#Thirty-six Views of Women

[thinkingimages]

伊藤晴雨　女三十六気意 Seiu Ito - Onna Sanjūrokkei (Thirty-six Views of Women) 1932

[ninii-winchester]

One of The Girls

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 1.5k

Warnings : sexual content, age gap, implied smut. MDNI

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Hunting is fun, sometimes it gets overwhelming but Y/n liked hunting with the Winchesters. Mostly because she a has the hots for the older Winchester. He, however, never made a move, even though his eyes seem to follow her body everywhere she went, hinting he felt the same. She knew he feels he's too old for her. For her, being twenty seven and him being thirty six was not a big deal. He was only nine years older than her yet he made it seem like he was old enough to be her father.

It was a gruesome ghoul hunt but they weren't as tired. After getting cleaned up, the trio decided to hit the bar. Dean had his classic rock music blasting from the speakers of the Impala and she rolled her eyes at his old man antics. She plugged in her earphones to listen to her pop music. She had only been on her second song when the car came to a halt and the bar came into view. The three of them made their way into the bar and ordered three beers to ease into the night.

"Man I hate ghouls." Dean rasped gripping his bottle. Her gaze lingered on his fingers that wrapped around the bottle, oh what could those fingers do to me. Her eyes flickered to his lips as he took a swig from it. I wonder how they would feel wrapped around my nipples.

"Me too, They’re gross." Sam commented pulling her out her lewd thoughts.

Y/n chose not to add a comment letting her eyes wander around the bar. She noticed a small set up for karaoke where a guy was slurring the words of a song she didn't recognise. She watched the lot of women present around the place knowing one of them would be lucky enough to end up in Dean's bed tonight. A soft sigh left her lips at the thought.

"You okay there, sweetheart?" Dean asked and she felt as if his green eyes were piercing her soul.

"Peachy." She replied. She motioned the bartender over and ordered three shots of whiskey for herself. She downed them as soon as they were poured.

"Woah slow down." Sam said watching her gulp down the amber liquid.

"Loosen up Sammy." She felt buzzed, the alcohol in her allowed her to let loose. The taller man just shook his head and watched in amusement as she made her way towards the karaoke set up.

"You think she'll regret this in the morning?" Sam asked his older brother. Dean smirked at his little brother before answering.

"Depends on how bad of a singer she is." His eyes never leaving her figure. He watched as she selected a song the she was going to sing and an unfamiliar tune began to play through the speakers. He watched as she sang and swayed to the beat of the song. She was good. If he didn't know better he'd think she's a pop-star.

"She's good." Sam commented and his brother nodded in acknowledgment. One song rolled into four and the patrons were thankful that she replaced the tone deaf drunk.

She was having the time of her life dancing and singing, she could feel Dean's eyes on her and she got an idea. She knew she might come to regret it but she couldn't care less at the moment and made her way towards the boys.

"Aren't you on a roll today." Sam teased looking at her with a grin.

"It's called having fun." She pouted at her tall friend which made him laugh.

"So..." Dean drawled, poking his lips with his tongue that she wanted at places she couldn't say out loud. "Are you done having fun?" He asked to which she shook her head.

"Nope, I'm just getting started." She took Dean's glass from his hold and made her way back to the makeshift stage. He watched as she downed whatever it was that he was drinking, looking him straight in the eyes. He sucked in a sharp breath at the action. The music began and started singing,

Lock me up and throw away the key

He knows how to get the best out of me

I'm no force for the world to see

Trade my whole life just to be

She sways her hips sensually to the beat and misses the next few lyrics as she's too engrossed in the music but then she continued,

Give me tough love

Leave me with nothin' when I come down

My kinda love

Push me and choke me 'til I pass out

She looks directly at Dean, as if she's telling him to do it to her. At that moment she thanked herself that decided to forego her usual T-shirts and settling on a crop top.

We don't gotta be in love, no

I don't gotta be the one, no

I just wanna be one of your girls

Tonight (tonight)

She closed her eyes and let her hands wander all over her body. Dean looked around the bar and noticed he's not the only one enjoying the show. His fists clenched on the table and his glare darkened at her on the stage.

We don't gotta be in love, no

I don't gotta be the one, no

I just wanna be one of your girls

Tonight (tonight), oh

She watched his green eyes turn dark. She knew he had him exactly where she wanted him. She smirked playfully before continuing her ministrations.

Push me down, hold me down

Spit in my mouth while you turn me on

I wanna take your light inside

Dim me down, snuff me out

Hands on my neck while you push it out

And I'm screamin' out

Just the thought of manhandling her, pushing her around, choking her while thrusting into her sweet little cunt. Imagining her moans and screams when he brings closer to edge and deny her release. Stuffing her tight pussy with his seed. Dean felt himself shudder the mere thought. She's playing with fire here. He always kept telling himself she's too young for him, that he'd corrupt her if he ever got his hands on her. But by the looks of it, it seems she wants to be corrupted.

Top of the world but I'm still not free

It's such a secret that I keep

Until it's gone, I can never find peace

Brace my whole life just to be

We don't gotta be in love, no

I don't gotta be the one, no

I just wanna be one of your girls

Tonight (tonight)

As the song came to an end Y/n felt like her skin was on fire, her body felt too hot after watching Dean's reaction to her. This one of her best and worst ideas. She got down from the stage and it clicked that she basically seduced Dean in a bar full of strangers with his brother sitting beside him. But can she go back? No. She's going to be a big girl and deal with the consequences of her actions.

Her thoughts were broken by a blond man blocking her way. She looked at his face, he had blue eyes and wasn't bad looking but he wasn't Dean.

"That was quite a performance, sweetheart." He said, the nickname didn't have the same effect on her the way it did when Dean called her 'sweetheart'.

"Thanks I guess?..." it came out more like a question.

"So, would you like to be one of my girls tonight?" He asked his hand trailing down her arm.

"I'll give you ten seconds to get your hand off MY girl and get lost." A deep voice said from behind the stranger. The stranger turned around and Y/n saw Dean standing there with a killer look on his face.

"Surely you can have a turn, man. But after I'm done." The stranger replied smugly. Dean rolled his eyes and scoffed before throwing a punch to his jaw. The man fell to the ground and was knocked out cold.

Dean eyes trained on her with a glare, his jaw tensed. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the bar. He slammed her against the wall, she let out a gasp at the impact. The sound made Dean's blood rush to all the right places.

"Dean." She whimpered as he gripped her hips tightly.

"Shh, not a word sweetheart. You've been a bad girl." Dean slammed his hips against hers making her choke out a moan. "Aren't you a desperate one, baby." He cooed tauntingly, lips hovering above hers but not touching. She nodded her head in agreement.

"Look at you, trying to be a good girl now huh?" She nodded again. "Speak, baby. Tell me what you want."

"I want you to do all those things to me."

"Oh I'll do much worse." He chuckled darkly. He turned her around, her chest against the wall, his chest pressed against her back. He leaned over her to whisper in her ear. "I'll make you my only girl tonight."

Y/n shuddered at his words knowing it was going to be a long night.

[maaarine]

A new global gender divide is emerging (John Burn-Murdoch, Financial Times, Jan 26 2024)

"In the US, Gallup data shows that after decades where the sexes were each spread roughly equally across liberal and conservative world views, women aged 18 to 30 are now 30 percentage points more liberal than their male contemporaries.

That gap took just six years to open up.

Germany also now shows a 30-point gap between increasingly conservative young men and progressive female contemporaries, and in the UK the gap is 25 points.

In Poland last year, almost half of men aged 18-21 backed the hard-right Confederation party, compared to just a sixth of young women of the same age.

Outside the west, there are even more stark divisions.

In South Korea there is now a yawning chasm between young men and women, and it’s a similar situation in China.

In Africa, Tunisia shows the same pattern.

Notably, in every country this dramatic split is either exclusive to the younger generation or far more pronounced there than among men and women in their thirties and upwards.

The #MeToo movement was the key trigger, giving rise to fiercely feminist values among young women who felt empowered to speak out against long-running injustices.

That spark found especially dry tinder in South Korea, where gender inequality remains stark, and outright misogyny is common.

In the country’s 2022 presidential election, while older men and women voted in lockstep, young men swung heavily behind the right-wing People Power party, and young women backed the liberal Democratic party in almost equal and opposite numbers.

Korea’s is an extreme situation, but it serves as a warning to other countries of what can happen when young men and women part ways.

Its society is riven in two. Its marriage rate has plummeted, and birth rate has fallen precipitously, dropping to 0.78 births per woman in 2022, the lowest of any country in the world. (…)

It would be easy to say this is all a phase that will pass, but the ideology gaps are only growing, and data shows that people’s formative political experiences are hard to shake off.

All of this is exacerbated by the fact that the proliferation of smartphones and social media mean that young men and women now increasingly inhabit separate spaces and experience separate cultures.

Too often young people’s views are overlooked owing to their low rates of political participation, but this shift could leave ripples for generations to come, impacting far more than vote counts."

[efemmera-archive]

3 Lesbian Paintings by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (circa 1892-93)

"Paris. Late 19th and early 20th century. Quite a few affluent men led double lives: outwardly respectable by day, seekers of erotic titillation at brothels and café cabarets by night. Commercial wealth created by the French Empire bankrolled a sophisticated capital city, which could only be dreamed of elsewhere. But it was the women who brought this dreamworld to life... Young women earned very little money as dancers in the corps de ballet or as artist models. Hardship drove many to become sex workers and courtesans: an existence, for some, marked by destitution, substance abuse, and obscurity; for others, marked by success and acclaim. Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864-1901) immortalized many of these women in extraordinary drawings and paintings.  Much like the women he painted, Lautrec was always an outsider. Born into an aristocratic family, Lautrec inherited a congenital disease. After he broke both his legs as a teenager, he never properly healed, remaining a dwarf for the rest of his life. Already feeling different from those around him, he turned to the study of fine art and moved to Montmartre, the bohemian district in Paris. His highly productive life was spent largely among nightclub performers, sex workers, and hangers-on. He died at the age of thirty-six from complications of alcoholism and syphilis.... Like no other artist, his drawings openly reveal the secret life of sex workers, many of whom had intimate relationships with each another, finding some emotional comfort and stability in a profession that offered none at the time. He presents real life lesbian sex workers holding each other in bed, kissing, and embracing – in these paintings, it is clear they weren’t performing sex acts for the viewing pleasure of male clients. "

Source

[mytheoristavenue]

DS Incel!Gyutaro Shabana x Reader - Strings Attached

Summary: When you befriend the loser in your comp-sci class, you make it your mission to get him laid.

Warnings: Incel mindsets, misogyny, self-deprecation, poor hygiene, one-sided pining, language, lewd jokes, innuendo, toxic views of women

Word Count:

It was never meant to go this far, it was meant to be a fun project. Feelings were never meant to be involved, he knew that, didn't he?

You first noticed Gyutaro on the day you moved into your college dorm. He stood in the center of the room, holding a stack of boxes while he spoke to a bright-looking girl. Her pale- almost icy hair and vibrant eyes struck you before anything on him did. "Oh my gosh, you must be (Y/N)!"

You nodded sheepishly, arms full of luggage as she cheerily greeted you, leaving the slender man alone to watch. "I'm assuming you must be Ume?" You laughed nervously, flustered under the attention she gave you.

"Yeah, that's right!" She chirped, taking a few things from your hands and setting them on the bed to the right. "Here, let me help you with that! I already kinda settled into the left side, I hope you don't mind!" You shook your head with a dismissive smile, following suit. "Oh, before I forget, brother," The girl chimed, turning back to the man, tugging childishly on the sleeve of his flannel. "This is my roommate, (Y/N)," She turned back to you, tossing a thumb back toward him. "(Y/N), this is my big brother, Gyutaro."

You gave him a wave, only getting a curt nod as a reply. "Don't mind him, he's just shy around girls!" Ume teased, pointing to a spot where she wanted him to set the boxes he held. You could hear him curse her name under his breath, but it hardly counted as conversation. Soon after, he left, the pink never retreating from his cheeks.

-----

The second time you met him was in your computer science class, a little more than a week later. Though you and Ume were both freshmen, you had taken a great deal of college courses in highschool, which lead you to have classes with a junior such as himself. You were a bit relieved to see a familiar face as you climbed the lecture hall stairs to the top left corner where he sat. You waved at him cheerfully, calling out his name. "Hey, Gyutaro, right?"

He spared you a glance, rolling his eyes and adjusting the large headphones on his ears, heavy metal music blaring from them. "Oh," you paused, a bit embarrassed. "Do you mind if I sit with you?" He simply shrugged, prompting you to very awkwardly sit beside him, unzipping your bag to pull out your laptop.

-----

The third time you met Gyutaro was when you realized he was a regular at the on-campus coffee shop you began working at. He and Ume would come in nearly every morning before class and then again after classes, so you got to serve them just about every time you worked, no matter what shift.

"Good morning Ume, Gyutaro!" You chirped, smiling when they came in.

"Hey, bestie, how's your first shift going?" The girl asked excitedly, hopping up to the counter. You shook your head at her enthusiasm, having gotten quite close to her in the last few weeks.

"It's going fine mostly. What can I get you guys?" You asked kindly, stepping over to the register.

"Hmmm," Ume thought, tapping her painted finger against her chin. "I think I'll get something simple since it's your first day!" You thanked her for her thoughtfulness. "How about a vanilla latte for me and just plain old coffee for Gyu."

"Alright," You acknowledged, tapping the tablet screen to ring up their order. "Gyutaro, do you want any-"

"Black." He simply said, scoffing and taking out a twenty from his wallet. You hadn't realized it at the time, but that was the first word he ever said to you, and you certainly never anticipated how very chatty he would later become.

You nodded nervously, put off by his coldness. You finished the order and counted back his change. "Alright so that's six thirty-five out of twenty so thirteen seventy-five is your change!" You chirped, holding your fist out to him, confused when he wouldn't offer his hand.

"Keep it," He muttered, nudging his head to the right towards the tip jar on the counter. "Hope your first day goes well..."

"T-Thank you, Gyutaro..." You softened, smiling a bit as you dropped the money into the jar. "That's sweet of you." You didn't miss how his cheeks dusted pink, though you chalked it up to Ume's teasing.

"Awe, big bro, you're such a sweetie!" She gushed, following him to a booth, ingoring his harsh warnings to quiet down.

"Shut the hell up!" He whispered to her, incredibly irritated and even more embarrassed. "God you're so annoying..."

You couldn't help but laugh at the pair and they're obvious love for one another. Ume was so bubbly and outgoing and Gyutaro was so moody and introverted. They complimented each other quite well in your opinion. Maybe that's why you took an interest in him.

-----

After that third time, you stopped keeping track of your meetings with him, especially when you realized, that not only would you see him nearly daily in class and at work, but he would visit his sister incredibly frequently. It wasn't uncommon for you to come home after work to find him sitting on the floor, back against Ume's bed, listening to her idle chatter. Today was one such occassion.

You sighed, exhausted from class as you let yourself into the dorm, hanging your purse and keys on the rack of hooks that you and your roommate shared. You cocked a brow at the scene before you as you slid out of your hoodie and hung it over the back of your desk chair. Like usual, Gyutaro sat on the floor, laptop open in his lap as Ume lounged on the bed, her foot resting on his shoulder.

