”

“Maybe you were not asking the right fey,” Boora smirked, followed by a low rumble in his chest.

Maleficent looked at him a bit shocked, but then laughed at his attempt to tempt her, “No, Boora. I don't think so.”

“I am the strongest of my clan and the best fighter of the council,” he explained and flexed one arm and wing to show it was so.

Diaval cawed lowly as if he would be rolling his eyes if he were human.

“That may be, Boora, but that is not what I search for in a companion to take my time.”

“And what is?”

“Intelligence.”

“I have that.”

“If you had the right kind, you would take care of my rebuttal,” she warned him.

“Phoenix, you need not search, any of us would willingly come to you,” Boora took her hand and pulled her toward him.

Maleficent stiffened in discomfort. This is not where she wanted this conversation to go, “Come to me? I-I don't-”

“Yes, whatever you would want or need. We would do that for you. We would not shun you for company or even to mate.”

In a split second, Diaval was at Boora's face. He flapped his wings vigorously at the fey to blind him. He didn't use his talons, but he was close to it. Boora dropped Maleficent's hand and she pulled back fully and stood. Diaval cawed and pecked lightly at Boora's face and hands. Before blood would be spilled, Maleficent waved her hand and Diaval landed on the ground as a man.

“And another thing,” Diaval yelled at Boora as he poked his finger in the air at him, “She does not need anyone to do anything she needs, she has me for that. Always will. Come to her for friendship and understanding, not to- to mate her!”

Boora huffed at the raven-man and then looked to Maleficent to see if she would correct him. She did not in any way or form. He huffed again, straightened himself and then took off toward the main fairy hill.

As he left, Diaval brushed off his clothes and then his hands before he turned back to Maleficent, “A bit of wild card, that one.”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” he asked, his hands now on his hips.

“That you will always be with me?”

“We've talked about this,” he relaxed his shoulders and sat down on a root that she was lounging on before Boora came over, “Sit down, your wings are drooping. Usually means there is too much on your mind.”

She shook her head though she did as he asked. He knew her so well.

“Are you going to talk to me now?” he asked as she settled next to him.

“You knew that I heard you earlier with the children,” she said and kept her eyes on the lights around them and not on him.

“I did,” Diaval nodded and busied himself with his strange human hands.

Maleficent hesitated and then took a deep breath, “I just want you... you to be happy.”

“What makes you think that I'm not?” his brows instantly furrowed as he looked at her, “Do I make you think that I don't enjoy every moment with you?”

“I know there are times that you would rather be elsewhere,” she looked at the ground, “Or with someone else.”

“Someone else...?”

“Again, I want you to be happy,” she finally looked straight into his eyes, “Even if it is not with me. I feel ashamed that I don't even know the one that holds your heart so steadfastly.”

His eyes searched hers for a moment before he gave her the smallest of smiles, “You know her well enough. I just know her better.”

“I have no clue how you have hidden her from me. You spend much of your time with me,” she floundered in her thoughts as she totally missed the look in his eyes. An epiphany popped into her head, “Or with Aurora... is she a resident in Ulstead? A handmaiden, perhaps?”

Diaval shook his head, now a little amused at the guess, “No.”

“No, I wouldn't know a handmaiden. Is she part of the council?”

“She is,” he smirked at the new game that unfolded.

“Not many there, and it definitely is not Nanny Stout,” she shook her head and looked back out to the hills to try and understand, “Is it Shrike?”

“You know well that she is bonding with Percival,” he reminded her.

“That's true,” she took another breath in thought. He began to laugh lightly at her serious thought process. She suddenly frowned, but didn't look back at him, “This is frustrating, you miserable bird and yet you laugh at me. Do you hate me or something?”

“Not at all,” Diaval leaned toward her, his hand caught her chin. He pulled her chin toward him to make sure that he eyes were level with his. His smile caught her off guard, “I'm actually quite in love with you, really.”

“...what?”

He leaned forward further and captured her lips with his own as he had seen Aurora and Phillip do many times before. His lips pressed against hers steady for only a moment before her lips acted in kind. Her hand flew up to his hair and ran through the feathers and strands behind his ear. He felt her smile against his lips and he chuckled into their kiss.

