#cw historical reference

[porcelainnpines]

Finally finished up all my OC ref sheets!

[ent-is-indecisive]

id : a warm toned digital painting of robin and Max in front of a hilly landscape. Robin is riding a grey spotted horse facing right. She is wearing the top of a plate armour with the knees and calf protections. Her armour is decorated with sun imagery and golden filigree. Max is walking beside her, talking and gesturing, wearing a dark gambeson, a light shirt tied around her upper arms with laces ending in charms. She has on spiked leather forearm protections, similar protections on her thighs, and a yellow embroidered historical pocket. her double bladed awe is hanging down her back from her shoulder. They are traveling on a dirt path, fields and hills continuing behind them until they reach a pale blue cloudy sky. /end id

Drawing done for the reverse big bang which means the lovely @skepsiss wrote a fantastic story AND a poem which is so far beyond my skillset i can only applaud. Have fun reading Survival of the Sister!

[little-desi-historian]

Caleb Brewster: A Patriot Against Freedom (from Connecticut History.org by Alec Lurie <- Doctorate in Early American history and slavery in relation to racial injustice studies @ Stony brook University, Connecticut).

[talesofedo]

From this auction page, so the images aren't lost once a collector buys this and stows it away at the back of his bookcase.

Information below is from the seller (edited for brevity and spelling):

This unique manuscript recounts the punishments, executions and political assassinations of various individuals during the end of the Edo period.

Among the individuals included in the book are Honma Seiichiro, Kagawa Hajime, Fuji Takamasa, and three yoriki, Ogawara Juzo, Mori Magoroku, and Watanabe Kinzaburo.

Their killings were part of a spate of politically-motivated Assassinations occurring between August 1862 and March 1863, which have been attributed to the involvement of Okada Izo.

[meerawrites]

Musket demonstration @ Colonial Williamsburg

[melpomeneprose]

When will we meet again, sweetheart?

When will we meet again?

When the Autumn leaves that fall from trees,

Are green and spring up again…

[uefb]

New chapter of With its Head Under One Wing up today. Scroll down for Daily Prophet cover story (CW: hitler).

DAILY PROPHET COVER STORY - FEB 11, 1933

Article Text

POWER CHANGES HANDS IN MUGGLE GERMANY Ministry Advises a Watch and Wait Approach By Marjorie Jones (Berlin Office, Die Magishe Welt correspondent)

Adolf Hitler (Muggle - National Socialist Workers Party), was appointed Reich Chancellor of Muggle Germany this past week, January 30, by the president Paul von Hindenberg (Muggle - Independent Party). The day after saw thousands--including both Brown Coats and Steel Helmets--march in the streets in support of the Herr Hitler, who ushered in a wave of new cabinet appointees, all Nazis and Monarchists. The crowd and other politicians gave the new leader the Fascist Salute. Last night, February 10, he gave his first speech as chancellor in the Berlin Sportpalast.

Much like the local Muggles, many of whom voted for Hitler for Muggle president in late 1932, witches and wizards locally are split on Hitler's appointment. While Muggle trade unions and communists are already calling for the new government's destruction, the German Ministry has recommended wizards continue to lay low while the situation is assessed. However, some local wizarding families--who have asked to remain anaonymous--cite serious concerns about Hitler's Nazi ideology that have the potential to impact Muggle and Wizard alike, specifically--

Photo Caption

FEB 10. Berlin, Germany - Adolf Hitler addressed German Muggles yesterday. "The fundamentals of our life are founded on values which no one can take away from us [...]; they are founded on our own flesh and blood and willpower and in our soil." He additionally addressed poverty in--

REFERENCES & NOTES

Article inspired by and including content from this Jan 31 Daily Telegraph article on Hitler’s appointment

Hitler’s Feb 10 speech at the Berlin Sportpalast. Please mind yourself and your well-being if you choose to watch this speech. Hitler does not address the “Jewish Question” here, but it is thoroughly unsettling regardless. The photo for the cover story is from this speech. 

For more information on why Hitler’s appointment as Chancellor--6 years before war is declared--matters, please see my notes at the end of Chapter 8, or consider reading this academic chapter (which I have not yet read in full) here. You may also scroll down this page to see a list of events relevant to 1933. Things go downhill fast.

Though this will not be relevant until Part 2 (and it won’t be fully incorporated into the story), it is worth noting that parts of the world did react to the appointment. See links on 1933 American protests at Madison Square Garden in NYC (shortly after Dachau was opened) here and here (<--this is a GREAT read) and here. (Later, there would be a pro-Nazi rally there, in 1939.) Please be thoughtful when reading these links.

The Daily Prophet formatting is by MinaLima, of course, with edits by me, where I moved things around, added dates, added design, pulled symbols from their paper pages, etc. etc, though the whole text of the front page, obviously, is my creation. But MinaLima is INCREDIBLE and they must be acknowledged.