"Gyu, stop moving, you're gonna make me mess up!" She whined, lazer focused on the teal nail polish she was brushing onto her toeanils.

"Get that shit on my jacket and you die," He grumbled back. "Actually no," he then added, glancing at her over his shoulder. "I'll just stop doing your homework and let you fail."

"Brother!" You couldn't help but giggle as you gathered your leisure clothes to change for the evening, heading to the adjoining bathroom. "You wouldn't let me fail, you love me too much! Right..?"

"Ume," You smirked knowingly, coming out of the bathroom in leggings and an old metal band t-shirt. "Why don't you just do your own homework? It's like the third week of the semester, you can't be that far behind."

"It's computer stuff, I didn't sign up for that!" She huffed, screwing the top back onto her bottle of nail polish.

"You...literally did sign up for it." You gently reminded her, snickering at the way she flustered.

"W-Well I didn't want to! Besides, it has nothing to do with my major anyways!" She insisted, pointing her nose up at the ceiling.

"What's your major again? Fashion or something?" You mused, hopping up onto your bed and kicking off your houseshoes. "You know you have to learn graphic deisng and stuff for that, right?"

"She's right, ya know," Gyutaro piped up from his seat on the floor, readusting his legs. "What's the point of me puttin' you through college if you're just gonna make me earn your degree for you?"

"But Gyu!" She groans, resting her head ontop of his and frowning like a sad clown. "You're so much better at this stuff than I am!"

"Yeah, 'cause it's my major and I actually do the work I'm assigned? Maybe because I'm not a lazy brat like you? Just a guess." He sassed back, actions betraying his words as he continued to type away at the keyboard.

You had always found it interesting, their relationship. They seemed to have a much closer bond than most siblings do, and most people would veiw their interactions for the outside looking in as possibly romantic. But having gotten to know them a bit, you were beginning to realize why they spent so much time together. They didn't have anyone else in their lives, especially Gyutaro.

"Hey, Gyutaro?" You suddenly called from your bed, laying on your tummy across it. His gaze quirked up to you over the lid to his laptop with a curious brow. "Don't you have a girlfriend or something?"

You watched his eyes widen, the left one twitching slightly as heat rose up his neck. "What the fuck? Why the hell is that your business?" He rasped, furrowing his brows.

"I didn't mean anything by it, I swear!" You laughed nervously, crosswing your arms under your chin. "I just meant, I never see you hang out with anyone other than Ume, so I was curious."

"Oh, oh, I can answer this one!" Said girl chimed, laying in a similar fashion, her hair falling over the side of the bed and onto his shoulder.

"No, you can't, shut up," Gyutaro scolded, brushing her ivory locks away from him. "Shut up or I'm killing this whole document, I swear to God."

"No you won't, you've been working on it for hours!" She huffed before tapping on his left shoulder to get his attention. When he glanced over, she leaned over his right and snatched the laptop away from him, just in case he wasn't bluffing. "Anyways, Gyu doesn't have any friends, just me!" The way she'd said it so casually tugged on your heartstrings, espeically with the expression that he pulled in response.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." You muttered, feeling guilty for even having asked. "Is there a reason why?"

Gyutaro had some spiteful remark about his looks locked and loaded, but his sister took the wind from his sails. "It's because he thinks he's ugly!" She groaned, as if such a sentiment was outlandish to her. "That and he never goes out to talk to people!"

"That's not true, I have tons of friends!" He protested, sitting up on his knees and turning around, trying to reach his computer, only to have it further nudged out of his reach. "Akaza, Kaigaku, and Douma are my friends."

"Douma's a creep, Akaza's a douche, and Kaigaku..." She paused. "I guess he's alright, but he literally abandoned you, like what the eff!"

The man rolled his eyes, dragging his palms down his flushed face. "Oh my God, he didn't abandon me! He joined a frat and moved out of my dorm!"

"Oh, you have a friend in a frat?" You asked, curiousity piqued. "Does he ever invite you to any parties?" You were yet to experience a frat party and the oppertunity to possibly get an invite seemed increadibly tantilizing.

"Well, he used to," Gytuaro answered curtly, curling up with his knees to his chin, seemingly giving up getting his laptop back. "He kinda stopped inviting me because I kept saying no."

"You turned down invites to multiple parties?" Ume shrieked, yanking on the hood of his jacket, rocking back and forth. "You're even lamer than I thought!"

You simply shook your head at her childish display. "Why don't you just ask for an invite to the next one? It's the start of the semester, so I'm sure there'll be one soon." You suggested with a paitent smile.

"Why the hell would I do that? I don't wanna go," He admitted, giving you a look like you were stupid just for insinuating he might enjoy such a setting. "It's all just drunk girls, drunk guys, drunk sex, and stupidity."

"I wanna go!" His sister pouted, still pulling at him. "It sounds like fun!"

"Absolutely fuckin' not!" He shut her down without a second thought. "Ume, if I ever found out you went to a party without me I'd-" He paused, head falling back against her legs, seeing her big, hopeful eyes, deciding to drop whatever violent threat was on on the tip of his tounge. "I'd hang you up by your toes." He sighed, smirking as he pinched her freshly painted big toe.

"I won't go alone, (Y/N)'ll come with me, won't you?" She chriped, glancing up at you, giggling and kicking his hands away.

"Of course I will! I love partying, it'll be fun!" You agreed cheerily.

"Hey, no! What the hell did I just say?" Gyutaro piped up, his fond smile fading to an irritated scowl. "I didn't say you couldn't go alone, I said you can't go without me!"

"Come with us, then," You snickered, reaching out and flicking his forehead to get his attention. "Simple fix."

"I said I don't wanna go," He grumbled, eyebrow twitching in irritation. "And neither of you are going without me, so I guess nobody is going anywhere!" He chirped fakely.

"Hey, why can't I go?" You whine, laying your head on your arm. God, were your lashes always this long, or is it just because you're pouting? "That's not fair..."

"Because if you go, Ume will go because she has no self control." He depanned, entirely ignoring her annoyed bonks to his head. "And then you'll both probably get drugged and date raped or something. Then I'll have to kill someone and I really don't wanna go back to prison."

The grin on his face made you a bit queasy and you weren't sure why. You were sure he was bluffing, but then again, you didn't really know Gyutaro all that well. He could be a felon for all you knew. Luckily, your roomie nipped that train of thought in the butt. "Brother, you idiot, you don't even have criminal record!" Just like that, the 'cool guy' facade he'd created crumbled, and he was back to his shy self again, flustered as he argued with his sister.

"C'mon, Gyutaro," You giggled, reaching out and toying with a few strands of his hair, noting that they were fairly greasy. You pretended not to notice. "Just come with us this one time, who knows you might like it!"

"How could I possibly like it?" He rolled his eyes, avoiding your gaze as your nails gently scratched his scalp.

"Maybe you'll meet a girl!" Ume chirped excitedly, shaking his shoulders again. "Oh my God, what if we go a you meet a girl and fall in love and-"

"Oh, give it a rest," He groan, leaning away from her, only to inadvertedly lean farther into your touch. Great, he was trapped between to girls, and not even in the good way. Either his annoying baby sister, or her annoying best friend.

"Hey, yeah, that's a good idea, actually!" You grin, leaning closer still, nearly falling off your bed and into his lap. "We'll all go! We can experience our first frat party, you can look after us, and we can help you talk to girls! Everyone wins!"

Gyutaro hated this idea, he had so many better things to do than to babysit two freshman girls at a wild party. But something told him neither you or Ume would let it go until he relented, so with his hands up defensively, he finally sighed. "Jesus Christ, fine! I'll text Kaigaku for an invite!"

You both squealed with delight at the thought of going to your first college party, thanking him endlessly. He simply waved you off as he took out his phone from his pocket, one hundred percent sure he'd regret this.

"Hey man, could I maybe get an invite to the next party?"

[techramonic]

The Pinnacle of Self-Hatred: A Close-Reading on Elliot Rodger's Manifesto

“I named it the Day of Retribution. It would be a day in which I exact my ultimate retribution and revenge on all of the hedonistic scum who enjoyed lives of pleasure that they don’t deserve. If I can’t have it, I will destroy it. I will destroy all women because I can never have them. I will make them all suffer for rejecting me… And I will slaughter them like the animals they are.” (Rodger, 2014, p. 101)

On the Friday evening of May. 23, 2014, Elliot Rodger had perpetrated the Isla Vista Killings. A series of stabbings and shootings that claimed the lives of six people, injured fourteen, and concluded with his own death from a fatal self-inflicted gunshot wound on the head. Before this, Elliot was like any other normal teenager growing up.

As he mentioned in his own manifesto, he had a seemingly good childhood up until his parent’s divorce. Even until the separation, he still spent time with both sides of his family, maintaining the privilege to have access to many luxurious items such as a collection of designer clothes and even a BMW 328i. He traveled a lot, and at just the age of one, he had already traveled to France, Sussex, Malaysia (where his mother grew up), Spain, Greece, and California.

People on platforms such as Reddit often questioned why no one considered dating him at all. Elliot had also asked himself this question time and time again. In one of his youtube videos, entitled, “Why do girls hate me so much” he says:

“I’ve been attending college in Santa Barbara for two and a half years now, in those two and a half years I have experienced nothing but loneliness and misery, and my problem  is girls. There are so many beautiful girls here, but none of them give me a chance and I don’t know why. I don’t know why you girls are so repulsed by me.”

While it is easy to dismiss that Elliot solely acted upon his crime because he thought that girls were the problem, upon the surface where misogyny lies, there are layers upon layers of complexities that shaped his views. Elliot did not simply hate women and men who got with women he dreamed of, it was that ultimately, he hated himself—a hatred that manifested toward outward factors.

Elliot has exhibited a long string of stunted self-worth ever since he was a child, and while it is easy to throw around names like: monster and pure-evil; the fact remains: he is still considered a human amongst all those. One who is consumed by insecurity.

In understanding a crime, we must first examine the criminal and approach their case with empathy. Understanding the human aspect of these criminals does not however mean that one should excuse, dismiss, or condone their actions. Only understand the reasons behind their motivations. Here are some aspects I have noticed in his personality and life that may be able to better explain why.

MATERIALISM AND INSECURITY

In his manifesto entitled: “My Twisted World”, Elliot had confessed to having lived a good childhood. He was a nice kid who lived a nice life, up until his parent’s rocky divorce. While reading his manifesto, I have garnered his tendency to place his worth on materialistic things, moreso, his wealth. There were two instances of this on pages thirty to thirty-one of his manifesto. The first was when he was hesitant to invite his new friend from school over to his house because he was ashamed of his wealth:

“I was a bit hesitant to invite anyone from Pinecrest to my mother’s house, because it was located in Canoga Park, a bad area, and most of the kids at Pinecrest were upper-middle class who would look down on me for living there.”

On page thirty one of his manifesto, Elliot said that he was eager to receive an Xbox solely because many kids from his school wanted it:

“My mother bought me a brand new video game console, the Xbox. I heard a lot of kids talking about how great the Xbox was at school, so I was really eager to have one.”

This trait had continued on to his older years. In the same video where he questioned why girls disliked him so much, he stated:

“I do everything I can to appear attractive to you. I dress nice. I am sophisticated and magnificent. I have a nice car, a BMW.”

From this, it’s observable that Elliot tends to desire things just because other kids desire it too. This is rooted in his craving of validation and acceptance. This materialistic need for validation also transcended from mere objects to even his own appearance. Whenever he did not have what others had or wanted, he would be very ashamed of himself.

At the age of six, Elliot had moved to Topanga Elementary Charter School, a school based in California. The school has a thirty two per-cent minority rate, making seventy eight per-cent of the ethnicity population white. With the population being predominantly white, Elliot  had developed a view on the world that separates people by their differences: the “cool kids” and the “losers”. Mostly, Elliot described these cool kids as the higher-class, privileged, centered on attention, and white. 

“I realized, with some horror, that I wasn’t “cool” at all. I had a dorky hairstyle, I wore plain and uncool clothing, and I was shy and unpopular. I was always described as the shy boy in the past, but I never really thought my shyness would affect me in a negative way, until this point. This revelation about the world, and about myself, really decreased my self-esteem. On top of this was the feeling that I was different because I am of mixed race. I am half White, half Asian, and this made me different from the normal fully-white kids that I was trying to fit in with.”

He even dyed his hair blonde and tried to pick up on skateboarding because he thought it would make him appear more cool. On his manifesto he wrote:

“My first act was to ask my parents to allow me to bleach my hair blonde. I always envied and admired blonde-haired people, they always seemed so much more beautiful.” (Rodger, 2014, p. 17)

“I then started to notice that all of the cool kids were interested in skateboarding. I had never even ridden on a skateboard before, but if I wanted to be cool, I had to become a skateboarder.” (Rodger, 2014, p. 18)

This materialism had soon influenced his fixation on racial hierarchy. Elliot in his older years constantly demeaned and berated others of asian descent even if he was half-malaysian himself. To him, he considered whiteness as a prestige. On platforms such as reddit and facebook, he had made several negative comments regarding the appearance of some Asian men. 

A comment he had left on a reddit thread stated:

“Full Asian men are disgustingly ugly and white girls would never go for you. You’re just butthurt that you were born an asian piece of shit, so you lash out by linking these fake pictures. You even admit that you wish you were half white. You’ll never be half-white and you’ll never fulfill your dream of marrying a white woman. I suggest you jump off a bridge.” 

The paragraph entails Elliot calling out a man for linking fake pictures of himself. Elliot speculates that the man had done this because he wished he was white, then he tells him how he was not considered as attractive because he was simply born Asian. Elliot was also very fixated on his looks, specifically his height. He had repeatedly mentioned his envy of other boys and even girls who were taller than him.

On page fifteen of his manifesto, he wrote:

“As Fourth Grade started, it fully dawned on me that I was the shortest kid in my class – even the girls were taller than me. In the past, I rarely gave a thought to it, but at this stage I became extremely annoyed at how everyone was taller than me, and how the tallest boys were automatically respected more. It instilled the first feelings of inferiority in me, and such feelings would only grow more volatile with time.”

In other instances, he also noted that he was bullied for being physically weak and short, and often he would blame this solely on his descent. He saw being mixed as a form of inferiority because this made him “undesirable”.  His image of attractiveness is measured by euro-centric features: fair-skinned, blonde, blue eyes, and tall. In many instances, he changed parts of himself to better fit the narrative of being “cool”.

To him, it’s all a part of growing up and fitting in, but what he failed to see is that the more he takes and changes parts of himself for people to like him, the more it just makes him hollow. Elliot’s childhood and teen years, best summed up, is a fixation on trying to keep up with those who are higher on the social status ladder and this continued to his later years. 

EARLY EXPOSURE TO PORNOGRAPHY AND SEXIST MEDIA 

Elliot was lonelier during his teen years, at 13 years old, he stopped having contact with his only friends because they started having their own separate lives together, making him spend more time alone by himself (Rodger, 2014, p. 38). This was when Elliot recounted his first-time exposure to pornography by catching a teenager watch it in an arcade called Planet Cyber.  He re-called it as a traumatizing experience, confused on why such an explicit thing would be considered as “love”. Despite this, his innocence was damaged by this accidental exposure. Though he did feel aroused, he was more guilty and confused.