Diaval pulled back, “You didn't stay around long enough for me to finish my talk with the little ones earlier. I love you, mistress. Having known that for as long as I have, nothing has changed. I will still never leave your side.”

“Silly raven,” she brushed her fingers through his hair, “I don't do guessing games. You must tell me such things, for I seem to be oblivious to the obvious.”

“No worry. I will remind you frequently,” he pecked her lips.

“... I will never want you to leave.”

“Good, because I will never want to leave you.”

“I will be harsh.”

“I will be understanding.”

“I will... I love you.”

He grinned widely, “I still love you. Always have.”

#maleval fanfiction #maleval #maleficent x diaval #orangetail-works #requested prompt

[kathrynethegreat]

Dr.Lecter and Leda and the Swan

The below is from an essay by the artist Anne Shingleton discussing Leda and the Swan, her artwork, and why she believes Hannibal Lecter likes it. The essay was originally provided by the now defunct Hannotations from the contributors BloodandIvory and NyxFixx. Minor content edits by me, but you can read the full essay here. You can also learn more about Anne Shingleton and her artwork at her official website.

[Lecter’s] absentee landlord apparently had a fixation on Leda and the Swan, The interspecies coupling was represented in no less than four brozes of varying quality, the best a reproduction by Donetello, and eight pantings. One painting delighted Dr.Lecter, an Anne Shingleton with its genius anatomical articulation and some real heat in the fucking. The others he draped. - Hannibal, Chapter 97, by Thomas Harris

Ever since the misty dawn of Greek mythology, Leda and her doting swan have lived and loved in countless poets' lays and, less ephemerally, in thousands upon thousands of embodiments in paint, line, stone and metal.

They appear in the arts of Rome and Hellas in a profusion of sizes and materials, from golden bracelet pendants and silver table ornaments to great sculptures cast in bronze and hewn from marble (such as the Great Relief in the British Museum), from delicate drawings on precious ceramics to colourful frescoes on the walls of atria and chambers. But after the decline of Rome they nodded off into the many long centuries of bleak post-Roman Europe, awaking briefly now and then and here there to invigorate some ornamental arts and crafts of the Middle Ages.

(The essay, as well as an image of Anne Shingleton’s version of Leda and the Swan is below the cut. It’s a little bit graphic, so fair warning)

                                             Leda and the Swan by Anne Shingleton

It was the Italian Renaissance with its exuberant rediscovery of classical antiquity & say, from about 1400 or so onward that brought them once again into the limelight of profane (in the sense of non-ecclesiastical) imagery. Nearly all the great Renaissance artists drew, painted or sculpted their Ledas, conspicuous among these being an oil-on-canvas by Leonardo Da Vinci, known only through several copies by his followers, and Michaelangelo’s stunning marble, today in Florence's Bargello. From there they coupled their way through the next five centuries and far beyond Italy's shores and borders, into and out of the Baroque and Rococo, into the nineteenth century to brighten some sclerotic corners of Neo-Classicism, and eventually even into Art Nouveau, there briefly to beguile a languorous Belle Époque. After August 1914 they withered, along with the rest of Europe's humanistic culture. 

Nevertheless, even today, in our own age of mostly meretricious rubbish art mass-produced to con newly-rich illiterates, they glow softly still among the now very distant and still receding constellations of our classical heritage.

Who, then, was Leda, and who the swan?

Antiquity sang several different versions of her tale. Most agree that she was the daughter of Thestius, king of Aetola, and the wife of Tyndraeus, king of Lacedaemon. Somehow she inflamed the passions of Zeus, Some said that he saw her bathing in a sparkling sun-drenched stream, others that Hephaistos had told him about her dissatisfaction with her husband's ways in bed, and others still that he was only out to spite his consort, Hera.

In any event, he was smitten and, having just lately visited Danae as a shower of gold, Europa as a bull, Io as a cloud, Ganymede as an eagle and others still in guises no less inventive, he decided to assume yet another one for his tryst with Leda: he would swoop down majestically on snowy pinions . . . as a swan.