[little-desi-historian]

The treasury secretary...

On this day, July 12th, 1804, Alexander Hamilton died at the age of 47 or 49, in Manhattan NYC. As the result of a gunshot wound he had received whilst dueling his former friend and long time acquaintance, Aaron Burr.

Alexander Hamilton.

Elizabeth Hamilton & Alexander’s legacy.

Chernow: Alexander Hamilton.

Hamilton: the musical.

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Question time!

When you're reading a historical book set in a time before they had the language to describe nonbinary identities what do you prefer?

NOTES:

This is a book set in the 1300s

The first written use of the singular "they" is from 1375 in a poem about a werewolf, but I can't find evidence that it was used consistently to refer to someone whose gender was "known" (by medieval standards)*

In a modern AU, this character would probably be an "any pronouns" sort of person

When I say "fuck accuracy", I don't mean the characters use anachronistic therapy speak to talk about their experiences. This is mostly just about pronoun usage.

The wider narrative does have a historical attitude towards sex and gender, if buffed down a little to make it actually palatable

*if you have evidence, please send it to me! I've been reading a lot of medieval romances/poems with characters who transcend or blur gender lines, and they pretty consistently maintain binary pronouns throughout (I.e. using both "she" and "he" for the same character at different moments)

[melpomeneprose]

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE? Mary is fairly modest, by most accounts, by choice, despite both her father being a wealthy landowner in Long Island, New York, and Benjamin Tallmadge (historical husband ftw!) owning lots of land in Ohio, post-war. Some small amount of in fashion perfume, and the smell of fresh books or pamphlets.

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE? Mary’s hands are gentle, at least compared to Benjamin’s clearly overworked ones. You can always tell the amount of money a woman is ‘swimming in’ based on the gentleness of her hands. Eliza Hamilton's are somewhere in the middle.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY? Whilst Mary is not the one cooking, usually, she certainly knows how, and she is head of the domestic Tallmadge household and knows how to run everything. All women upper-class women, at least the European/European adjacent ones, had to know such things, by nature of their social standing. Thus one could assume through context that Anna Strong, Mary Woodhull, Eliza Hamilton, Angelica Church, and, even my original character, Audrey, would at least be educated in such things. To that end, it varies day to day, as the Tallmadge's are above averagely “pious,” and protestant, even for the 18th century. Especially when compared to the Hamilton’s. Holidays, such as Christmas and Easter, are extremely important. A day, post-war, usually starts with tea and some kind of sweet bread, meals are small but frequent. Read more (from: Mount Vernon).

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE? Above average considering at least @honorhearted's Ben can't carry a tune, even if his life was dependent on it. (I won't assume about any other Ben's, mine certainly can sing, or at least pretends well enough that he can). She can also play Piano and she likes the notion of the harp, but, not yet.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS? Mary is a over-thinker, just like Benjamin. Additionally, a hair twirler.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR? Mary isn't styling herself, the servants do that. She is responsible— as mentioned above, for managing a household, as well as overseeing 7 children and their educations, post-war. The latest fashion, assuming the household has the means, though not excessive about it, but one should hope for progress, and reform, even in dress. Modest, one would say, a bit, too modest. (I certainly think so, she certainly wasn't as ambitious as Eliza Hamilton, or as forthright as Abigail Adams, Mary Floyd Tallmadge could've been an Angelica Church type if she wanted to be she just chose not to).

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW SO? Not to people she doesn't know. But definitely exceedingly affectionate and warm to Benjamin Tallmadge (historical husband ftw!) friends, and people who make social calls to her regularly.

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN? On her side, curled up like a puppy. No real reason for it, beyond her own comfort.

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM? That depends entirely upon the shoes she wore that day. Additionally, if she wanted you to hear. If you heard her, it'd be the tap-tap-tapping of a worthwhile upper-class lady’s shoes. Miss Mary Floyd, has, for now, little to hide, but she could indeed, hide in plain sight, under everyone's nose, if she wanted to.

Note on historical Mary Floyd Tallmadge of Brookhaven, as an archivist and amateur historian: -> from:sonofhistory. I am currently rereading Benjamin Tallmadge's memoir, again, for more than a few reasons, among them is putting together pieces on Miss Mary Floyd and her life before her husband, ie, archival detective work. I have, thankfully, extensively researched Eliza Hamilton, Angelica Church, Abigail Adams, I’ve also done a lot of research for my original character: Audrey, all of them, roughly around the same social standing, of slightly different backgrounds & viewpoints, by birth. This is simply me putting some of my detective work into a role-play context and stitching together a puzzle about a woman, I think, is fascinating and criminally underappreciated. As are Sarah Livingston (TURN), and Sarah Livingston-Jay.