“One time while I was alone at Planet Cyber, I saw an older teenager watching pornography. I saw in detail a video of a man having sex with a hot girl …  I didn’t know anything about sex at the time. I barely even knew what sex was. I was slowly starting to develop sexual feelings for hot girls, but I didn’t know what to do with them. To see this video really traumatized me. I had no idea what I was seeing… I couldn’t imagine human beings doing such things with each other. The sight was shocking, traumatizing, and arousing. All of these feelings mixed together took a great toll on me. I walked home and cried by myself  for a bit.” (Rodger, 2014, p. 38-39)

This was the pinnacle of Elliot’s misery. A kid who searched for validation with his looks, now searched for it in sexual gratification as well. He only found himself loved if people flocked over to him. Furthermore, he had this distorted mindset that his worth is only measured by how many girls he could get and how fast he'd lose his virginity. This can be akin to the stereotypical portrayals of boys in media that often influenced teens and their concept of self-worth: the "cool" guys having lots of girls, while nerds and "losers" have none.

With this type of thinking, he tried his best to gain things that he thought women would like, yet he did little to no effort to actually get to know them and socialize. He believed that just because he had what others wanted or did not, people would love him. According to his friends, they thought he was almost always one-sided, expecting women to just swoon over him because he has things that are desirable.

ENTITLEMENT

Furthermore, despite his initial pleasant middle school years at Pinecrest High, such as dancing with a girl during a school dance (Rodger, 2014, p. 29), socializing eventually became difficult for Elliot. Often, this is because of  his appearance, where he experienced bullying because of his height. According to his friends, he barely talked to women but still complained no woman wanted to talk to him. 

Elliot was easily persuaded and subjected to peer-pressure because he had no clear identity. He always followed what was the trend because it made him feel less insecure about himself, since it was what he thought the people accepted and desired.

Despite his insecurities, Elliot had a fine record for being privileged, which he used to his advantage to "fix" certain qualities in himself that he deemed undesirable. Ever since he was younger, he often used his wealth to modify certain aspects of himself, even the smallest things: dyeing his hair blonde, purchasing designer clothes to appear more attractive and rich, purchasing mass amounts of body-building pills, and only picking up hobbies such as skateboarding and basketball solely because he found them useful in climbing up the social ladder.

Elliot also had a strong dislike for people who did not support his motivations. He expressed a strong resentment toward is step-mother, Soumaya, because of her assertive nature. He considered his dad to be “weak” for following her orders around, when in truth, she was only trying to teach Elliot a lesson about independence. 

“Not only did she kick me out of father’s house, but she forbade me to go there even for a short visit. And still, father didn’t do anything about it. Father kept saying that the house is her house as much as his, and that she has the right to kick me out. No! I am the eldest son! The house should be MY house before hers! This caused any respect I still had for my father to fade away completely. It was such a betrayal, to put his second wife before his eldest son. What kind of father would do that? The bitch must be really good to him in bed, I figured. What a weak man.” (Rodger, 2014, p. 62)

At his step-mother’s insistence, Elliot began looking for a job and eventually found work from a family friend who offered him a job for a house construction project. He felt more comfortable with it, seeing the job as helping rather than typical employment. After getting his driver’s license, Elliot enrolled in summer classes at Moorpark College but struggled with attendance, again, due to his jealousy of campus couples.

He dropped out midway through, briefly worked as a janitor at an airport office, and quit after one day. Knowing his mother would be upset, he re-enrolled at Moorpark but eventually dropped out again (Rodger, 2014, p. 70). Upon learning of Elliot’s decision to drop out again, his parents decided he would move to Santa Barbara, where he would live alone in an apartment paid for by his mother, receive a $500 monthly allowance from his father, and enroll in classes at Santa Barbara Community College (Rodger, 2014, p. 77). 

CONCLUSION

Elliot is very persistent on the idea that to be accepted, he needed to be loved, when in truth, he couldn't bear to accept himself. No one has absolutely any obligation to love someone because the other sees it as a form of validation. Self-worth comes from yourself, not from others. Due to Elliot’s constant fixation on trying to be accepted, he lost the identity that made him authentic and genuine. He lost what other people could not give him: self-worth.

Concluding, Elliot Rodger is a complex individual that cannot be summed up to one set character. He is not solely “pure evil”, he is a person with a background that influenced his decisions. He is not less deserving of humanity or empathy because just like others, he had also felt humane emotions. With criminals, it is always important to remember that to understand a certain event or phenomena of crime, we also have to understand not just the perpetrator that the media portrays, which is often easily pushed into a oversimplified narrative of “pure evil”; we must also consider the genuine person behind the crime. 

While it is important to recognize that these are profoundly disturbed individuals who must be held accountable for their actions, it is also crucial to understand that despite their crimes, they still remain human. Although, this does not mean that his background excuses or condones his actions. It only provides a framework to comprehensively understand both the case and the criminal behind it. 

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.7 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Doing things simply because you want to do them feels better than expected. Bradley wants this trip to work out.

Warnings: to lovers, power imbalance, professor / student relationship, age gap ( 22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity, them actually getting along for once?, kissing, wc: 3.3k

…

With Bradley busy with his research, Pasquale assumes the responsibility of leading the group. He’s much more lax than Bradley, his only instruction is to meet him in the lobby before nine-thirty and be prepared for a short walk.

It’s the first morning that you aren’t even a little bit late. You’ve been up since six with no chance of getting back to sleep. For a while, you had just laid on your back and stared out of the window at the street view. It’s always cooler in the mornings, it’s nice to leave the window open.

Even with the nice view, the breeze — you just can’t relax enough to try to get back to sleep. You’re uncomfortable to the point of practically squirming thinking of how you had behaved last night. It’s not even like you can really blame the wine. Well, you could, it was a lot. But you hadn’t felt drunk when you had kissed Bradley.

Simply, you had just wanted to kiss him. It’s hard to remember the last time you had done something just because you had wanted to.

Malcolm was your first kiss when you were fifteen. Those soft kisses in the passenger seat of his brand new car. Things with him really haven’t progressed much further since then.

Every now and then things will progress to some neck kissing, some hands under shirts — but it’s been eight years. Three weeks with Bradley and you’re practically throwing yourself at him.

His absence feels heavy as Pasquale takes all of you on a guided tour around the city. Especially when he walks you up those familiar steps and shows you the same viewpoint that you had sat on last night, with Bradley’s heavy arm around your shoulder.

It’s worsened by the fact that everyone around you is growing closer to each other. They have inside jokes. They’re affectionate. You’re borderline invisible. So, wandering along a little side road that Pasquale insists will lead somewhere important, it’s not surprising when you’re struck once again by the sudden desire to just do what you want.

What you want, at that exact moment in time, is ice-cream. A little bit after one, the sun’s almost at its highest point now and traipsing through the city in the heat just doesn’t sound like fun.

Bradley’s tutoring you now, you spend your free times reading all of the books that Pasquale could lend you. As you see it, being taken to see old buildings with people that don’t like you, is just a waste of time.

It turns out, it’s much more fun without them. It could have been an opportunity to think about who you are and what you’re doing, but that’s far too complicated for just today. Taking spoonfuls of caramel flavoured gelato, your Walkman is plucked from your bag and you’re listening to a mix that one of your friends had made you.

Taylor Dayne guides you through the city. You look up and around you, taking it all in. It’s probably the most relaxed that you’ve felt since Malcolm kissed you goodbye back in New York. The music plays loudly as you round a corner into another plaza. Licking a smidge of the gelato from your bottom lip, you slow slightly.

If Pasquale was here, he would probably be able to tell you which tourist trap you have stumbled across. But, he isn’t, so you walk forwards by yourself. Through the crowds of women, ditching the remnants of your dessert into a nearby trash can as you lean closer to read the sign.

La casa di Guilietta. Even with your lack of revision, you know what that means. A small smile plasters itself across your lips as the next tracks plays on. Robert DeNiro’s Waiting, Bananarama. Penny’s one request had been for you to bring her back a picture of a hunky Italian, maybe this is her idea of inspiring you to do so.

Walking under the stone archway, you cross through into the cobbled, crowded courtyard and look up at the stone balcony. Pushing your hands into the pockets of your blue gingham shorts, you come to a complete stop. It’s debated if Shakespeare ever even went to Italy, so he probably never saw this.

Now that you have, you can understand the inspiration.

Glancing down at the brown leather watch on your wrist, you have about an hour and a half left until you’re supposed to meet Bradley back at the hotel for the afternoon.

Looking back up, your attention is caught by a woman sitting on a bench. She can’t be much older than you. Her breath catches in her throat, wet tears rolling down onto the notebook in her lap as she sobs. It’s rude to stare, that was instilled into you at a very early age. But you can’t help but watch as she tears the page from the book and crosses to the wall by your right.

She tucks it between the bricks and brushes past you, trembling. Brows knitting, you walk forwards to examine the wall, littered with pages and notes. Touching a pink-tinted page with your index finger, you push it back just enough to read it. By some blind luck, the first one that you touch is written in English. Dear Juliet.

Emma details her relationship with a man called Marcus. A sixteen year long marriage, falling apart at the seams, and a lifetime of doubt. She details the heartbreak and hard work, the pain of just not knowing. The second that you read her sign off, you move on to another letter.

“I just wish I had a few more days here, the Capitolare is so impressive.” Bradley hums as he walks alongside Enzo, one of the treasurers of a nearby museum. He has been helping Bradley with his research through the morning, it’s because of him that Bradley had access to texts which aren’t supposed to be available anymore.

“I could get you in earlier tomorrow, since you can’t do this afternoon. Get you an extra couple of hours, if you don’t mind the early wake up time.” Enzo offers with a quick shrug.

“That would be…” Bradley catches a glimpse of blue to his left and turns his head, his voice starting to trail. White tennis shoes, brown leather shoulder bag, blue gingham shorts. Alone. “Sorry, can you give me a sec?”

Brows furrowed, your eyes scan the page as a Tears for Fears track plays in your ears. This letter is fresh. The name on it is Annabella. It starts off so happily. She’s married, she has a daughter, and she and her husband are so happy together. But it’s not enough. Your lips twist into a small frown as you read on.

Bradley reaches out and takes hold of your headphones, pulling them off of your ears and letting them fall to rest around your neck. Before he has even let go, you’re already gasping loudly and spinning towards him.

The interaction catches the attention of several of the women writing around you. Bradley drops his hands back down to his sides and looks to the wall behind you, then around at where he is.

“What are you doing here? — Where’s Pasquale?”

You look him up and down. It’s eye-level, but that’s not what causes you to stare at the loosely fastened half-Windsor knotted tie around Bradley’s neck. You didn’t even know he owned a tie.

“I don’t know. What are you doing here?” You flip the question, finally lifting your gaze to look him in the eye with your hands crossed behind your back.

“I had a meeting and I saw you here on your own. Did they ditch you?”

Your lips press together swiftly. It’s embarrassing that he knows they dislike you so much but, in a way, also endearing that he’s concerned enough to have come over and check. Quiet, you lean around him to see another smartly dressed man in a bespoke suit staring over at the two of you. As you lean in, Bradley inhales the scent and jasmine. He swallows as you pull back to look at him again.

Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened, his hair fluffy and pushed back off of his forehead. No suit jacket, but he is wearing a belt. His shoes look like real leather. It’s a step above smart casual. He looks handsome. Grown up. Too old for you probably, when he finally dresses his age.

“No,” You answer him back, pushing you sunglasses up into your hair to look at him. “I was bored, so I left.”

Bradley stares at you, silent for a moment before he finally lifts his brows expectantly. “You what?”

“I just went for a walk.” You tell him calmly.

“On your own.” Bradley isn’t even asking you to confirm, he’s just mulling it over by himself. He looks around once more, giving a soft shake of his head. “You didn’t think that that might have been kind of dangerous?”

Leaning around him again, you peer through the archway curiously. The look on your face as you pull back tells him that you have no interest in entertaining this conversation. And, he’s right. “Your friend looks like he’s getting kind of impatient.”

“You can’t just wander off. Pasquale could be looking for you.” Bradley chides, his face twisting into a stern frown. You give another small shrug of your shoulders, crossing your arms over your chest. He narrows his eyes at you. “You’ve been here all afternoon?”

“For a while, yeah.” You answer calmly.

“You know how to get back to the hotel from here?” Bradley asks. There’s a brief pause as a smile starts to creep its way onto your lips.

“Sure…” You shrug once more. He shakes his head in disbelief. “I could figure it out.”

He opens his mouth, then promptly closes it again. You watch patiently as Bradley shoots a definitely impatient look towards his accomplice. He sighs. “Come on, troublemaker. Let’s go tell Pasquale you’re alive.

You gesture to the wall behind you. You didn’t get to the bottom of that letter. “Oh, actually, I was just—“

“Now.” Bradley interrupts, placing his hand on your shoulder and spinning you towards Enzo. He watches the dirty look you shoot back at him, relieved as you decide to start walking anyway.

You walk silently between them as Bradley has a conversation with Enzo on the way back to the hotel. They don’t bother to include you, you don’t bother to interrupt. Bradley watches as you lengthen your strides, wandering a few steps ahead of them, setting your headphones back over your ears.

“Girlfriend problems?” Enzo whispers, smiling softly as he looks over at Bradley.

“What? — No, she’s a student.” Bradley breezes over the question in a way that surprises him. He hasn’t ever considered himself to be a very good liar. He usually tells the truth without caring who it will hurt. So, that was believable. He wouldn’t have guessed that Bradley left your room last night with his dick straining against his jeans.

“Then she has a crush on you.” Enzo replies with a chuckle.

It’s not a crush. You’re both attracted to each other, Bradley knows that as well as he knows that it’s not smart to feel that way. But a crush is something different. He’s not sure that you like him enough for it to be called a crush.

“Call it six for tomorrow morning? — I’ll meet you by the steps?” He changes the topic swiftly, knowing that Enzo’s a smart enough guy to pick up on that. He doesn’t really have another choice. Enzo shoots a quick look towards you, then looks back to Bradley with a smile, giving a curt nod of his head.

Bradley adjusts the leather strap of his bag against his shoulder, walking faster to catch up to you. Even with your headphones on, you don’t startle this time. He’s less abrupt about it, casually slipping his palm into yours and overtaking you.

Your lips quirk into a smile as he guides you towards the stairwell. Being thirty minutes early, you both know that means that Pasquale and the others aren’t back yet. You push the headphones back and let them rest around your neck as he slips his room key from his pocket.

The lock clicks open compliantly and Bradley takes a step back, motioning for you to go ahead. Dropping your bag onto Luke’s bed, you untangle yourself from the Walkman and its wire, then drop that down too. There’s a perfectly good desk and this room has three perfectly good chairs. Bradley closes the door behind him as you sit down on the edge of his bed.

He glances down at his watch. Your heartbeat picks up as he lifts his head and crosses to sit beside you. And then, he pulls open his satchel and pulls out a bundle of papers. Fuck, the exam. Truthfully, you hadn’t been expecting any real work to happen.

Your lips part as you stare down at the circled 73 scrawled on the front of the practice exam.

“Are you serious? — A C?”

Bradley lifts his gaze and smirks. Just like that, you’ve switched from batting your eyelashes to looking like you’re deciding whether or not to hit him. He can’t pretend he isn’t amused.