Mythology fails to tell us whether these forms were mere travelling costumes, so to speak, and whether, as we may well suppose, upon arrival at the bedside he reassumed his customary and divine semblance of a robust, virile man in the prime of his maturity. I've heard that a swan's penis - to be precise: a cob's - is exactly like a circumcised human one in miniature, and that this gave rise to the amorous-swan legends . . . but I confess that I've never checked it out with a cygnologist, though I should've done so long ago. Perhaps some thoughtful cygnologist will let me know?

In any event, swan or man, he had his way with her, or she with him, or each with the other. Of it came an egg, or, in other versions, three eggs, and in others still seven, and you mustn't act surprised: when a fertile lady mates with a cob she'll lay eggs - faultless logic, that, and winsome science. 

One tremendous event that soon followed was to become a bedrock and fountainhead of Western culture: for whilst out of two eggs hatched the twins Castor and Polydeuces.

I relinquish the podium to Homer. 

My own versions…. differ a little from the conventional ones. For one thing, neither my painted nor my sculpted Zeus arrives in the form of a swan but rather dressed up as one . . . he's wearing a (rather skimpy) swan costume, under which he is very much the Chief Olympian: strong, handsome, supremely male, his ebullient libido refined by aeons (he being immortal) of experience and divine dedication to his beloved's (not always female) pleasure. 

For another thing, most Leda depictions are intra-coital: it's happening, nobody can figure out just how but they're at it. My painting instead shows them as post-coital.

In the painting, the oil lamp on the rocks just right of the love nest is still burning but night is fleeing, crescent Selene is fading, colours are being reborn everywhere. First light is bathing the two dreamy, sated lovers. Birds chirp in chorus. An exquisite post-orgasmic Leda is savouring the last after-tremors of her lique-factions while scenting the dewy flowering of day. Zeus has retired to the top of the bower, his costume all awry, a smile of surfeit on his lips. Post coitum omne animal triste, said Aristotle: after mating all creatures are sad. I think there is truth in that, but it is more complex, less formulaic. The martyrs enter the arena hand in hand but the lions eat them one by one. Lovers in the act dispense with the meum-teum sense (Robert Graves), but after the shared orgasmic heats, the post-orgasmic chills overtake them one by one, and, slowly, deliciously if all went well, they drift apart, sometimes a little numbed, nearly always bewildered, on separate outbound tides. Even, or perhaps especially, if they're gods. My painted Leda and her god are poised over this hot-cold watershed. Until the next time…

Why does the doctor 'delight' in the Leda story? I don't know. Best ask Tom Harris. But I'll have a guess.

As he does in The Silence of the Lambs, as does so much literature both old and modern, Harris draws unconsciously or knowingly - I don't know which - on the world of myth and fable, that genome of the collective human subconscious. The leitmotif in both Silence and Hannibal, not deafening or intrusive but audible throughout from the dark beyond the firelight, is that of The Beauty and The Beast. Since I'm neither a poet nor a scholar I'll refrain from windy disquisitions, but to me the parallels between that fable and the interbraiding of the lives of Hannibal and Clarice Starling seem clear enough.

Clarice-Leda has taken vestal vows, has dedicated her body and soul to the FBI: not for her the traditional role of wife and woman as prescribed by patriarchal orthodoxy. Like the life of chaste and virginal Beauty, Clarice's life, so far as we've been told, is manless, and hence, conventional wisdom would have it, arid. The fable now demands that she be sexually fulfilled, 'sexually' having here a wide, deep, polyhedral meaning far beyond mere genital tiddlywinks.

Lecter-Swan is a beast, no doubt of that, and no need to dwell on definitions. The fable now demands that she make him human, meaning here humane. 

And behold, in the book, though alas not in the film, both undergo the magical transformation: Beauty turns the Beast humane, the Beast wafts Beauty to, up and over the moany summit where she is, presumably, fulfilled. Both are reborn from scratch - from the egg, so to speak, through each other.