Additional Note: -> Audrey, my original character, wilfully chose sex work to gain control of her own life & to spite her slaveowner, exceedingly catholic, controlling, father.

Borrowed from: @honorhearted. 🫡

Tagging: @keptflame, @curseconsumed (your choice), @annastrxng, and @historiavn (John Adams). 💕

[sorrel-scribbles]

[daydreams-after-dark]

The Sunshine Princesses

Pairing: Soft Dom female reader x Sub Felix x Sub Jisung

Word Count: 5k

Setting: French historical palace vibes, but absolutely not historically accurate. Refer to photos/vision board above for inspiration on the feel I was going for with this story.

CW: feminisation (reader refers to them as princesses), cross dressing, mummy kink, reader refers to herself as “mummy” and calls Felix and Jisung “baby boys” etc but they are 22 approx in age with reader older (you decide her age as it’s not specified), spanking, oral sex, p in v unprotected intercourse, cream pie, orgasms, anal fingering (m rec). Cum swapping, voyeurism, praise kink.

TW: the following is in reference to Jisung’s situation prior to this story: mentions of physical abuse, Jisung has bruises, reference to sex trafficking, selling, implied potential sexual abuse (no characters were sexually abused).

a/n: This story was originally posted on my main blog @moonlightndaydreams but I feel it's home should be here.

🎀 🎀 🎀

Felix loves to dress up for you in layers and layers of lace and fabric. He wants to be all pretty for you, so he steals your make-up and powders his face, applies blush to create rosy cheeks and lipstick to give him a delicious look. He knows you like to play with him like this.

You will be arriving at your quarters any minute now and Felix adjusts himself on the plush bed, ensuring his garments are positioned just right. He is hard, his cock is leaking from the tip. The anticipation of what's to come is almost too much for him to handle. But he is also hiding something from you, and he’s not sure how you will react.

He hears the door, signaling your arrival.

🎀 🎀 🎀

"Oh my beautiful baby boy. All dressed up pretty for me, hmm?" you purr as you climb up onto the bed, hovering above Felix.

He looks stunning. Ethereal. Like an angel. An angel you want to ruin.

"Let's see what state you're in, shall we?" you shuffle down the bed enough to start lifting the layers of fabric. No undergarments. Just his neglected erection, painfully hard, pink at the tip and leaking pre-cum. So fucking delicious, you think to yourself.

"Let me take care of you sweetie." you reassure him as you grip his cock in your hand, ready to sink your mouth down over it.

“Mummy. Yes… I’ve been a good boy for you. All pretty and waiting.” he pants. 

“Shh. It’s okay. Mummy’s got you.” You lick the underside of his shaft from balls to tip and then swirl your tongue around the slit, before starting again. “You look so pretty, Lixie.” 

You love him like this, waiting for you to make him feel good. Such a precious boy. You take his balls into your mouth and hum whilst pumping his cock excruciatingly slowly, eliciting a deep groan from the boy on the bed. “You’re good enough to eat.” you smirk up at him and sink down over his shaft again and open your throat for him. Your lips meet his pelvis, his lips part with a sigh and his eyes roll back into his head. He tries his hardest not to buck his hips upward. You can tell he’s using all his self control from the way he’s gripping the sheets with white knuckle fists.

You love nothing more than pleasuring your Lixie, especially when he’s made such an effort for you tonight. Your eyes water as you bob your head up and down his length and saliva dribbles down making a mess around the base. Just the way he likes it. Messy boy.

Felix’s moans become louder and louder as he nears his climax, and you release him from your mouth just long enough to say “Come on baby, feed Mummy your sweet cum” and dive back down his cock just in time for him to shoot his load into your mouth. You carefully hold the cum on your tongue as you make your way up to kiss him. He parts his lips for you, allowing you to push it into his mouth. “Was so good I had to share it with you my darling boy.” and you lean down to kiss him again.

You groan into Felix’s mouth and he hums back. And then a whimper.

A whimper? But it was neither from yourself or Felix. You open your eyes and snap your head around to your wardrobe cupboard suspiciously. A clunk from inside has you climbing off your bed to investigate. “Mummy,” Felix begs “Please don’t-”

Cautiously, you open the wardrobe door to find a boy of about twenty years old crouching inside with the most scared expression you’ve ever seen. His wide eyes, open mouth, and positively chubby cheeks has you melting, and you feel a tug at your chest. You love to take care of little Princes.

“Oh deary me. What are you doing in here? Why don’t you come on out you poor frightened little thing.” You say gently, holding out your hand to the boy. He hesitates momentarily before reaching for you, standing and climbing out of the wardrobe.

“That’s it. Come on out. There you go, don’t be afraid.” you say encouragingly and usher him over to sit on the end of the bed with his cute little legs dangling off the side of your high set mattress.

“Felix!” You stay sternly to the sheepish young man on the bed. His face is still flushed and fucked out. “Did you know about this? Did you hide this poor boy in my room?”