“It’s better than an F.” He points out, starting to loosen his tie as he leans one palm on the sheets behind him. You turn your head and squint, displeased with his answer clearly.

“Better than— you know what, I - I should just—“

Bradley catches your wrist as you stand up from the bed swiftly, letting the exam paper fall to the bed. He tugs you back towards him, catching your hips and guiding you between his knees. He studies your scowling face.

“You’re really not used to not being perfect at everything, are you, honey?” He muses. You push at his shoulders and move to step back, rolling your eyes at him. With minimal effort, Bradley squeezes at your hips and keeps you right there. “It’s alright. Just sit down, we’ll take a look.”

“I don’t want to take a look. It’s stupid.” You shake your head, shoving at his shoulders again. Bradley gives your hips a small tug, spreading his knees as he guides you down onto his thigh.

“It’s not stupid.” He tells you. You narrow your eyes at him as he smooths his hand softly along your back. His lips quirk up into a smile. His hand curls around the nape of your neck, making sure that you turn your head to look at him. “You’re not stupid. I was impressed.”

“Impressed by a C? — Bradley, stop it.” You sigh, pushing at his hands and trying to stand up again. It’s clear that you’re not going to stop trying to run away any time soon, and Bradley’s not done making his point.

His hands curl tight around you hips and you yelp as he lifts you and turns at the same time, dropping you down onto his bed and pinning you there. “You went from an F to a C in three weeks. That’s why I’m impressed. I’m not messing with you.”

Your eyes flicker between his face and the gold chain threatening to slip out from inside of his neat button-up. You exhale softly.

“I thought I did better.” You admit. Shame coats your features, you’re avoiding his gaze, your hands are pinned rigidly at your sides. Bradley sits up a little, giving you some leeway to move.

“So let’s talk about it.” Bradley says calmly. You stare back at him, finally looking him in the eye. He can tell that you want to get up and run. Leaning down, one of his hands comes to grip your hip as he kisses your lips slowly. He pulls back, and raises his brows expectantly.

“Okay.” You agree quietly.

He shoots you a quick smile, then stands up, grabbing the exam paper from the bed as you push yourself up. He sits at the end facing you as he quizzes you once again through the first page. For the first time, you don’t feel scrutinized by him.

“Alright, the Latin unseen translation is where you lost a lot of points, but uh — it’s alright. We can work on that.” Bradley scratches at the back of his neck as he studies the excerpt. You’re quiet, toying with your cuticles. He continues. “The information you’re given is that a farmer is entertaining three gods, incognito, in his cottage until Neptune inadvertently gives them away. Do you pay attention to this stuff at the top when you’re translating?”

You swallow. No, not really. Really, you had recognised a few of the words and assumed that you would be okay. “Of course I do.”

He looks up at you over the page, quiet like he’s giving you a moment to rescind your answer. “This isn’t going to work if you lie.”

“I’m not lying.” You rush defensively, crossing one knee over the other. Bradley exhales slowly and sets the pen down on the bed between the two of you. He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not!”

The door bursts open before you, and the moment is over. The two of you stare, side-by-side, as Luke is backed into the room with Robin’s tongue in his mouth. From Bradley’s vantage point, he can see her hand inside of his jeans

“Luke!”

Luke groans as Robin ribs her hand back. He pants, turning to face the man, wiping lipstick from his face. “Oh, hey, Bradley. I, uh — um, how did that meeting with Enzo go?”

You glance across. If Luke knows whatever the hell Bradley was up to today, you should probably know too. Luke isn’t even that good of a student and he knows. But, he does idolize Bradley.

“Robin has a room to herself now, you know.” You point out, trying to save them from the pain of getting lectured by Bradley any more than they already have.

“Who asked you?” Robin bites back.

Bradley stares at her. He presses his lips together in a line. In the years that he has been running this trip, he hasn’t ever had to babysit this much.

He pushes himself up and walks over to her, then brushes right past. Your eyes widen, craning your neck to watch as Bradley slams his fist into the door beside his. Robin and Luke stare on, confused as he walks along the hall doing the same until all of his students pour out into the hallway.

“Everyone come here, make sure you can hear me because I’m only going to say it once.”

From now on, if you make me treat you like children, I’ll treat you like children. The first one of you to upset someone here will deal with me. You’re going to start getting along like adults.

You fiddle awkwardly with the corner of the exam paper as he continues on, knowing that this is all your fault.

“Starting tonight. At eight, you’re going to meet me in the lobby and we’re going to get dinner together. You’re going to get along whether you like it or not. Understood?”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27

[jacaela]

The Rise and Fall of Queen Rhaenyra

At the center of the merriment, cherished and adored by all, was their only surviving child, Princess Rhaenyra, the little girl the court singers dubbed “the Realm’s Delight.” Though only six when her father came to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen was a precocious child, bright and bold and beautiful as only one of dragon’s blood can be beautiful. At seven, she became a dragonrider, taking to the sky on the young dragon she named Syrax, after a goddess of old Valyria. At eight, the princess was placed into service as a cupbearer…but for her own father, the king. At table, at tourney, and at court, King Viserys thereafter was seldom seen without his daughter by his side.

Viserys declared his daughter, Rhaenyra, to be his rightful heir, and named her Princess of Dragonstone. In a lavish ceremony at King’s Landing, hundreds of lords did obeisance to the Realm’s Delight as she sat at her father’s feet at the base of the Iron Throne, swearing to honor and defend her right of succession.

Though Princess Rhaenyra had been proclaimed her father’s successor, there were many in the realm, at court and beyond it, who still hoped that Viserys might father a male heir, for the Young King was not yet thirty.

When King Viserys took Alicent Hightower to wife in 106 AC, House Velaryon was notable for its absence. Princess Rhaenyra poured for her stepmother at the feast, and Queen Alicent kissed her and named her “daughter.” The princess was amongst the women who disrobed the king and delivered him to the bedchamber of his bride.

The amity between Her Grace and her stepdaughter had proved short-lived, for both Rhaenyra and Alicent aspired to be the first lady of the realm…and though the queen had given the king not one but two male heirs, Viserys had done nothing to change the order of succession.

Yet Princess Rhaenyra continued to sit at the foot of the Iron Throne when her father held court, and His Grace began bringing her to meetings of the small council as well.

Though Ser Otto returned to Oldtown following his dismissal, the queen still had supporters who adhered to her view that Aegon, not Rhaenyra, should be Viserys’s heir. But Princess Rhaenyra, now in her teens, had her own supporters.

“Until our new queen is crowned,” someone said. In Grand Maester Munkun’s account, the words are Orwyle’s, spoken softly, no more than a quibble. But Mushroom and Septon Eustace insist it was Lord Beesbury who spoke up, and in a waspish tone. “King,” insisted Queen Alicent. “The Iron Throne by rights must pass to His Grace’s eldest trueborn son.”

The silent sisters were sent for, to prepare the corpse for burning, and riders went forth on pale horses to spread the word to the people of King’s Landing, crying “King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon.” Hearing the cries, Munkun writes, some wept whilst others cheered, but most of the smallfolk stared in silence, confused and wary, and now and again a voice cried out, “Long live our queen.”

There had been a time when she had been well loved by highborn and commons alike, when they had cheered her as the Realm’s Delight.

On Dragonstone, no cheers were heard. Instead, screams echoed through the halls and stairwells of Sea Dragon Tower, down from the queen’s apartments where Rhaenyra Targaryen strained and shuddered in her third day of labor. The child had not been due for another turn of the moon, but the tidings from King’s Landing had driven the princess into a black fury, and her rage seemed to bring on the birth, as if the babe inside her were angry too, and fighting to get out.

The dead girl had been named Visenya, Princess Rhaenyra announced the next day, when milk of the poppy had blunted the edge of her pain. “She was my only daughter, and they killed her. They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.”

Her first act as queen was to declare Ser Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent traitors and rebels. “As for my half-brothers and my sweet sister, Helaena,” she announced, “they have been led astray by the counsel of evil men. Let them come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask my forgiveness, and I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart, for they are of my own blood, and no man or woman is as accursed as the kinslayer.”

Word of Rhaenyra’s coronation reached the Red Keep the next day, to the great displeasure of Aegon II. “My half-sister and my uncle are guilty of high treason,” the young king declared. “I want them attainted, I want them arrested, and I want them dead.”

“A Grand Maester should know the law and serve it,” she told Orwyle. “You are no Grand Maester, and you bring only shame and dishonor to that chain you wear.” As Orwyle protested feebly, Rhaenyra’s knights stripped his chain of office from his neck and forced him to his knees whilst the princess bestowed the chain upon her own man, Maester Gerardys, “a true and leal servant of the realm and its laws.” As she sent Orwyle and the other envoys on their way, Rhaenyra said, “Tell my half-brother that I will have my throne, or I will have his head.”

The sudden, bloodless fall of Black Harren’s seat was counted a great victory for Queen Rhaenyra and her blacks. It served as a sharp reminder of the martial prowess of Prince Daemon and the power of Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, and gave the queen a stronghold in the heart of Westeros, to which her supporters could rally…and Rhaenyra had many such in the lands watered by the Trident. When Prince Daemon sent forth his call to arms, they rose up all along the rivers, knights and men-at-arms and humble peasants who yet remembered the Realm’s Delight, so beloved of her father, and the way she smiled and charmed them as she made her progress through the riverlands in her youth. Hundreds and then thousands buckled on their swordbelts and donned their mail, or grabbed a pitchfork or a hoe and a crude wooden shield, and began to make their way to Harrenhal to fight for Viserys’s little girl.

And with his death, the war of ravens and envoys and marriage pacts came to an end, and the war of fire and blood began in earnest.

On Dragonstone, Queen Rhaenyra collapsed when told of Luke’s death.

The bird arrived as Rhaenyra and her blacks were mourning Ser Erryk and debating the proper response to “Aegon the Usurper’s” latest attack. Though shaken by this attempt on her life (or the lives of her sons), the queen was still reluctant to attack King’s Landing. Munkun (who, it must be remembered, wrote many years later) says this was because of her horror of kinslaying. [...] Mushroom alone was present for these councils, however, and the fool insists that Rhaenyra was still so griefsick over the death of her son Lucerys that she absented herself from the war council, giving over her command to the Sea Snake and his wife, Princess Rhaenys.

East of Blackwater Bay, Queen Rhaenyra was also faring badly. The death of her son Lucerys had been a crushing blow to a woman already broken by pregnancy, labor, and stillbirth. When word reached Dragonstone that Princess Rhaenys had fallen, angry words were exchanged between the queen and Lord Velaryon, who blamed her for his wife’s death.

These are large claims for a small man, and ones not borne out by any of our other chroniclers, no more than by the facts. Her Grace was far from alone. Four living sons remained to her. “My strength and my consolation,” the queen called them.

Yet none of these losses were felt so deeply as that of Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra’s youngest son seemed lost as well. In the confusion of battle, none of the survivors seemed quite certain which ship Prince Viserys had been on. Men on both sides presumed him dead, drowned or burned or butchered. And though his brother Aegon the Younger had fled and lived, all the joy had gone out of the boy; he would never forgive himself for leaping onto Stormcloud and abandoning his little brother to the enemy. It is written that when the Sea Snake was congratulated on his victory, the old man said, “If this be victory, I pray I never win another.”

Only the gods truly know the hearts of men, and women are full as strange. Broken by the loss of one son, Rhaenyra Targaryen seemed to find new strength after the loss of a second. Jace’s death hardened her, burning away her fears, leaving only her anger and her hatred. Still possessed of more dragons than her half-brother, Her Grace now resolved to use them, no matter the cost. She would rain down fire and death upon Aegon and all those who supported him, she told the black council, and either tear him from the Iron Throne or die in the attempt.

And on Dragonstone, Rhaenyra Targaryen donned a suit of gleaming black scale, mounted Syrax, and took flight as a rainstorm lashed the waters of Blackwater Bay. High above the city the queen and her prince consort came together, circling over Aegon’s High Hill.

For all the vaunted strength of its walls, King’s Landing fell in less than a day. A short, bloody fight was waged at the River Gate, where thirteen Hightower knights and a hundred men-at-arms drove off the gold cloaks and held out for nigh on eight hours against attacks from both within and without the city, but their heroics were in vain, for Rhaenyra’s soldiers poured in through the other six gates unmolested. The sight of the queen’s dragons in the sky above took the heart out of the opposition, and King Aegon’s remaining loyalists hid or fled or bent the knee.

Though the Crown had been flush with gold upon the passing of King Viserys, Aegon II had seized the treasury along with the crown, and his master of coin, Tyland Lannister, had shipped off three-quarters of the late king’s wealth “for safekeeping.” King Aegon had spent every penny of the portion kept in King’s Landing, leaving only empty vaults for his half-sister when she took the city.

Rhaenyra made the boy [Aegon] her cupbearer, so he might never be far from her side.

Thus did Queen Rhaenyra replenish her coffers, at grievous cost. Neither Aegon nor his brother, Aemond, had ever been much loved by the people of the city, and many Kingslanders had welcomed the queen’s return…but love and hate are two faces of the same coin, as fresh heads began appearing daily upon the spikes above the city gates, accompanied by ever more exacting taxes, the coin turned. The girl that they once cheered as the Realm’s Delight had grown into a grasping and vindictive woman, men said, a queen as cruel as any king before her. One wit named Rhaenyra “King Maegor with teats,” and for a hundred years thereafter “Maegor’s Teats” was a common curse amongst Kingslanders.

One of the more pitiful events to take place at court during the war was when Queen Alicent approached Queen Rhaenyra on her knees, begging that Rhaenyra forswear her vengeance against Alicent’s sons. When Rhaenyra responded that the blood of her dead sons was on the hands of Aegon the Elder and Aemond, Alicent retorted that it was bastard blood that was shed in war, of less import than the trueborn blood of her sons. Rhaenyra then threatened to have Alicent’s tongue torn out if she dared call her sons bastards again.

Meanwhile, on the western shore of Blackwater Bay, word of battle and betrayal at Tumbleton had reached King’s Landing. It is said the Dowager Queen Alicent laughed when she heard. “All they have sowed, now shall they reap,” she promised. On the Iron Throne, Queen Rhaenyra grew pale and faint, and ordered the city gates closed and barred; hencefoth, no one was to be allowed to enter or leave King’s Landing. “I will have no turncloaks stealing into my city to open my gates to rebels,” she proclaimed.

Anxiously, the city waited for the enemy to appear, gripped with terror for what was to come. This left the Kingslanders ripe for a leader and into that void stepped a barefoot beggar with a missing hand, that had likely been removed as a punishment for thievery. He would be remembered as the Shepherd, and he prophesized the downfall of both Rhaenyra and Aegon II, saying that King’s Landing would soon be cleansed of dragons and dragonriders alike. Eager crowds grew and grew, until thousands gathered to hear him every time he spoke.

However, the betrayal of Hard Hugh Hammer and Ulf White had cast doubts on the loyalty of the other dragonseeds … particularly Ser Addam Velaryon (formerly Addam of Hull), who was stationed at the Dragonpit so that he could deploy Seasmoke at a moment’s notice. Among those urging the queen to have him and Nettles seized were Lord Bartimos Celtigar, Ser Luthor Largent, and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Lorent Marbrand. The Manderlys, Ser Torrhen and Ser Medrick—who had been welcomed onto the council when they brought ships and men from White Harbor—concurred. Lord Velaryon and Grand Maester Gerardys were the only members of the black council to object.