I think that could well be why the doctor delights in the one painting in the room that he leaves uncovered for Clarice to see.

Anne Shingleton

#leda and the swan #anne shingleton #hannibal #hannibal lecter #thomas harris tetralogy

[kickingitwithkirk]

She’s My Whip

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2250

Warnings: oral (m & f giving/receiving) sex, squirting, cursing, pornish language and other adulting things that make it 18+only

A/N:  A-Z Kink Challenge: Younger/Older  Written for @covered-byroses #cbrkinkchallange  Thank you Ms.Kelly for letting me participate in my first writing challenge

A/N: this is my first work (outside a drabble) I’ve ever let anyone read. I quit writing over a decade ago so I’m rusty as hell but working on getting my mojo back. Creative criticism welcome

A/N II: 3/21/21 I did some rewriting on this piece I love so much, fixing the things that’s nagged at me since original release.

* no beta , all mistakes are mine

*GIF not mine

“...So that’s when I knew I had closed the deal.” The guy next to me at the bar Greg, or Gary, who'd been droning on about this deal for the last twenty minutes looked at me waiting for a response.

“That’s fantastic, congratulations on closing the deal.” You responded enthusiastically, faking it like an orgasm during bad sex. 

Sipping on the glass of wine he ordered, trying not to grimace at the taste and wondering for the umpteenth time what is it with men your age? Why did they feel entitled to decide what to order you without asking?

Now in your early forties you prefer men like your alcohol, on the younger side with an adventurous edge.

Tuning out ummm, David as he continues to prattle on about his whatever. He seems like a nice guy, kinda reminds you of that character from Pleseantville, the husband who kept saying where’s my dinner.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I need to speak to Ms. Y/L/N.” You both turn to see who is addressing you.

 Fuck me, he’s here.

He and his partner, Agent Dean Smith, showed up your workplace this morning about the weird event in HR department. They had every red blooded woman, and a few of the guys, drooling in their lattes. 

After your interview with Agent Smith, who’d been flirting with everyone female with a pulse during their interviews, he asked you for drinks and whatever.

It had been extremely tempting, he was ridiculously good looking with those succulent full lips, green eyes, bowed just enough for you to fit perfectly between legs and cinnamon freckles that made you wonder if he’s covered everywhere in them.

You hated to admit it’s been to damn long since any man has giving you such a through fucking, you know, the type that makes your legs shake uncontrollably when you cum and walk funny for days.

You had reluctantly..very reluctantly.. turned him down. The reason being the man standing behind you.

“And who might you be?” Ralph maybe, asks rudely.

 Agent Samuel Wesson flashes his FBI credentials at possibly John before turning to addresses you. He’s delicious, literally walking sex with those long, long legs.

“Ms. Y/L/N, could we go somewhere more private? I have some questions that need clarification.”  Unable to answer because your brain has migrated to your pussy that’s dripping wet from the sound of his deep, whiskey-honey voice alone.

Crossing your legs you clenched your thighs together trying to cover your down south problem but he tracks your movement with those indelible, fox slanted eyes and smirks.

Shit.

“Look, I don't care if your President...” Steve, IDK, says standing up to get in his face but falls short, literally, by several inches.

Biting on the inside of your cheek to stop bursting out in laughter you take a sip of the horrid wine to compose yourself because there is absolutely no way in hell your going to pass up on the opportunity to make time with this gorgeous mountain of a man who’s literally made you cum without even touching you. 

Standing up you insert yourself between them and play with Donny’s tie. “I’m so sorry, we were having such a good time, and I was thinking of asking you back to mine, but I’d feel awful if I know something and didn't help, please don't be mad at me.” You pout a bit, pretending to actually sound sorry, all the while internally cringing at the fucking drivel spewing out of your mouth to mollify whatchamacallit.

If anyone had asked you how you thought this night would have ended, never in a million would you have said that you’d be reclining on the hood of a ‘67 Impala in an empty field splitting a bottle of Knob Creek Whiskey with Samual Wesson, IE Sam Winchester, discussing everything from politics to debating if GOT’s ending was screwed up while stargazing.