Felix sits up and leans on his elbows. “S-sorry, Mummy,” he stutters. “He was being mistreated in the kitchens… I… I had to help him.” he pleads.

“Hmm.” you scoff and turn your attention back to the cutest little squirrel you ever laid your eyes on.  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” you ask gently cupping his cheek. He looks up at you like a lost puppy. His big bambi eyes on the brink of tears.

“Ji-Jisung.” he replies. 

“Jisung. That’s a pretty name.” you stroke his cheek and he visibly quivers. You stand and step back to take him in. Brown shaggy hair, big brown eyes, chubby cheeks, the most delectable pink lips. He was pretty. Absolutely pretty, and you are almost certain what Felix means by him being mistreated. The boy is ravishing. His clothes are another story entirely. Drab, beige common clothes. Who is this boy? Possibly a servant? 

Jisung opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but then quickly closes it again, remaining silent. 

“Sungie? Can I call you that?” you ask kneeling on the floor at his feet. He doesn’t meet your eyes but nods. “Have people hurt you Sungie?” you press. Jisung flinches and his eyes flicker up to meet yours. “You can tell me.” you place an encouraging hand on his knee.

“Yes.” He whispers. “They beat me.” 

“Jisung,” Felix speaks. “Show Mummy your bruises.” and is at Jisung’s side wrapping an arm around him and holding him close for a moment.

“Felix, please go fetch washing up supplies and something for Jisung to sleep in.” Felix nods and immediately springs into action and exits your room in search of supplies leaving you and Jisung alone.

“Will you show me Sungie? Show me what they did.”

Jisung slowly slips off the bed and removes his garments, deciding to take off absolutely everything and standing stark naked in the middle of the room.

You pull in a sharp gasp at the number of bruises, of all shades of blue and purple, that cover his upper body where his skin should be the same delicious honey colour of the rest of his body.

You continue to scan your eyes over him. His shoulders are broad, and his toned torso tapers off into the tiniest waist you’ve ever seen. You ignore the feeling in your core as best as humanly possible, but when your eyes drop a little further you see the most delicious cock you’ve ever laid eyes on, you feel yourself grow wet. His dick isn’t hard but you know that when it is it’ll be spectacular. 

“Ahem.” Felix scurries back into the room with supplies ready to wash Sungie to make him feel fresh, clean and safe.

“Did they touch you, Sungie?” You ask as you sit him down in a chair and begin his sponge bath.

“No…not like that… not yet anyway.” 

“Not yet?” you pause. Jisung doesn’t elaborate.

“Mummy,” Felix speaks up beside you. “Jisung was going to be given away from the people running the kitchens to a lord for… entertainment. I had to help.”

“It’s okay, Lixie. You did good, baby.” you reassure him.

“You’re not mad?”

Oh you are mad. But not at Felix. Your mind runs through all the evil, degrading treatment that would be awaiting Jisung if Felix didn’t take him in. 

But aren’t you just as bad with Felix? A voice in your head pipes up. But you remember you gave Felix free choice. He could stay with you if he wanted, and he could leave if he wanted. It was his idea to dress up pretty for you. It was his request for you to treat him like a little whore. He bravely approached you with his kinks and fantasies. You were happy to have him just bring your dinner and help you into your poofy dresses. You didn’t intend for him to be getting you out of them, or have him wear them himself. It was Felix who ignited this in you. He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t feel like and he’s free to stop at any time.

But this Jisung might not be interested in that sort of thing, and that is okay. But if he is interested?

“Jisung? Were you watching us through the crack in the wardrobe door?” you ask. Jisung squeezes his eyes tight and nods. “Hmm. And what did you think, Sungie?” 

“I liked it.” He whispers and looks at the ground.

You arch an eyebrow. Interesting.”You did?”

“Yes.” he nods. “I’ve never seen it like…like that before.” he looks wide eyed at you and Felix.

“What do you mean, my love?” you inquire, washing over his bruises carefully.

“Well, it looked so caring and gentle. I’ve only ever seen it rough and brutal…and the person whose face is being…” he swallowed. “is never actually enjoying it.”

“Mummy likes to make me feel good…and feel pretty…and feel loved.” Felix smiles, drying off Jisung where you’d washed him already. 

“Sungie. I love to take care of Felix. Anything he wants I want to give to him.” you look to Felix and then back to Jisung. “And he loves to be my beautiful princess.”

“Oh I do. I really do.” gushes Felix.

“But what do you get in return?” Jisung asks you, watching your hand wiping down his forearm.

“Oh, Lixie takes care of Mummy too.” you reply matter of factly.

“But how?” 

“Can I show him, Mummy?” Felix says excitedly.

“Would you like that, Sungie? Would you like to see?” you cup his jaw and turn his face to yours.