Mysaria, the White Worm, was called to the council to advise the queen. She informed Rhaenyra that Nettles had already betrayed her, as she was now sharing Prince Daemon’s bed. In her anger, Rhaenyra ordered Addam to be seized and questioned harshly, and had a message sent to Lord Mooton commanding him to kill Nettles. However, Ser Addam was alerted to his imminent arrest and escaped on Seasmoke. Lord Corlys was arrested instead and accused of having helped Addam escape; the Sea Snake did not deny it. Grand Maester Gerardys was also suspected, having spoken on behalf of the dragonseeds earlier, but was spared imprisonment and sent away to Dragonstone instead.

That same night, Queen Helaena threw herself from a window in Maegor’s Holdfast, dying on the iron spikes in the dry moat below. Rumors ran through the city that she had been murdered by Ser Luthor Largent at Rhaenyra’s command, to make sure Prince Daeron would have no joyous reunion with his sister when he took the city.

Could Helaena’s death have been murder? Possibly…but it seems unlikely Queen Rhaenyra was behind it. Helaena Targaryen was a broken creature who posed no threat to Her Grace. Nor do our sources speak of any special enmity between them. If Rhaenyra were intent on murder, surely it would have been the Dowager Queen Alicent flung down onto the spikes.

...the rumor of Queen Helaena’s “murder” was soon on the lips of half King’s Landing. That it was so quickly believed shows how utterly the city had turned against their once-beloved queen. Rhaenyra was hated; Helaena had been loved.

As the riot spread, the Shepherd fueled the anger against the queen and her dragons from his place in Cobbler’s Square. Ten thousand and more had gathered, hanging on his every word. Ser Luthor Largent led the gold cloaks against his flock, commanding them to disperse and attempting to arrest the Shepherd. Many fled from the City Watch, but still more remained to defend their prophet. The gold cloaks were slaughtered, and Luthor Largent was dragged from his saddle and killed.

Prince Joffrey, ten-and-three, donned squire’s armor and begged the queen to let him ride to the Dragonpit and mount Tyraxes. “I want to fight for you, Mother, as my brothers did. Let me prove that I am as brave as they were.” His words only deepened Rhaenyra’s resolve, however. “Brave they were, and dead they are, the both of them. My sweet boys.” And once more, Her Grace forbade the prince to leave the castle.

“Mother, what if they kill Tyraxes?” the young prince said. The queen did not believe it. “They are vermin. Drunks and fools and gutter rats. One taste of dragonflame and they will run.”

It was only when the watchers on the roof heard Syrax roar that the prince’s absence was noted. That was too late. “No,” the queen was heard to say, “I forbid it, I forbid it,”

The loss of both her dragon and her son left Rhaenyra Targaryen ashen and inconsolable, Mushroom tells us. Attended only by the fool, she retreated to her chambers whilst her counselors conferred. King’s Landing was lost, all agreed; they must needs abandon the city. Reluctantly, Her Grace was persuaded to leave the next day, at dawn. With the Mud Gate in the hands of her foes, and all the ships along the river burned or sunk, Rhaenyra and a small band of followers slipped out through the Dragon Gate, intending to make their way up the coast to Duskendale. With her rode the brothers Manderly, four surviving Queensguard, Ser Balon Byrch and twenty gold cloaks, four of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, and her last surviving son, Aegon the Younger.

Despairing and fearful, Her Grace walked the castle battlements of Duskendale weeping, growing ever more grey and haggard. She could not sleep and would not eat. Nor would she suffer to be parted from Prince Aegon, her last living son; day and night, the boy remained by her side, “like a small pale shadow.”

When Lady Meredyth made it plain that the queen had overstayed her welcome, Rhaenyra was forced to sell her crown to raise the coin to buy passage on a Braavosi merchantman, the Violande. Ser Harrold Darke urged her to seek refuge with Lady Arryn in the Vale, whilst Ser Medrick Manderly tried to persuade her to accompany him and his brother Ser Torrhen back to White Harbor, but Her Grace refused them both. She was adamant on returning to Dragonstone. There she would find dragon’s eggs, she told her loyalists; she must have another dragon, or all was lost.

The blood drained from the queen’s cheeks when she beheld the bodies, but young Prince Aegon was the first to realize what they meant. “Mother, flee,” he shouted, but too late.

Sunfyre, it is said, did not seem at first to take any interest in the offering, until Broome pricked the queen’s breast with his dagger. The smell of blood roused the dragon, who sniffed at Her Grace, then bathed her in a blast of flame, so suddenly that Ser Alfred’s cloak caught fire as he leapt away. Rhaenyra Targaryen had time to raise her head toward the sky and shriek out one last curse upon her half-brother before Sunfyre’s jaws closed round her, tearing off her arm and shoulder.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realm’s Delight and Half-Year Queen, passed from this veil of tears upon the twenty-second day of the tenth moon of the 130th year after Aegon’s Conquest. She was thirty-three years of age.

Queen Rhaenyra had believed herself victorious after taking King’s Landing, the northman said, and Aegon II thought that he had ended the war by feeding his sister to a dragon. Yet queen’s men had remained, even after the queen herself was dead, and “Aegon is reduced to bones and ashes.”

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

One of the most well-established patterns in measuring public opinion is that every generation tends to move as one in terms of its politics and general ideology. Its members share the same formative experiences, reach life’s big milestones at the same time and intermingle in the same spaces. So how should we make sense of reports that Gen Z is hyper-progressive on certain issues, but surprisingly conservative on others?

The answer, in the words of Alice Evans, a visiting fellow at Stanford University and one of the leading researchers on the topic, is that today’s under-thirties are undergoing a great gender divergence, with young women in the former camp and young men the latter. Gen Z is two generations, not one.

In countries on every continent, an ideological gap has opened up between young men and women. Tens of millions of people who occupy the same cities, workplaces, classrooms and even homes no longer see eye-to-eye.

In the US, Gallup data shows that after decades where the sexes were each spread roughly equally across liberal and conservative world views, women aged 18 to 30 are now 30 percentage points more liberal than their male contemporaries. That gap took just six years to open up.

Germany also now shows a 30-point gap between increasingly conservative young men and progressive female contemporaries, and in the UK the gap is 25 points. In Poland last year, almost half of men aged 18-21 backed the hard-right Confederation party, compared to just a sixth of young women of the same age.

Outside the west, there are even more stark divisions. In South Korea there is now a yawning chasm between young men and women, and it’s a similar situation in China. In Africa, Tunisia shows the same pattern. Notably, in every country this dramatic split is either exclusive to the younger generation or far more pronounced there than among men and women in their thirties and upwards.

The #MeToo movement was the key trigger, giving rise to fiercely feminist values among young women who felt empowered to speak out against long-running injustices. That spark found especially dry tinder in South Korea, where gender inequality remains stark, and outright misogyny is common.

In the country’s 2022 presidential election, while older men and women voted in lockstep, young men swung heavily behind the right-wing People Power party, and young women backed the liberal Democratic party in almost equal and opposite numbers.

Korea’s is an extreme situation, but it serves as a warning to other countries of what can happen when young men and women part ways. Its society is riven in two. Its marriage rate has plummeted, and birth rate has fallen precipitously, dropping to 0.78 births per woman in 2022, the lowest of any country in the world.

Seven years on from the initial #MeToo explosion, the gender divergence in attitudes has become self-sustaining. Survey data show that in many countries the ideological differences now extend beyond this issue. The clear progressive-vs-conservative divide on sexual harassment appears to have caused — or at least is part of — a broader realignment of young men and women into conservative and liberal camps respectively on other issues.

In the US, UK and Germany, young women now take far more liberal positions on immigration and racial justice than young men, while older age groups remain evenly matched. The trend in most countries has been one of women shifting left while men stand still, but there are signs that young men are actively moving to the right in Germany, where today’s under-30s are more opposed to immigration than their elders, and have shifted towards the far-right AfD in recent years.

It would be easy to say this is all a phase that will pass, but the ideology gaps are only growing, and data shows that people’s formative political experiences are hard to shake off. All of this is exacerbated by the fact that the proliferation of smartphones and social media mean that young men and women now increasingly inhabit separate spaces and experience separate cultures.

Too often young people’s views are overlooked owing to their low rates of political participation, but this shift could leave ripples for generations to come, impacting far more than vote counts.

[source]

[hoursofreading]

My idea of marriage was a Plath–Hughes one: meeting at Oxford, honeymooning in Venice, sharing a study, writing a book each, painting our living room French gray, babies in view. I had “love set you going,” the first words of Ariel, engraved inside my wedding ring. I wanted that fusional marriage yet I lost myself in it; it broke down when our fantasies for each other clashed instead of harmonized. He imagined me pushing a pram in red lipstick, while I worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep myself showered. I imagined negotiating for time to write and only managing a sentence before he came home from the park with the stroller: neither baby nor book. The idea of a shared life, a place I could live, where I would be believed in and valued, crumbled. After twelve years together, my marriage was over in less than a year of raising the questions. I was thirty-four, stunned and exultant. I wanted to understand why it ended, what had changed, and I asked and asked—of friends, in therapy, when high, when sober, of serious books, of stupid ones—and it was six years later, chatting to Frances, that something was offered that finally made sense.

Joanna Biggs - A Life of One's Own_ Nine Women Writers Begin Again-HarperCollins (2023)

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: John Burn-Murdoch

Published: Jan 26, 2024

One of the most well-established patterns in measuring public opinion is that every generation tends to move as one in terms of its politics and general ideology. Its members share the same formative experiences, reach life’s big milestones at the same time and intermingle in the same spaces. So how should we make sense of reports that Gen Z is hyper-progressive on certain issues, but surprisingly conservative on others?

The answer, in the words of Alice Evans, a visiting fellow at Stanford University and one of the leading researchers on the topic, is that today’s under-thirties are undergoing a great gender divergence, with young women in the former camp and young men the latter. Gen Z is two generations, not one.

In countries on every continent, an ideological gap has opened up between young men and women. Tens of millions of people who occupy the same cities, workplaces, classrooms and even homes no longer see eye-to-eye.

In the US, Gallup data shows that after decades where the sexes were each spread roughly equally across liberal and conservative world views, women aged 18 to 30 are now 30 percentage points more liberal than their male contemporaries. That gap took just six years to open up.

Germany also now shows a 30-point gap between increasingly conservative young men and progressive female contemporaries, and in the UK the gap is 25 points. In Poland last year, almost half of men aged 18-21 backed the hard-right Confederation party, compared to just a sixth of young women of the same age.

Outside the west, there are even more stark divisions. In South Korea there is now a yawning chasm between young men and women, and it’s a similar situation in China. In Africa, Tunisia shows the same pattern. Notably, in every country this dramatic split is either exclusive to the younger generation or far more pronounced there than among men and women in their thirties and upwards.

The #MeToo movement was the key trigger, giving rise to fiercely feminist values among young women who felt empowered to speak out against long-running injustices. That spark found especially dry tinder in South Korea, where gender inequality remains stark, and outright misogyny is common.

In the country’s 2022 presidential election, while older men and women voted in lockstep, young men swung heavily behind the right-wing People Power party, and young women backed the liberal Democratic party in almost equal and opposite numbers.

Korea’s is an extreme situation, but it serves as a warning to other countries of what can happen when young men and women part ways. Its society is riven in two. Its marriage rate has plummeted, and birth rate has fallen precipitously, dropping to 0.78 births per woman in 2022, the lowest of any country in the world.

Seven years on from the initial #MeToo explosion, the gender divergence in attitudes has become self-sustaining. Survey data show that in many countries the ideological differences now extend beyond this issue. The clear progressive-vs-conservative divide on sexual harassment appears to have caused — or at least is part of — a broader realignment of young men and women into conservative and liberal camps respectively on other issues.

In the US, UK and Germany, young women now take far more liberal positions on immigration and racial justice than young men, while older age groups remain evenly matched. The trend in most countries has been one of women shifting left while men stand still, but there are signs that young men are actively moving to the right in Germany, where today’s under-30s are more opposed to immigration than their elders, and have shifted towards the far-right AfD in recent years.

It would be easy to say this is all a phase that will pass, but the ideology gaps are only growing, and data shows that people’s formative political experiences are hard to shake off. All of this is exacerbated by the fact that the proliferation of smartphones and social media mean that young men and women now increasingly inhabit separate spaces and experience separate cultures.

Too often young people’s views are overlooked owing to their low rates of political participation, but this shift could leave ripples for generations to come, impacting far more than vote counts.

==

On average, men are more moderate and centrist in their views while, on average, women are more extremist in their views. Anyone suggesting that men as a whole, or on average, have shifted is gaslighting you, as the evidence does not support this assertion.

"It was always the women, and above all the young ones, who were the most bigoted adherents of the Party, the swallowers of slogans, the amateur spies and nosers-out of unorthodoxy." -- George Orwell, "Nineteen Eighty-Four"

[friendly-neighborhood-boricua]

Strings [2]

Summary: Sirius disappeared a long while ago. As a child, you resented him for it, though the feeling dulled over time. But when he started appearing on the front covers of popular magazines, nearly a decade after he’d left your life, the ache in your chest showed itself again. Though, it seems he hadn’t forgotten about you as you had thought.

Notes: rockstar!Sirius Black x conductor!reader. The first part was only really meant as a sort of preview for this part, so this one’s quite a bit longer than the last, but I think I like this one quite a lot! 

Sirius was in a meeting when he spotted her name. James had got a call from Lily (who was slowly reciprocating the boy’s advances much to his delight), and the Marauders soon found themselves in her office, going over the logistics of their new album. Peter and Remus were leaning over Lily’s desk, pouring over the paperwork and hastily-scribbled notes that laid there, and James tried to do the same, though he kept getting distracted every couple minutes and staring at Lily with a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes.

Lily rented two rooms in a tall building in central London to run her small music production agency: one for her office space and the other as a sort of waiting area. She had insisted they meet in the waiting area in this particular instance—her office was apparently quite the mess—so James and Sirius sat on one couch while Lily, Peter, and Remus sat on the other, a low coffee table with a small stack of magazines separating them.

As Sirius’s eyes wandered, he recognized one of the magazines—a high-society lifestyle one that his mother would have loved—and, on a whim, began to flip through it, nodding or shaking his head or humming absent-mindedly when his opinion was asked for by his bandmates. And then, on page thirty-six, there she was.

Y/N Y/LN’s debut performance with Royal Opera House Symphony on 12 July, 1984

Sirius didn’t pay any attention for the rest of the meeting. As soon as he got back to his flat (magazine from Lily’s in tow, of course), he’d called the number in the article and bought himself a ticket. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting to come out of this symphony trip, but he’d be damned if he missed the opportunity to see Y/N again

Two weeks later, Sirius had donned his best symphony attire—black slacks borrowed from James, a wrinkled white button-down, and grey Converse because he forgot to ask to borrow James’s fancy loafers as well—and took the bus to London’s Royal Opera House. He had stopped at a florist’s shop on the way, choosing a delicate bouquet of crimson roses and baby’s breath. Finally seated, Sirius checked his watch and sighed, blushing lightly—forty-seven minutes before the start of the show. 