Sam takes a long pull off the bottle before handing it back, “Why did you turn Dean down?” He inquires.

“I’ve been around long enough to know a player when I see one,” you take a long pull from the bottle, “and I’ve reached an age where I don’t and won’t be played.” You answer honestly handing the bottle to Sam.

He’s taking a drink when you cheekily add, “Besides, he’s too old for me.”

Coughing from the whiskey going down the wrong way Sam finally croaks out, “To old? He’s three years younger than you.” You raise an eyebrow at that.

“You know how old I am?” 

Sam starts peeling off the bottles label, “Yeah, I do. I checked out everyone who had any connection to the victim. I didn’t think you’d be interested, Dean’s well...Dean. Women are always attracted to him but then he said you turned him down and....”

“...you followed me to that bar hoping to get lucky?” It’s hard to see under the moonlight but you know he’s blushing, “I’ll admit it was sorely tempting but I turned Dean down because you're more my type.” Sam looked up in surprise. 

You shift towards him reaching for the bottle, “Look, I like younger men, it's my thing and I find I have more in common with them. Nobody thinks twice about some old fart fucking a twenty something, but if an older woman is sexually adventurous, oh my god everyone goes spar! Lots of younger men today prefer being with someone who’s life doesn’t revolve around kids, can hold an intellectual conversation and isn’t looking to put a ring on it.

I came across this British blogger in her fifties dating men in their twenties and they were the ones doing the chasing. She came up with this new term for women like us, W.H.I.P-Women who are Hot, Intelligent and in their Prime. Fucking better than that old, tired, cliche Cougar.” 

Sam ruminants over what you said, “So sexually adventurous...ever do it on an Impala?” He asks with a lascivious grin.

”Nuh-uh,“ you answer running your tongue teasingly around the bottles lip before taking a drink. 

Sam's eyes dilate as he pulls the bottle away, brushing his lips against yours to taste the whiskey lingering on them.

Opening your mouth you catch his bottom lip, sucking on it as he tangles his hands into your hair, deepening the kiss as you work at opening the buttons of his shirt. Pushing against Sam's chest he sits back a bit so you can remove it before shifting him fully onto his back, allowing you to straddle his narrow hips and making your skirt ride up revealing your cheekster panties

Sam slips his hand between your obscenely spread thighs, roughly palming your clit through the material making you hiss, reaching to pull his hand away before your cumming to fast. He takes hold your ass in both of his big hands grips tightly pulling and pushing, making you roughly glide over his rapidly filling cloth covered cock. He’s keeping you right on edge but not allowing you to cum, the friction from the grinding eliciting moans from both of you. He sits both of you upright suddenly, gripping your shirts hem lifting it off revealing your bare breasts to him.

Sam bends forward taking your left nipple between his lips sucking on it then bits down hard enough you cry out from the pain/pleasure of it. Tangling both your hands in his hair you tug until he switches breasts to give the same treatment to your other nipple. Dragging him off your chest you resume kissing him hard, both of you start fighting for dominance.

Reaching down you unzip his pants, dipping your hand in to caress him. Sam's head drops back with a groan, exposing his neck. Your lips travel down his throat, stopping, sucking a bruise just above his collarbone.

Sliding backwards off the cars hood you finish stripping him until he's lying completely naked, legs wantonly spread out across the hood. You watch him grip his cock stroking himself as you discard the last of your own clothes before climbing back on the car.

“You’re stunning,” Sam breathily says stroking himself harder.

Keeping eye contact you place your hand over his, guiding him down to firmly grip the base of his twitching cock to steady it as you move your hands around on the hood to balance yourself, bending over to flick your tongue along the underside of his shaft up to that specific sensitive area, your tongue teasing the nerves there, making Sam shiver and noisily start panting before slowly sliding up to the slit, lapping at the precum leaking from the tip before wrapping your lips around his cock and start steadily bobbing up and down, taking his ample cock as deep as you can without gagging.