“Yes… yes please.” There is silence for a moment. “Mummy?” he whispers quietly. “Will you look after me too?”

You look down to see his cock is hard and there is a bead of precum on the tip. Fuck you want nothing more than to kitten lick it right off him. What does he taste like?

“Sorry… um… Mummy?” He says shyly when he sees you notice his arousal.

“That’s okay, baby boy. But you do have a rather pretty one.”

“I knew he’d have a pretty one.” Felix sighs, staring longingly at Jisung’s cock.

“I’m glad that Felix brought you here and those bad, despicable men won’t be able to touch you.” You place your hands on both his cheeks and squish them. Adorable.  “Of course I’ll take care of you in whatever way you need, Sungie. But for tonight, I feel it’s  best if you just watch, okay? But you can sleep in bed with us after. Would that be okay?”

Jisung considers your proposal and nods.

You finish washing and drying Jisung and help into the pretty nightie Felix brought in. Fresh white linen down to his calves and a simple little bow around the neckline and usher him to the bed.

You spend the next hour or so showing Jisung how Felix takes care of you. You get him comfortable on the bed, sitting up against the mountain of pillows, and you lay down beside him, completely naked. “Sungie,” you pant in anticipation as Felix nestles his head between your legs. “Watch.”

Felix begins to pepper kisses along your inner thigh and pushes your legs wider and presses them against the mattress. Your Lixie is strong even if he enjoys being dainty and helpless. 

“Don’t tease Mummy, Lixie. You know what I need you to do. Show Sungie how you take care of me.”

Felix presses his tongue flat against your aching pussy and you buck your hips up automatically. “Yes. Yes, my baby boy, my…fuck me with you tongue.” Your fingers thread through his blond hair. “Yes…just like that.” You say breathlessly.

You pull his hair forcing his face to press up hard against your cunt and continue to rock your hips against his face. He hums and moans, enjoying himself immensely. He enures he gives your entire pussy attention, spending time on your clit, then moving down your entrance and fucking you with his tongue. He moves lower still and presses his tongue against your asshole, teasing it until it lets him breach the ring of muscle and fuck you there too. Your little Lixie can’t get enough of your pussy or your ass. Desperate, needy little boy. Making you feel. So. Fucking. “God Lixie I’m cum-“ you shake and tremble around Felix’s face as your back lifts off the mattress and you are seeing stars.

You sink back down into the bed and let go of his hair, allowing him to finally come up for air. “It tastes so good. Mummy’s pussy’s so pretty.” He cooes and runs a finger through your sopping folds. “Can I share some with Sungie, Mummy?” 

You hesitate momentarily, catching your breath, but eventually nod, giving him permission. You are cautious, worrying that Jisung might not be ready to be involved.

You turn to the boy next to you. “You want a taste, Sungie?” You ask softly, and Felix offers his slicked finger to him. 

The boy’s eyes nearly pop out of his head at the offering and he shuffles onto his knees to allow Felix to slip his finger into his mouth. 

Jisung groans and closes his eyes while sucking Felix’s digit completely clean. He lets out a shaky breath as he opens his eyes slowly and locks eyes on your pussy.

“Fuck.” He squeaks and flops back into the mattress and looks at the ceiling like he was questioning his life’s existence. His nightie drapes over his erection and you bite your lip imagining all the things he could do with it.

🎀 🎀 🎀

After Felix has cleaned himself up and removed his makeup, he climbs into bed and snuggles up behind you. You’re facing Jusung, simply holding him in an embrace.

“Sungie. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, and you can leave at any time too. I need you to understand that.”

“Thank you… Mummy?” He seems unsure of what he should call you.

“Is that what you want to call me?” you stroke his hair and feel him shift on the mattress. 

“I think I do.” he sighs and drifts off to sleep. 

🎀 🎀 🎀

At some point in the night you wake up rather abruptly when you feel a hard erection pressing against your ass. Jisung. The only barrier between your bodies is yours and Jisung’s nighties rubbing together as he grinds against you seeking relief. Then you hear a stifled whimper followed by a wetness seeping through the fabric of your nightgown and sticking to your back.

You say nothing about it.

🎀 🎀 🎀

Over the next few days Felix helps Jisung settle in, lends him clothes, teaches him your schedule and important names of the court. Jisung eagerly takes it all in. In the afternoons Felix reads poetry to him, and Jisung teaches Felix songs.

Every night for the next week you and Felix demonstrate for Jisung something intimate and naughty. Then you put on your nightwear and snuggle into bed.

Each night Jisung gets a little bolder with his antics. On the second night you can tell he’s lifted his nightie up when he grinds against your back, and he lets himself moan just a little bit louder as he comes. Your core aches, desperate to be fucked, as you feel his cum on your nightie again, causing it to cling to your skin. You pretend not to notice but fuck you want to touch yourself so badly.