Surprisingly enough, Sirius wasn’t the earliest; there were plenty of people closer than he to the stage, and several dozen children on what seemed to be a school trip were chattering and giggling excitedly towards the very front. He was suddenly glad for his decision to sit in the second level of balconies; if he had sat in the very front, a kid from the school trip was sure to recognize him, and Sirius wasn’t really in the mood to sign autographs or take photos. 

His knee bounced anxiously as London’s elite filed into the seats around him. He received more than a few strange looks from the men and women, all in their tailcoats and gowns, but, for the first time in his life, his mother had trained him well, and he simply sent aggressively polite smiles to anyone who dared look at him funny until finally, the lights dimmed and the orchestra began to tune. 

Sirius had chosen a seat right at the edge of the balcony, hoping for the best view possible of the musicians below, but as much as he squinted and scoped out the cluster of cellos, he couldn’t find Y/N anywhere. After a minute or so, the orchestra had finished tuning, and it seemed that the entire concert hall held its breath for the conductor to appear.

And appear she did. 

The breath Sirius didn’t realize he was holding completely left his lungs as Y/N herself graced the stage, waving to the audience with a stunning smile as she made for the podium. Her dress was made completely of black tulle and satin, broad, layered ruffles flowing around her with effortless elegance that nearly made Sirius swoon. 

It hit him like a truck. Sirius hadn’t thought much about why a principal cellist would be featured in a magazine when he first saw her name, but it was miles more reasonable for a conductor to be written about. But—Christ—she was a year younger than he, and he was only twenty-four himself. She must’ve been the youngest conductor to perform at the Royal Opera House in decades—centuries, maybe even—

Sirius’s whirlwind of thoughts fell to an abrupt silence as the orchestra began to play. Even when he was old and grey, Sirius wouldn’t be able to recall a more enjoyable night full of Russian waltzes than that one. The muted horns and lulling strings sent him into a trance. All he could do was simply watch Y/N’s movements, graceful and emotive all at once, and let himself imagine that it was just he and she, that they were waltzing in an empty ballroom in one of those period pieces on the BBC channel that James’s mother loved so much. 

Sirius was overjoyed and terribly disappointed at the same time when the concert came to an end. As soon as Y/N turned to the audience and bowed, one hand over her heart as she motioned to her orchestra with the other, he was on his feet, bouquet under his arm as he clapped furiously. The concert hall was filled with applause even as she left the stage, and after a couple seconds, she returned, bowing once again with her orchestra. This happened three more times before the audience was sated, and the lights rose once again as everyone began to file out. 

Too impatient to mope along behind the elderly symphony-goers, Sirius squeezed through the throngs of people and, after little thought, snuck through a door labeled “Staff Only”. Behind it lay exactly what he was hoping: a completely empty staircase. Sirius bounded down it, bouquet clutched tightly in his left hand as his right tracked along the railing to keep him from falling, until he reached the first floor. 

The stairwell emptied into a staff corridor that led towards the stage, tall and lit with blinding fluorescents. Sirius could hear muffled chatter from the stage, which echoed off of the cement floors and cinder block walls. Through a door a dozen feet down the hall, someone bid farewell to someone else and, with a laugh, departed. Sirius began walking towards the voices. Just as he reached the door, it swung open, and he stepped back to avoid being smacked in the face. 

If Sirius was asked to imagine the moment he saw Y/N again after nearly a decade apart, he was sure he wouldn’t have imagined what actually happened. Y/N was smiling over her shoulder as she opened the door, facing away from Sirius until she stepped fully into the hallway. And of course, she was even more beautiful up close. Her black dress hugged her torso just perfectly, the skirt dancing around her legs as if it were alive. Her hair lay perfectly in its natural form, her skin clear and soft-looking, and Sirius was met with a waft of jasmine flower that nearly sent him to his knees. But when she finally turned and met Sirius’s excited gaze, the smile that spread across her lips dipped slightly.

“Oh,” she said. Sirius couldn’t tell if she was surprised in a good way or a bad one. “Um … hello, Sirius.”

The door fell shut behind her.

“Hello,” Sirius said and nearly cringed; he sounded like a blushing schoolboy. The pair stared at each other for a long moment until Sirius finally came to his senses. 

“Here,” he said and thrusted the bouquet out at her. “For you.”

“Oh. Thank you,” she said quietly, taking the flowers in one hand and adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder with the other. “They’re … beautiful.”

Sirius’s smile broadened, and the two once again stared at each other. 

“Um … are you alright?” Y/N finally asked, brows furrowed. Sirius blinked dumbly, and then nodded. 

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m good. Great, even.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Okay … and, um …,” she scratched the back of her neck, “why are you here?”

Suddenly, Sirius felt incredibly awkward. Here he was, standing in front of a girl—a woman, now—whom he hadn’t seen in years. It was unfair of him to expect them to resume being the best of friends as if nothing had happened. 

“Uh, I just—I just heard you were performing and thought I might as well, um, come watch,” Sirius said. “Thought maybe we could catch up or hang out … or something.” The end of the sentence turned upwards like a question, but Sirius nearly gasped in relief when Y/N smiled mildly. 

“Um, sure, we can talk for a bit,” she said and began walking down the corridor towards the ticket booths. Sirius followed at her side like a lost puppy as the two walked in slightly-more-comfortable silence, passing through a door that led into the Royal Opera House’s atrium, then exiting into the warm summer night. 

“So,” Y/N began, “how’ve you been?”

“Good, I’ve been good!” Sirius said, walking between her and the empty street with his hands behind his back, fiddling nervously. “And you? Seems you’ve been doing well for yourself.” She laughed lightly, and Sirius beamed. 

“I’m doing well,” she confirmed. “I mean, I’m resident conductor for the Royal Opera House in London. I could do a lot worse.” They both chuckled. 

“Very true, you’re doing brilliantly,” Sirius said, and Y/N smiled up at him. Fucking hell. His heart was going to leap out of his mouth at this rate.

“I mean, you’re doing alright for yourself as well,” Y/N said. “You’ve got your own band and everything.”

Sirius blushed a little, embarrassed. “I wasn’t sure if you knew.”

Y/N scoffed humorously. “Goodness, Sirius, I don’t live under a rock. I see you on the cover of every magazine when I do my shopping.”

“I know you don’t live under a rock,” he said with a little laugh. “But still, I don’t like to assume.”

She shrugged. “Fair enough.”

The pair turned right and crossed a street.

“How’d you find out we were performing tonight anyway?” Y/N asked, looking up at Sirius. Her brows furrowed lightly, and a thin crease appeared between them. 

“Saw it in a magazine,” Sirius said. “Called in that night to order my ticket. You really think I was about to miss my childhood best friend’s debut performance?”

Y/N let out a scoff that was a little less than humorous. “You mean the girl you disappeared on in Year 11.”

Sirius’s smile fell. Of course.

Sirius couldn’t remember much of the time he spent at home before he ran away to James’s. His best memories were the ones with Y/N when they were children, sneaking out of their respective houses in the night to meet on the streets of Paris and have fun or talk or simply walk together in silence. After he ran away, Sirius didn’t think about her until the first summer he spent at the Potters’, when he realized he didn’t really have a way to get back to her. His parents had paid for him to be a part of the Youth Symphony, and he had stayed at their family house to attend. But Sirius refused to ask Mr. and Mrs. Potter for anything more than they had already done for him, even if it meant never seeing Y/N again. Still, he was a sixteen-year-old boy. He mourned the loss of his best friend, but he hadn’t thought of what she would think when he seemingly fell off the face of the planet.

“I’m really sorry for—”

“It’s fine,” Y/N interrupted. “Truly. I know you wouldn’t have stopped attending without a reason.”

“You deserve to know why,” Sirius countered. 

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “I don’t deserve to know anything you don’t want to tell me, Sirius.”

He frowned. “And if I do want to tell you?”

Y/N stopped walking, and Sirius stopped too. She was looking up at him with a look that sent a wave of nostalgia through his mind. She’d often look at him like that when he showed her his bruises and cuts after a particularly rough evening with his parents. She’d tend to them in silence, using the iodine wipes, antiseptic, and colorful band aids with stars on them that she’d begun to carry around for him, before sitting in front of him and watching him with that soft look of concern. 

With a small huff, Y/N switched the bouquet to the hand furthest from Sirius and took his hand and dragged him to the street, barely looking both ways before crossing.

“Um—where’re we going?” Sirius asked, trying his best to ignore how her hand pulled him along so firmly yet gently. He hoped his palms wouldn’t get sweaty. 

“You’ll see,” she said and dragged him into a small corner shop. 

A small bronze bell tinkled to life as the odd pair entered the small shop, and a small child popped up behind the counter. 

“Welcome to the Last Stop Corner Shop! Here, you’ll find all your last minute needs! Nail polish? We’ve got some! Beer in a bottle? Absolutely! Garlic salt? Aisle two, on your left! Beer in a can? Right next to the beer in a bottle! Hotdogs?—”

“Amir, you don’t have to do that every time I stop by,” Y/N chided, pulling Sirius further into the shop. 

“Oh, Y/N! It’s good to see you! Who’s this? Is he—”

“He’s a friend of mine. Sirius,” Y/N introduced. 

“Sirius?” Amir peered up at Sirius with the widest, most curious eyes the man had ever seen. “Hey, you’re that guy from TV! My sister reeeally likes you. She said the other day that she thinks you’re—”

“Amir!” came another voice from the back room, and a girl around sixteen rushed behind the counter. “Stop telling everyone that, you little—” As soon as she noticed Sirius’s presence, the girl froze. Her dark eyes widened to the size of tea saucers, and her eyes flicked from him to the tabloid magazines with his picture on the racks behind him, then back. Once she’d confirmed it was indeed Sirius Black standing in front of her, she simply stood, arms hanging at her sizes, and gaped. 

“Er …” Sirius glanced at Y/N for help, “hi there.”

“C’mon,” Y/N said quietly, quickly pushing him into the forest of aisles and out of the girl’s view. “Sorry about that,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. 

“S’alright,” Sirius said with a chuckle. “I'm getting it a lot more and more now-a-days.”

“I can imagine,” Y/N said, maneuvering them towards the back of the shop. “Fasha’s obsessed with the Marauders. Can’t get enough, truly. It’s all she plays whenever I stop by.”

Sirius smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind if ever the boys and I need, uh, nail polish, garlic salt, hotdogs, or beer in a can or a bottle.” Y/N laughed, nudging his hip with hers. Sirius blushed. Goodness, what was she doing to him?

“Don’t tease her. She idolizes you.”

“Oh she idolizes me, does she?”

Y/N glared up at him, and he snickered. The two came to a stop in front of a section of shelves full of wine, bottles glimmering in the shop’s flickering light. “Pick your poison,” she said, motioning to the shelves. Sirius considered for a moment before taking two and holding them up towards Y/N.

“Cabernet or Muscadelle?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed in thought for just a moment before she took the Cabernet, and the two made their way back towards the counter.Thankfully, Fasha had recovered enough from her shock that she was able to check them out (eyeing Sirius in poorly-veiled awe the entire time), and in no time, Sirius was dragged outside once again. Y/N led him a block or two further down the road, then across an empty intersection diagonally and into a small park. Once she decided they were deep enough into the park, she withdrew a Swiss army knife from her purse and extended the corkscrew attachment. 

“You drink bottles of wine in the park so often that you’ve got a Swiss army knife for it?” Sirius teased as Y/N opened the bottle, and she chuckled lightly. “This is the first time I’ve used the corkscrew bit,” she admitted, passing him the bottle. Sirius took a swig. “I usually only use the nail file.”

Sirius nodded in understanding, passing the bottle back. Y/N took a sip and sighed.

“So,” she said.

“So,” Sirius parroted back. The two walked in silence, passing the bottle back and forth leisurely as he tried to decide what to say. There was so much he wanted to tell her: how much he enjoyed singing and playing the guitar, how much he loved his friends, how he regretted leaving her so abruptly. Y/N looked up at him gently, and he took a slow breath. Even if they hadn’t seen each other in years, Sirius knew her. She wouldn’t press for more information than he was comfortable with giving or sell him out to the tabloids. She would simply listen. “Um, you … you know how my parents were.” Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I really liked going back to school because I didn’t have to … deal with them there. I could just live without having to watch my every move, y’know?” Again, she nodded, but Sirius didn’t really wait for a response, taking a quick gulp of wine before he continued. “My best mate, James—he’s our guitarist, but sometimes he does drums—he was always offering for me to stay with him over school holidays so I wouldn’t have to go home. His parents are lovely—seriously, some of the best people I’ve ever met—but I never wanted to bother them, y’know? So I didn’t ever take him up on it.

“So, one Christmas, I went back to my parents’, and they were awful—what’s new?” Y/N smiled a little sadly. “I … honestly, I don’t remember much, but I ended up at James’s doorstep one night, and Mrs. Potter wouldn’t let me go back home—not that I wanted to go, of course—for the rest of winter holiday, and then summer holiday as well, and the winter one after that, and …” Sirius sighed slightly. “I haven’t gone back to my parents’ house since. And honestly, I couldn’t care less about what they’re up to now.” Sirius swallowed thickly before plastering on a smile and looking down at Y/N. “Fuck ‘em, y’know?” She barely smiled.

The odd pair continued down the path, taking turns with the wine as the both of them began to stumble slightly.

“Thank you for telling me, Sirius,” Y/N said. She was beginning to grip onto his arm to keep steady, and Sirius didn’t think the warm feeling in his chest was only from the alcohol. 

“I’m still sorry I never tried to find you again,” Sirius mumbled, but Y/N just shrugged.

“I’d rather you keep me in the dark and get away from them than stay just to see me,” she reasoned. Sirius giggled, buzzed. “What?” she whined. “‘Get away from them,’” Sirius repeated, voice high and exaggerated, before giggling again. “You say ‘them’ like they’re the scum of the earth.” “They are,” Y/N said indignantly. “Horrible people. They’re the worst. If I ever see your mother or father in person, I’d be happy to punch them in the thr—oh look, a little gazebo!” Before Sirius’s addled brain could catch up, she was already running for the little wooden structure next to a large lake. He stumbled after her, blinking very hard to get the world to stop spinning, and finally leaned against one of the wood pillars, watching as Y/N examined the benches inside with drunken interest. A giddy smile made its way onto his face without his knowing, and she turned to him with a childishly excited look. “It’s like in The Sound of Music. Y’know, when Liesl dances with that one guy in the glass pavilion while it’s raining?” Her face fell into a more thoughtful look. “Liesl actually quite annoyed me in that movie. She needed to find a hobby or something.”

Sirius laughed, setting the now only half-full wine bottle down on a bench and bowing dramatically at Y/N, hand extended.

“May I have this dance, my dear?” he asked in his worst old-timey posh accent. Y/N snorted but played along, taking his hand delicately.

“Of course, my darling,” she said in an equally ridiculous voice. Sirius grinned and stood straight once he’d moved the bouquet safely onto the bench beside the wine. He held her close to his chest with one arm and held her right arm out to the side as he led them in a very messy waltz, humming an odd mix of the waltzes she had conducted an hour or two earlier. Y/N resorted to simply standing on his feet as he moved them both, her arms curling round the back of his neck and his hands coming to rest at the small of her back. Eventually, Sirius’s voice subsided, and the two were left swaying in the center of the gazebo in silence.