“Oh fuck yesss..feels so good,” Sam moans out as his muscles jerk from the way your tongue is moving over his cock that’s suctioned tight in your mouth.

Pulling off you stroke your hand up and down his long, thick shaft, twisting towards the tip while watching Sam massage his balls.

Sam's head thunks against the windshield as his breaths coming out harsh and broken, hips bucking wildly around from the combined stimulation.

“Fuckingfuck... fuuuu...gonna…’ was all the warning he gives before spilling hot liquid over your fingers and spurting onto the Impalas hood, painting it with white splatters as you continue stroking lightly with your cum covered fingers, easing him through the aftershocks till Sam reaches down pulling you off, to sensitive for anymore touching.

Sitting up Sam cups your cheeks in his big hands staring intently at you with lust blown chameleon eyes. “How the fuck did you do that, I haven’t cum that fast since puberty.”

Instead of saying anything, you insert your cum covered fingers one by one into you mouth, sucking and licking till your hands clean of his spending. He wraps his big hand around your wrist pulling your hand away and deeply kisses you, tasting himself in your mouth. 

“Backseat now.” He growls getting off the hood and still holding your wrist gathers the discarded clothes with his other hand before dragging you with him around the car.

Opening the door he urges you to slide across the bench seat until you lying back against the other door legs spread wide to accommodate him as he’s climbing between them, somehow fitting his immense frame in the car.

Sam runs his long, slender fingers along the inside of your thighs, over your hips and stomach, studying every tremble and shiver to his touch moving to lightly stroke between your folds, inserting two fingers into your soaked channel searching for that spot. “Hmmm..” You moan out as Sam finds it.

Somehow he amazingly folds himself up and spreading his fingers to stretch your opening to delve his tongue into your core wanting a taste while continuing to stroke your thighs and hips with his other hand to keep you stimulated.

“Fuuuccckk,” the only warning you can give as you climax.

Sam adjusts the movements of his hand to keep working your swollen g spot, pushing you towards another orgasm.

The car fills with the wet squelching sounds with his fingers moving in and out of your drooling cunt as nonsensical noises come out of your mouth at the same time. 

“Uhhh...to much….can’t…”  your barley able to pant out pushing on the seat back trying to get some leverage to move away from him.

“Yes you can, cum for me again, I want to see you squirt, ruin the seat.” Sam growls out pinning both of your hands in his left one against the doors window.

You can feel it starting deep inside, begging for release, but your massively overstimulated and your body keeps fighting it.

 “Just let go, I know you can,” Sam says in a calm, level voice, stark contrast to his animalistic actions, “let it happen…let go!” Your bodies shaking violently, hips thrusting up off the seat as your orgasm hits so hard you silently scream, your inner muscles spasming your release, flooding over his wrist and hand onto the leather seat below.

He briefly continues the steady movement of his fingers then gently pulls them out as your walls continue clenching around nothing.

Releasing your hands he picks up your discarded skirt wiping your overused pussy tenderly, cleaning you up as much as possible before lifting your hips and placing the old army blanket on the seat and lying down behind you spoons your quivering body till it’s calmed.

 “You ok?” He asks softly stroking your arm, soothing you. “Yeah, better than ok,” you drowsily murmur, “what possessed you to recreate the night we meet?”

“Wanted to do something special for our fourth anniversary.” He lovingly replies nuzzling your neck.

 “And your birthday,” you feel Sam make a face at being reminded he is now thirty-six. “Why is this one bothering you, they never have before.”

 “Its stupid,” he sighs, making you turn your head enough to look at him. “Dean noticed that grey hair and..”

“..gave you shit about it. You could ignore him.”

“Mission impossible, it’s Dean” Sam says, sighing again.

“Hmm, well then there's only one option...Winchester him.” You say looking serious.

Sam smiles at your suggestion. It had been to damn long since he had pranked Dean and payback was way overdue. 

“See, with age comes wisdom, grasshopper”

#cbrkinkchallenge #sam winchester x reader #updated version #supernatural #sam winchester smut #spn #sam winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester #spnsamwinchester #spn fanfic