The third night he gets a little bolder still and tries to nestle his length right between your ass cheeks, trapping his bare cock between the fabric of your nightie and his stomach. You stay still, allowing Jisung to do what he needs to for his own pleasure and release. As usual, you say nothing.

On the fourth night he does the same thing except this time you have shimmied your own nightie up around your waist, leaving yourself bare and exposed. You feel him scooch up behind you and, yes there it is, his bare cock pressing against your exposed ass. Jisung gasps at the unexpected unobstructed contact. But when you don’t move he assumes you’re asleep and so he holds onto his cock and runs the sensitive tip along your ass crack, up and down, over and over. His breath is shallow and ragged. 

“Sungie?” You say low and firm. Jisung halts his movements.

“I…I’m… so-sorry… Mummy.” He chokes and pulls away. “You’re just so pretty…and you make me so…so…so hard.”

“Hmm.” Is all you reply.

“Mummy? Are you mad? Am I…are you going to punish me?” He whispers desperately. The corners of your mouth curl up. Baby Sungie wants to be punished, hmm?

“Keep that up and yes… you will be punished.” You sigh, feigning annoyance. “But if you stop right now, then I will let it slide and pretend nothing happened.”

“Thank you, Mummy.” He whispers and you immediately feel his cock return to rest against your bare skin. He runs the tip down between your cheeks and squeezes it between your thighs. You lift your top leg ever so slightly to give him access to nestle his velvety smooth cock between your thighs and and the length of his shaft against your dripping core. You squeeze your thighs back together, encasing Jisung’s cock entirely with your soft body. 

“Mummy!” He tries to keep his cries down. “Mummy… feels so good.” He begins to fuck your thighs, the friction of his cock against your cunt causes a knot in your stomach to quickly tighten. You want to play with yourself, play with him, so bad, but you remain strong and let Jisung chase his pleasure.

“Hmm, you really do want to be punished don’t you Sungie? Such a naughty little boy.” Jisung’s hips speed up “Yes, Mummy… please. Sungie’s been bad.”

“And how does Sungie need to be punished?” you squeeze your thighs together even harder.

“Nngnh…Sungie…needs…aargh…feels s’good Mummy…Sungie needs spanking.” with a little grunt Jisung coats your inner thighs with thick hot cum and slips out from between your legs, spent.

Sungie needs spanking? This will be fun. 

You roll over and hold Jisung and he falls asleep almost instantly. Your legs are sticky, but you don’t care, and you reach down to finish yourself off while thinking about spanking little Sungie’s cute ass.

🎀 🎀 🎀

The next day saw you outside of your chambers for most of the day, attending court matters, functions, and other mind numbing activities, and isn’t until late afternoon that you return to your room.

You smile with delight when you enter finding Felix and Jisung at your vanity dresser. Jisung sitting on your little stool while Felix fusses over him applying makeup to his face. Both are dressed up pretty in your puffy, lace dresses and Felix has already painted his own face with your blush and rouge lipstick. They turn when they notice your presence. 

“Oh Mummy, you’re home. We thought we’d surprise you.” Felix beams.

Your hands come up to cover your mouth in surprise. “Oh my beautiful boys, have you dressed up just for me?” You approach the two young men and stroke their cheeks affectionately. “My pretty little princesses.” you whisper lovingly. The pair of them look back at you with innocent expressions, so desperate for your approval. “You’ve done so good.” you plant a small peck on their cheeks before moving to sit in one of your chairs.

“Come. Kneel in front of me.” you instruct, and they eagerly do as you ask. “Now. I must know. What kind of games are you wanting Mummy to play? Lift your skirts.”

Felix and Jisung reach for the hem of their dresses and simultaneously lift the front of their skirts to their waist, revealing their matching thigh high white stockings and their bare, erect cocks. You immediately feel your cunt pulsate. Such pretty cocks to play with. You bite your lower lip and cross your legs. Fuck, you’re turned on.

“Tsks tsk…I see. You boys want to play naughty, filthy games. Don’t you?” you muse. “Stand up, but keep your skirts lifted.” you drop down off your chair onto your knees in front of them and let your hands trail up their stockings. You gently let your fingers caress their inner thigh, taking your time before turning your attention to their obscene erections.

 “Oh dear. These look so painful. Do they hurt?” you coo as you take a cock in each hand and inspect them. The boys hiss at your touch, their cute little legs trembling. 

“So painful, Mummy.” Felix whispers.

“It’s so swollen.” Jisung whimpers.

“Naww. Lucky Mummy’s here to help make you better.” You swirl your tongue around Felix’s tip before swapping to Jisung’s. You’ve been dying to taste Jisung’s cock for a week and you close your eyes and take him deeper into your mouth. You groan. Jisung groans. Felix groans too as you pump his cock. You alternate between the two delicious penises until they are on the brink of exploding. Much to their dismay, you let go and return to your chair, leaving them sobbing for release.