“Y’know,” said Y/N into Sirius’s chest, and he dipped his head to hear her better, “I really hated you when you left.” Sirius let out a long, quiet breath, and he pressed his frowning lips to the top of her head. “I hated that I wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone about my parents. I hated that you didn’t call or write to explain what happened. I … I hated that my life would be so much more unbearable without you.” She shifted to look up at him. “I missed you terribly, Sirius.”

Sirius smoothed Y/N’s hair out of her face, his hand moving to rest at the nape of her neck. “I missed you too, lovely. I’m sorry I never called or wrote.”

“I forgive you,” Y/N whispered. 

Despite his swimming vision, Sirius could see Y/N perfectly. Even in the dark, the moon shone on her soft skin, in her slightly glossy eyes … and Sirius couldn’t bring himself to look away. He couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to look at, be it in that moment or ever again. 

“Did I ever tell you how … beautiful you are?” When he was drunk, Sirius’s mouth tended to speak without his brain’s permission, but in this instance, he didn’t quite mind. Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her full cheeks pushing upward in a beaming smile. Sirius couldn’t get enough. 

“Truly, Y/N. You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

“Oh goodness.” Y/N buried her head back into Sirius’s chest, and he laughed slightly, lightly pulling her back into his sight. 

“Just …” 

He hesitated. Was this a good idea? 

Again, his mouth spoke for him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop. Okay?”

Y/N nodded. Sirius smiled slightly, and his eyes fluttered from her glassy ones to her lips and back. Very slowly, his head dipped down, and he gently pressed his lips into hers. 

In the moment between when Sirius kissed Y/N and when Y/N kissed him back, Sirius was afraid he had made a terrible mistake. She didn’t move a muscle for one second, then two, and he was prepared to pull back when finally, her soft lips pushed gently back into his. The two stood sheltered under the gazebo for a long while, tasting the Cabernet on each other’s lips and leaving the questions for their future selves to deal with. 

What were they? Would this work with Sirius and the tabloids? Where would they go from here?

But those were all questions for tomorrow …

[so-many-fandoms-here]

(English isn’t my first language so feel free to correct any mistake you notice.)

• Characters: Levi Ackerman, fem!Reader

• Genre: smut, fluff

• Warnings: explicit content, sexual content, sensual sex, kinda ooc Levi

Worship

۵ ─────⊱۵⊰───── ۵

Only in underwear and with an aching heart I view my reflection in the mirror in front of me. I can’t help but to compare myself with the other women my age. Their bodies aren’t full of scars and flaws, while mine is clearly painted from the war. I don’t even know why I keep making such a big deal about it, after all I am not some young thing trying to impress men. I’m the mother of a six month old, in her late thirties and happily married for about a decade now. I fought a war, saw people die and was on the brink of death about a dozen of times myself. But still I feel like some 20 year old that never had to face all this stuff, leaving her appearance her biggest problem.

„She’s finally asleep“, I hear Levi saying, snapping me out of my thoughts. I didn’t even hear him coming into the room. „Everything okay, dear?“ he asks while limping towards the bed and sitting down.

I turn around, arms wrapped around my belly. It feels pathetic to admit it. „Not fighting for my life everyday made me notice my looks“, I admit quietly, tears welling up in my eyes. Levi looks at me, his nose scrunched like I told him about a talking pile of dust. „What do you mean?“

„The war disfigured me.“ Tears are streaming down my face now but Levi still looks at me, like he doesn’t understand a single thing. He scoots over and pats on the mattress. „Lay down.“ Now it’s my turn to look confused. „Just do it“, he insists, and so I make my way towards the bed too and lay down, just as he told me. My hair, still wet from the shower I just took, tousles all over the pillow and it’s like I can feel the knots tying themselves back in.

Levi is on the foot of the bed now, his eyes softened as he looks at me. „Stop talking shit“, he says. „The war didn’t disfigured you. Quite the opposite. How can you not realize that this makes you even more attractive? The way you survived the impossible?“

His hands sneak to my feet, massaging them, before lifting both and kissing my ankles. „Your feet walked you so many miles, you ran right into your death just to serve humans you don’t even know personally, to make sure they’re safe.“ He kisses my ankles again. „And they’re never afraid to kick my ass if I need it.“ A soft smile crawls upon my lips.

He moves up to my clean shaved legs. „It’s impressive that your shinbones never broke“, he mumbles against my skin, placing kisses all over my lower leg. „How often and how hard you fell during battles.“

Then he moves up to my thighs. „And don‘t get me started on your thighs“, Levi speaks, kissing them too, even marking them like he did sometimes when we were younger. „So muscular from all the horse riding. And so perfect around my hips and head.“ I couldn’t suppress a giggle, which earns me a bright smile from Levi.

I shriek as he moves his hand under my body, massaging my ass. „How many hours did you sit on your pretty ass in this boring meetings that never brought us anywhere?“ A rhetoric question, but I answer anyways, playing along. „Enough.“ „And yet, it never gave up“, Levi says with a teasing smile, letting go of my bum. I wait for one of his typical jokes and look at him confused as nothing comes. „Wow, no joke about taking a shit?“ I ask jokingly, to which I earn a roll of his steel-blue eye. „I try to be romantic and sexy, brat.“ With a giggle I lean back again, letting him continue.

His next stop is the already wet area between my legs. His fingers caress over my panties and both of us feel the damp spot on it. He hooks his thumbs in the hem of the piece of clothing, searching for consent in my eyes. „May I?“ Instead of answering I raise my hips so he can take it off. Levi understands and pulls my white underwear down, the way it sticks on my vagina gives me a feeling of how incredibly wet I am already.

„Your perfect pussy“, he whispers after placing the piece of fabric next to him on the bed. „Making me feel things I didn’t even know were possible. And making you feel things with only a light touch.“ To prove his statement he placed a kiss on my clit, making me shiver. „And not only this. It was the door to this world for our babygirl.“

After a few strokes through my wet folds he makes his way further up to my tummy. „I know how much you despise your stretch marks but they show how well our daughter grew in you.“ Sweet kisses are placed all over my stomach. „You created life, dear. I didn’t thought you could get any more beautiful, but then I saw you becoming a mother.“ New tears sting in my eyes, but this time they are tears of joy.

As I feel his hands move upwards I instantly sit up to unclasp my bra, throwing it next to the bed before laying down again and with a pleased smile Levi cups my right breast while kissing my left one. He takes his time with them, moving his lips back and forth between them so he gives both equal attention before he speaks again. „Not only are your boobs beyond sexy, they also feed a living being.“

With that Levi moves further up again, now kissing my throat and neck. „I was always allowed to hide from the world in the crook of your neck.“ Another kiss. „And your throat a) always takes my cock so well and b) protects your vocal chords that create your beautiful voice.“

With this lewd, yet pure sentence he moves to my left arm, kissing it’s whole length down do my hand. „Your shoulders, always willing to stem the weight of others too, no matter how bad it hurts you as long the other one has it easier and your strong arms, always giving out the best hugs.“ Then he kisses the palm of my hand. „And your hands, making me realize that the world provides more than violence.“

His kisses come back to my face and start to cover my cheeks. „I love the tiny wrinkles next to your nose when you smile.“ My nose gets a kiss too. „And the way you scrunch your nose when you’re embarrassed.“ He travels up the bridge of my nose until he reaches my forehead. „Your smart head“, then left again to my ear. „And your open ear, always listening when someone needs it.“ Then under my eyes. „Those beautiful eyes of you and all the lovely ways they look at me.“

And then finally, Levi kisses my lips. „And your lips, curling up to the most beautiful smile in the world and giving the best kisses.“ I rarely ever see him like this. So soft and vulnerable without him having a beak down.

„Your scars and flaws make you even more beautiful“, he reassures once again before diving into another kiss, this time adding his tongue too.

His healthy hand sneaks down between my legs again and starts to please me by sinking two fingers in my dripping cunt. A moan leaves my lips while I roll my hips against his hand to feel him deeper inside of me. Chapped lips on mine muffle my moaning while I chase my high on my husbands fingers.

„I want your cock“, I whine breathless as I feel my pleasure increasing. „Cum on my fingers first. You’re so close, I can feel it.“ That’s all it needs for me to fall apart. With a dizzy feeling I watch Levi stripping, placing his clothes on the floor next to the bed while stroking his boner.

In awe I look at his body. Even though Levi can’t walk properly anymore he tries his best to stay in shape, even with his almost 40 years. Especially his arms are still fine toned due to the weight lifting he does. The scars on his body tell the story of Humanities Strongest, making him even hotter in my eyes.

I think I understand what he tried to tell me.

My mind goes blank as his cock finds my pussy, pushing his whole length into me. As I moan louder than intended he quickly places his lips on mine again, not wanting to wake up the baby. Or the neighbors.

With his lips on mine and his cock deep inside me, I am able to let go off my worries and I only concentrate on the feeling of his tongue and the feeling of my second orgasm building up while he moves in and out of me. Our mixed moans and the sound of skin against skin create a lewd symphony inside of our bedroom.

„Fuck (Y/n), I‘m cumming.“ My legs close tighter around him so he’s even closer. I want to feel him cum inside me. And that’s exactly what happens. I can feel his cock twitch and with a hiss, followed by a loud groan I feel the warmth of his sperm inside of me, which takes me over the edge too and has me trembling under his body and clenching around his cock while I embrace my heavy orgasm.

Goosebumps raise as Levi falls on the mattress besides me, his hair messy and his back scratched by my nails. „I love you so much“, I whisper in his ear, petting his head. „I love you too

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 15:  The Calm Before the Storm - Is this... a date?

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

[Left blank]

Personal comments: One hundred and twenty breaths represents a very long period of time, I have discovered. Deployment of strategy postponed until I am able to discover a method of keeping Okatsu still. Consulted Nobunaga and received following suggestion. “Tie her up.” Am not certain this was in jest. After leaving Nobunaga, I came across Hideyoshi, who stopped to help one of the maids carry a heavy vase. Hideyoshi believes in protecting the people, especially those he loves. I will take that idea from Hideyoshi this afternoon, as Okatsu needs protecting. I believe I have an idea, one that will be allow me to rescue her, and keep her still for, I hope, one hundred and twenty breaths.

Lady Mai is an excellent co-conspirator. Not only was she willing and able to help me with my strategy to prevent Okatsu from having to enter the silver mine, she suggested that I use the free afternoon to take Okatsu on something called a “date.” Per Mai, a good date includes spending time together, going out for a meal or tea, finding activities you both enjoy together, and at the end of the “date,” you might share a kiss.

I will kiss Okatsu today.

If she permits it.

I hope she permits it.

 “Perhaps you and I should run off.”

I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. “Run off?” Did he mean just disappear for good? I’ve already done that once. “Hideyoshi and Nobunaga would be worried if we did that.”

“For the afternoon. Explore the terrain around Genba. You would enjoy that, would you not?” He carried me over to where Moonlight was tied to a tree. Then with not much grace, plunked me onto her back. “I believe we are not far from Takayama. We could have tea in the castle town.”

“What about your work?” The desire to spend more time in the sunlight warred with the responsibility to help Mitsunari.

“If we had stayed at the mine, I would not be working. We could ride to Takayama, explore, and still return before the others.” Mitsunari was already turning his horse northward. Moonlight, who apparently had become very good friends with Mitsunari’s horse, followed suit. I had been outvoted. But I was ok with that.

“On the condition that if Hideyoshi finds out, you tell him this was your idea.” I was in enough trouble with the Azuchi housemother as it was.

“Hideyoshi would agree that it is good sometimes to get outside.” He leaned across his horse and nudged me with his shoulder… then caught himself in a balance check. “He often reminds me to take care of myself and to take breaks outside.”

“How long have you worked for Hideyoshi?” Mitsunari had a positive view of everyone, even the permanently grouchy Ieyasu, but his relationship with Hideyoshi seemed to be long-standing, and almost brotherly.

“You are asking me questions? Perhaps we could exchange answers to thirty-six questions.” Before I could figure out where that non sequitur came from, he continued. “Over ten years. I was a temple page – because otherwise I was an unwanted second son. Lord Hideyoshi realized my skill with numbers and asked me to join him.”

“Before you were a messenger – and an observer – what did you do?” Mitsunari ducked under a low hanging branch and ended up with pine needles stuck in his hair.

“I was a maid.” It wouldn’t be useful to mention my pre-time travel life. There wasn’t an equivalent to the University system here, and likely if even if there had been one, women wouldn’t be permitted to attend. Nor was there any way to explain gymnastics or snowboarding. I mean… I suppose I could say I was raised in a circus or something, but even that was stretching the truth a lot. “It was not terribly interesting. I was lucky that my master allowed me to train with his male apprentices.”

The trail narrowed slightly, but not enough to force us to ride single file. Our legs brushed. “You became a maid after your parents died?”

Right. I had let him think my parents were both dead. “My mother had died. I never knew my father. She would not say who he was.” This was less of an issue in modern Japan than it might be here. But immediately after I revealed that to Mitsunari, I regretted giving him such personal information. The last person I had trusted with my life story was Iekane.

He reached over and touched the back of my hand, just a quick brush of his fingers, but I felt calmer to receive it. “I am sorry to hear that Okatsu. I am certain he missed much by not being part of your life.”

I waved that away. “Where I come from, people don’t really care all that much anyway.”

One of the pine needles in Mitsunari’s hair drooped into his eye. He swiped at it, but only succeeded in embedding it more deeply. “Nobunaga wants to create a future where people don’t care about that here either, however that was not what I meant. I am sorry that you grew up without something that many people take for granted.”

That pine needle kept dangling in front of his face. I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Let me get that.” I reached over and pulled the pine needle out of his hair, combing my fingers through to make sure I had gotten all of them.

“Thank you.” He reached up and touched his forehead.

The pine needle had been covered in sap and ended up stuck to my hand. I grabbed my handkerchief and wiped it away. Then I folded up the pine needle into the handkerchief and put it back in my kimono. I promised myself I would toss it away later.

Takayama was nowhere near the size of Azuchi, although it did seem to be bustling, with people hurrying through the streets with baskets of fresh food. I could see an open market area off at one end of the town, as well as more permanent buildings with small shops. “Do you want to see if there is a bookseller here?”

He pulled his horse to a halt in front of an inn with a public stable yard. “Why don’t we walk around and see what we find? Sometimes it is good to explore without having any other motive than to enjoy the day.”

I agreed with the sentiment, although I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent a day wandering a town without having a specific purpose in mind. I wasn’t sure if I ever had in this era. There had always been a mission, a reason. This felt almost… well, almost like a date.

Backing away from that thought – we were simply playing hooky  – I fell in step next to Mitsunari as we wandered through Takayama. And yes, there was a bookseller, though it was not large. I paused by the entry. “Do you want to go inside?”

Mitsunari hesitated. “Don’t let me start reading.”

“It’s a bookseller. You’ve spent hours in them – I know, I’ve watched you do so.” I smiled inwardly at the memory of watching him practically camp out in Aki’s shop, and how I had ended up feeding him rice crackers that first afternoon.

“That is what I meant. I want to enjoy this time with you, and you know what will happen if I find a book.” If it had been anyone else, I would have said Mitsunari was afraid to go into the booksellers. And while it was sweet that he wanted to be a good host and make sure I enjoyed myself, I wasn’t supposed to be having fun.