“It’s okay my poor babies. I promise we will play very soon. But first, Jisung. Your punishment. Come.” you curl your finger ushering him forward. Jisung’s eyes widen enthusiastically and he practically falls over his feet to get to you and kneels in front of you. 

“I’m going to take care of you okay? Now, are you sure you want me to spank you?” you ask in a soft tone and hold his face in your hands. “I’m going to give you a word to remember. If at any time you are not enjoying anything at all, use the word and everything stops. Okay? Do you understand?’ Jisung nods. “Good. Your word is ‘poodle’. You can remember that, yes?”

“Poodle.” Jisung echoes.

“Good boy. I need you to lay across my lap. That’s it.” Jisung complies eagerly, laying over you as directed. You lift his skirt up to expose his perfect, honey toned ass, and rub your palm over his cheek, squeezing and kneading the flesh.

“Okay. I’m going to start your punishment now.” You raise your hand and land a firm smack to Jisung’s ass. He whimpers and tries not to squirm. “Only nine more baby, and then Mummy will make you feel good.”

You continue to spank Jisung. Not too hard, but enough to leave red marks. The last thing you want to do is cause any trauma, especially after knowing that he’s been beaten in the past. You come down with the final smack and rub your hand over his skin soothingly. “Good boy, Sungie. Lixie,” you look up to where Felix is sitting on the floor gazing at Jisung. “Lixie, please. The oil.” you say.

Felix passes you the bottle of oil from your vanity and you drizzle some of the liquid onto Jisung’s ass cheeks, and then a little at the top of his crack. He wriggles beneath you at the sensation of the oil siding down to his balls. “Such a good boy for me.” you massage the oil into his reddened skin. “Sweet sweet boy.” You pull his cheeks apart and gasp at the sight of his perfect, tight little hole, and you just have to touch it. Slowly, as not to scare the poor boy, you run your finger over his hole. Jisung whimpers. “Do you need to use your word, Sungie?” He shakes his head. “Feels nice.” Good. You circle his slippery rim several times until Jisung is trying to wriggle back against your finger, signaling he needs more. And then your finger is pressing inside. 

“M-mummy!” Jisung gasps. 

“Fuck.” Felix mutters from the side. 

You slowly pump your finger in and out of Jisung until you can feel he is ready for a second digit. He lets out the cutest, most desperate little noises as you loosen him up.

“Can I kiss him, Mummy.” Felix whispers. 

“Sungie, honey. You hear that? Felix would love to help take care of you too. Is that okay?”

Jisung nods his head. “Yes… please, Lixie. Need Lixie.” Jisung is coming undone. Felix crouches down by Jisung’s head and lifts it up to meet him. “You're so pretty Sungie.” Felix smiles and takes Jisung into a slow, deep kiss while you slip in a third finger. Jisung writhes beneath you and then he’s coming hard, squealing into Felix’s mouth and spurting cum all over his inner thighs and carpet. 

Felix helps Jisung over to the bed and makes quick work of cleaning him up, praising him the entire time. “Let’s get ready for Mummy now.” He settles himself down next to Jisung so they are laying side by side, dresses lifted up for you to see.

It is a magnificent sight, having your two princes, or princesses rather, laying there ready for you, pretending they’re innocent, when all they want is for you to do naughty things to them.

You strip off entirely and climb onto the bed and begin with touching your own body. You caress your breasts and pinch your nipples, slowly taking your hand down the front of your body and between your legs. Your breath becomes shallow and your skin heats up as you watch your lovers watch you pleasure yourself.

“Please, Mummy. Stop teasing. Lixie won’t last.” Felix sobs.

“It’s alright, my Lixie. I’ll take care of you first.” You crawl close to him and straddle his lap and slide your slick pussy over his hardness. His cock is more than ready. Propping yourself up onto your knees, you guide yourself down over Felix's length. Thick, hard as stone, and stretching you out deliciously. “I’m going to start fucking myself on you now.” you say and begin to bounce up and down his shaft. “Mummy, it's too…slow down…plea-ease!” Felix whines and you know it’s because he’s been on the verge of coming untouched for the last little while. You lean down and kiss his lips, smearing rouge lipstick across his mouth. You love it when he looks like a messy little slut. 

You don’t slow down, determined to free him from the agony of his hard on, and it doesn’t take long until you feel him cumming deep inside you. He fills you up with so much cum that it seeps out almost immediately. You don’t orgasm, you’re saving it for Sungie. Oh god, poor Sungie. You rake your eyes over his body. His face is fucked out already and he is so fucking hard again. Exactly the way you want him.

You carefully slide off Felix’s softening cock and cover him up with his skirt. You give him a little kiss and tell him he’s a good boy before climbing onto Jisung and straddling his hips.