Mitsunari frowned at me, his brow furrowed in concern. “Did I say something wrong? I did not mean to give you the burden of guarding my behavior. What I meant is that I won’t start reading because I want to spend time with you.”

I wanted to sooth away the worry from his forehead, but I held back and simply nudged him with my shoulder. “If you find something you want to read, you could, and this is simply a suggestion, purchase it.”

“Yes, that is a good – you are teasing me!” He smiled, and I grinned at the image of someone – more than likely Hideyoshi - sitting down with him and trying to explain gentle sarcasm.

“Maybe a bit.” I made a grand gesture in the direction of the military books. “Go ahead. Go forth and shop.”

The Bookseller was near the front of the store with a young woman who looked enough like him to be his daughter. No… it wasn’t simply the resemblance, it was the way he looked at her with a combination of love, protection, and pride. Or… maybe my earlier conversation with Mitsunari was simply putting an idealized father-daughter relationship in my mind? I watched them for a moment, then realized that they were examining a freshly bound book – and rather than the pages folded one inside the other, the way most Japanese books were bound, this book was in the new Chinese string bound style.

It was surprising to see such a “newfangled” book in such a small town, especially one this far from any port, that I headed over to them to ask where they had found it.

“My daughter made it,” the Bookseller said proudly. He introduced himself as Tokuro and his daughter as Sani, then showed me that the inner pages were discarded paper given to them by Takayama’s castellan.

“I’m learning the bookbinding trade.” Sani gave me a shy bow. “This is for practice. I used to make them with blank pages, but that was too much of a waste of paper.”

In my time, people were willing to pay for books with blank pages, from the cheap exam books all the way up to beautifully bound leather journals… and… I pictured in my mind Mitsunari juggling all his unbound notes, scrambling with them daily as he shuffled them about. “I might be interested in-”

Mitsunari joined me and I stopped midsentence. What I had in mind, in fact, would be a gift for him and I didn’t want to spoil the surprise. “Mitsunari, this is Tokuro and his daughter Sani, who is learning the book binding trade.”

They all bowed to each other, then Mitsunari asked Sani, “Do you not get distracted by wanting to read the books?”

She shook her head. “Thus far, I haven’t worked on any real books, so it’s been sewing, not reading.” That made sense. In the learning process, if she were using real books a mistake would be expensive. “I imagine that could happen at a later time.”

“It would happen to me.” He smiled at her, and Sani was not immune to the power of that sweetness. She blinked a few times like an animal blinded by headlights. “I wish you good luck in your training.”

“Th-thank you,” she eventually stammered.

He took my hand and squeezed it, and I was so surprised the spontaneous touch, and the zing of awareness that went through me, that I nearly missed his question. “Do you want to go to the metalsmith?”

“Why don’t you go on, and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. I have a couple more questions about book binding that I want to ask her.” As an excuse, it was not terribly elegant, but Mitsunari didn’t protest. With a slight look of confusion on his face, he let go of my hand and left.

Eep. I had hurt his feelings, but as soon as I gave him the gift, it would explain things. I turned back to Sani. “If you still have the practice books you made – the ones with blank pages, I would like to purchase them.”

“Purchase empty books?” Tokuro and Sani looked at each other, exchanging a glance that probably said, ‘this chick is nuts, but we’re not going to turn down money.’ After a moment, Tokuro suggested an amount. “That will cover the cost of the materials, and Sani’s labor.”

Possibly he expected me to bargain, but it was a fair price. Sani retrieved her practice efforts from their living quarters, and once Tokuro wrapped them up, I headed for the metalsmith where Mitsunari awaited with a wrapped bundle under his arm – I wondered if it contained more weapons for Azuchi to test. “Did you find something interesting?”

“I believe so.” Mitsunari thanked the smith and the two of us headed out to look for a place to get a snack and something to drink.

The town’s only teahouse was crowded, and we ended up sitting at a table behind the building. “Thank you again for preventing me from having to go into the mine. It would not have been pretty.”

“What happens when you are in places like that?” Mitsunari took a sip from his tea, then very precisely placed his cup in a spot in the center of the table – where, I figured, he would be less likely to spill it.

“I start to feel like I can’t breathe or I’m going to faint. And I start remembering everything about being trapped in that box.” And… even talking about it in the outside sent a shiver through me. “Mitsunari, I’m sorry, but I really dislike talking about it.”

He was instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Because he seemed so horrified at that thought, I reached across the table took hold of both of his hands. They were warm from holding the tea, and the skin on his fingers was slightly calloused, reminding me that even with all the time he spent reading, Mitsunari was an experienced fighter as well. “It wasn’t your fault. Remembering sometimes makes me feel like I’m about to be sick, and … it’s too pretty a day out to be ill.”

He held onto my hands for a long moment, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I will talk about something pleasant instead. When something worries me, I think about books… or Kitty’s fur and the sound she makes when she is happy… the smell of Hideyoshi’s rooms when he smokes his pipe… and how holding your hands… holding you… makes me feel … honored.”

Oh. Wow. Well.

Where do I go with that?

And now it was my own turn for a BSOD. Mitsunari’s sweet confession sent a wave of … something through me. The thought that I could make him feel like that was both flattering and frightening. I didn’t want to inspire feelings in him. I was leaving when the job was over.

I didn’t want to leave something broken in my wake.

Ugh, Hideyoshi is right to distrust me. Not because I intend to harm anyone… but intentions count for nothing if harm happens anyway. My inner voice told me to let go of his hands.

But… I couldn’t.

He focused that sweet expression on my face, and I could neither let go of his hands, nor look away from his eyes. Until I realized… “Are you counting again?”

He stopped instantly and looked away. “Apparently it has become a habit.” He shook his head, then withdrew his hands away from mine. He picked up the package he’d purchased at the metalsmith shop and handed it to me. “The smith did have something I thought you might find useful.”

A present? Like the just-because gifts my brother and I used to give each other on non-occasions? I focused on the phrase ‘something useful,’ which might mean the Sengoku equivalent of socks? The package was somewhat heavy (Duh, Katsuko, it’s from the metalsmith!) and I hefted it a couple times before opening it up to find an iron war fan inside. “Oh. This is really cool!” Whoops. Slang. “I mean, this will help cool things in the weather we’ve been having.”

“I noticed you often forget to take a fan with you and thought you would be more likely to remember one that doubled as a weapon.” He picked it up and stabbed it toward me and – the teacup went flying.

I caught it before it could hit the ground. “You thought correctly. I can’t wait to figure out how to use it. Thank you!”

“I could teach you.” He seemed excited by the prospect.

“You know how?” I unfurled the fan to admire the sharp metal spokes – and the pretty Sakura pattern as well. Mitsuhide had wanted me to wear pink? Well, pink this!

“I have read about their use. Also, though I did not read about it, it is said that Takeda Shingen once fought off an attack by Uesugi Kenshin by using his war fan.” A faraway look was in his eyes. “I would have like to have witnessed that.”

Huh. Me too. I’d never encountered Lord Shingen, but I had indeed seen Kenshin in battle. Anyone who could successfully fight off his attack – with a fan, no less – had to have mad skills. Of course, now that they were allied against Nobunaga, I imagined they made a terrifying duo.

After a few flutters of the fan in front of my eyes, I put it aside. “As it turns out, I purchased something for you too.” I handed him the parcel from the bookseller.

“A book?” His eyes sparkled. Then when he pulled out the blank books, he seemed confused. “Is this printed in secret ink?”

“No. These are for you to write in. That way you don’t have to keep track of lots of scraps of paper or keep rolling and unrolling a scroll to find what you are looking for.” I’d watched Mitsunari re-ordering his notes often enough.

“Ah yes, these will be handy.” He ran his hand over the bound covers. “Thank you, Okatsu.”

For a long moment, he was quiet, and I didn’t rush to fill the space in between with useless commentary, because I knew he had more words and would speak them when he was ready. And after a few breaths, that is what he did. “Okatsu, why did you buy me a gift?”

Did there need to be a reason? “I thought it was something you would like. Is that not why you got this fan?”

“Oh. In fact, yes. I did think that you would like it.” He looked around for his teacup, and I moved it back to the center of the table. He picked it up, then put it back down, as if belatedly realizing he’d finished it a while back.

We sat there without speaking, simply looking at each other, until a cleared throat and glare from an old man alerted us to the fact that there were more people interested in sitting down than there were places to sit.

Mitsunari took my hand again as we strolled back through Takayama, which was nice. Too nice. I must not ever forget that I was only here as part of a charade. And so, I destroyed the comfortable silence. “I wanted you to have something to remember me by – when this is all over.”

There was a soft sigh, and he was close enough that it tickled my cheek. “I would not forget you, Okatsu. I want to-”

Whatever it was he meant to say next was lost when someone collided with me.

“Oh, excuse me!” I said it automatically, though I was not sure if it had indeed been my fault. The collider pressed a scrap of paper into my hand, but when I turned to get a better look at him, he was already on his way. Had that been a ninja?

No. It had been a woman. A kunoichi then.

Frowning, Mitsunari watched her melt into the crowd of a busy outdoor market.

“Should we go after her?” If I ran, I could possibly catch her, but I might lose Mitsunari in the process.

“Do you have a sister?”

“No.” He ought to know I only had a brother. “Why?”

“Because, she reminded me of-” He seemed to be struggling to put it into words. “She had your eyes.”

“Really?” I shrugged that off. I have brown eyes, like most of the population. Then I remembered the scrap of paper and opened it. It was short and to the point.

Hikosane is in danger. Protect him at all costs.

Note, if you've read "Twelve Lies I Told Shingen Takeda" the encounter with the kunoichi at the end corresponds to Chapter 45 when timeline A Katsuko overhears the following:

In the distance, someone’s phone chimed an alert, and I heard a female voice, sounding like it was on speaker say, “I gave her the message, but I think Mitsunari recognized me.”

Then, as I took a hesitant step along the path, I heard, “Theoretically, that would be ok, if that means they’ll take the message seriously enough to protect Hikosane.”

It's not necessary to have read "12 Lies..." before this story, but if you have, that was one of the Easter egg payoffs.

@lorei-writes @bestbryn @katriniac @lyds323 @briars7

[uwmspeccoll]

Woman Writer of the Week

In my ongoing quest to discover the folk literature in Special Collections, I was excited to find a book of fairy tales that were retold as well as illustrated by women! It is always very exciting to find a twofer, and I feel these two compliment each other very well.

The book in question is Favorite Fairy Tales Told in Scotland, which contains six popular retellings by American librarian, writer, authority in children's literature, and collector of international fairy tales for children Virginia Haviland (1911-1988), with illustrations by multiple Caldecott Honor awardee Adrienne Adams (1906-2002). This first edition copy was published simultaneously in Boston and Toronto by Little, Brown & Company in 1963.

This book is from the Favorite Fairy Tales series, which consists of sixteen volumes, each focusing on fairy tales compiled from sixteen different countries, retold in “simple, faithful versions”. Part of Haviland’s reasoning behind compiling these stories was to “make them more accessible for children.” Haviland was considered a pioneer for her work in compiling these tales into dedicated books.

Adams began her career first as a freelance designer of displays, murals, textiles, and greeting cards. After marrying children’s book writer John Lonzo Anderson (1905-1993), she illustrated his book Bag of Smoke that began her career as an illustrator. She became a full-time illustrator in 1952 and illustrated more than thirty books that ranged from contemporary stories to fairy tales. The media for her colored illustrations ranged from tempera, gouache, watercolor, to crayon.

View more Women’s History Month posts.

View more posts on our Children’s Books.

- Elizabeth V., Special Collections Undergraduate Writing Intern

[checkoutmybookshelf]

The Hint That The World Gets Bigger

Ok, so a lot of reviewers and Dresden Files fans say that you have to wait a while for the series to go from small, contained cases to a massive urban fantasy world that encompasses as much as a lot of the epic fantasies in terms of worldbuilding. And while it would be entirely disingenuous to say that this is the book where the massive expansion actually takes place, this is very much the first book where you get a clear view that the world of the Dresden Files is bigger than Chicago's underbelly. It's also where the subgenres that I'm sure this series was sold on--noir, hardboiled detective fiction--start to really clash with the fantasy elements. It's also where I really had to bite my tongue and make a decision about whether I was willing to let violence against women slide in favor of what is good about the series. I let it go way too long, probably. But let's talk Grave Peril.

*As always, SPOILERS ABOUND below the break*

The TLDR of this book is that thanks to his chivalristic dick thinking, Harry kicks off a massive war between the Red Court Vampires and the White Council that will remain a massive plot point in the series until Changes. But the centerpeice of this book that really tells the canny reader that the world is going to exponentially grow is Bianca St. Claire's ball. I am low-key reminded of Robert Jordan's famous Darkfriend Social, because this thing has a dress code (Harry also decides to be a smartass about the dress code and shows up dressed as a cheesy vampire, which...goddammit Harry), it has archaic hospitality rules, it has a very uncomfortable passive aggressive gift section, and it also has significant repercussions throughout the rest of the series.

This is where we really get introduced to the three Vampire Courts--Red, White, and Black--and we also get hints of other organizations, groups, and players. In no particular order, we get the Knights of the Cross, Ferrovax, Mavra (who technically falls under Blampire but is an antagonist in her own right), The Nightmare/Leonid Kravos, and Auntie Lea (we get more of the Sidhe courts in the next book, but the Leanansidhe being here nods to that expansion).

This party really shows us the beginnings of what will be a common structure of the different world in the fantasy parts of this urban fantasy. There are three vampire courts, we will get to see that each Sidhe court has three layers, and there are eventually three wizarding councils running around. There are also always three knights of the cross, and thirty potential Denarians. The structures are very similar with varied set dressing, and this book really primes readers to understand what the wider world is going to look like and how the threads cross. For such an early book, that level of prep and education about the world is pretty impressive, and the different courts and factions are creatively and engagingly written.

Then we come back to the noirish/hardboiled genre roots of the book, because quite literally this book victimizes like six different women. We have Lydia (who is functionally not gonna matter beyond this book) who is handed off to be sacrified to unmake Amoracchius, we have Justine (who is going to be important) who is full-on brutalized by the red court, we have Kravos sticking his fingers in Murphy's brain, we have Susan who is tricked by Auntie Lea and half-turned into a vampire, and we have Charity freaking Carpenter who is kindapped and attempted murdered WHILE NINE MONTHS PREGNANT. We're really not at fridging levels for most of these (although I'd argue that Lydia and Justine get more or less fridged), but it's a real clear escalation from the previous two books, and you really have to make a conscious decision about whether or not you're cool with this level of violence against women if you're going to keep going with the books. I justified it with the noir and hardboiled roots, plus I was pulled in by the world and the intrigue, but honestly, there are books that do that well without these levels of chivalry and chauvanism.

This book and the next are really setup books for how much the word will continue to expand, and it sets the first long-term conflict we see in the series, and the war against the Red Court is pretty significant. It also sets up the long-term tension with Harry and Susan, which will also weave in through the next like, eight books. The setups are really what stick in my head with this book, because the plot is often a bit convoluted and doesn't tend to stick in my head on its own; it really falls into the amorphous mass of the early Dresden Books. I think it literally takes until somewhere in Death Masks and Blood Rites for the books to start standing on their own in my head. But the world is well done enough that I was hooked and kept on reading.