You can barely contain your excitement. “Hey Sungie.” you smile down at him. “You ready? You want to be inside Mummy? Fill her up with your cum?” 

“Yes…so bad. Want you… to play with me.” he says in a tiny voice. You feel Felix’s cum still leaking out of your body and dribbling onto Jisung’s length.

“Okay, sweet sweet Sungie.” you whisper as you lower yourself onto his cock, taking him in one motion. Your gaze doesn’t leave his beautiful face, as you begin to roll your hips slowly, undulating on top of him. He tries to keep his eyes open, but everytime you sink back down to completely engulf him he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut and moan.

“That’s it, Sungie. Filling Mummy up so fucking good.” you purr. “Does it feel good for you sweetie?” 

“Mmmh…feels..so” he chokes as you rock harder on his cock. “So tight…slippery…warm.” 

He opens his eyes and they land on your tits. Your cunt squeezes at the thought of his plush red lips around your nipple, and Sungie cries out at the contraction of your walls. He’s close. But so are you. 

“Sungie, help Mummy…Come, sit up. Suck my tits.” you pull him up desperately, and he immediately wraps his lip around your breast and sucks the nipple into his mouth. It makes you fuck yourself harder on his cock, you need your release. So fucking bad. You’re panting and practically growling as your cunt clenches around him, and when he bites down on your nipple hard you explode. You throw your head back, and cry out his name. You’re not given a chance to come back down, before Jisung starts to thrust up into you uncontrollably and makes a high pitched whine. At the same time you feel him release his load deep inside you. 

“Fuck, Sungie. Jisung.” you hold him to your chest, breathing heavily, trying to calm your heart rate.

“Was I good?” he looks up at you with tears threatening to spill from his eyes. You push away the damp hair that is stuck to his forehead and place a tiny, soft kiss to his skin. “So good. You made Mummy cum so hard on your pretty cock. Such a clever boy.”

He beams up at you and snuggles close. You climb off of Jisung and lay between the two young men. The three of you feel blissed out and content.

‘Mummy?” Felix eventually breaks the silence. “I’m a clever boy too. Look! I got it hard again!”

It seems your boys aren’t finished playing.

🎀 🎀 🎀

I hope you enjoyed this story. I know it’s a little different than my usual. But @channieandhisgoonsquad and @noellllslut know I have a thing for Lixie and Sungie dressed up pretty.

If you enjoyed the dressing up aspect of the story I have one other one where Minho fucks reader whilst dressed up as Aunty Lino. You can read it here.

🎀 🎀 🎀

@itshannjisung @newhope8 @queen-in-the-shadows @queen-in-the-shadows @lyramundana @2chopsticks2eyes @weareapackofstrays @j-oneseungz @fr34k4c1dr41n @kangnina @antoniorhinothethird

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-Sized

7/9 Shadowplay

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

Christmas came and went, and all she knew was that Simon wasn't working. She still didn't know where he lived – whether he had a home in Manchester or if he resided elsewhere. He could live in London for all she knew. He could live down the street, and she wouldn't have a clue about it.

She sent him pictures of her family and the Christmas tree, of the cute pajamas her parents had got her – they still got her cozy sleepwear as a gift, like she was a child. She sent her a photo of herself later with that thing on. Or most of it on, anyway. She even added a few hearts to her texts, knowing he wouldn't return them. Simon was born at a time before emojis were even invented.

She didn't know if he spent the holidays with his family. It was odd to even imagine Simon in a happy, domestic setting, sipping grog or decorating a tree. His father was dead, and he rarely talked about his brother or mother. All the details he had given her of his life were from a pre-military time.

True to his habits, he only sent a short reply on Boxing Day that said: "See you soon."

And she waited. She went back home the next day and sat in her lonely apartment watching historical dramas and eating chocolate until she felt sick, and he never came. She stayed there the day after, didn't leave the house even for the store. On the third day, she started to get anxious, on the fourth, rather angry. No one turned that extra key on the lock of her front door, and she felt like an idiot.

On New Year's Eve, she decided she would get the fuck out. She would not stay at home like a whimpering, lovesick puppy, waiting for its master to come home.

The long-distance relationship was getting on her nerves, and his occasional unavailability didn't feel exciting anymore. It was just vexing. Sometimes it felt like a paranoid exaggeration that he couldn't tell her when they would meet again. She didn't need much: just a fixed date would have sufficed. Her other life was stupidly on hold because she was always on high alert for him. This had been going on for months, and it was high time she did something else. Just for the shits and giggles. To hell with his soon.

So she went to see her friends and drank herself into an impressive stupor.

It wasn't her usual approach to dealing with anxiety and frustration and a yearning heart, and it didn't work as well as she had hoped. But at least she got out of that stupid flat and saw some people who actually had time for her. She had been invited to a party before the holidays with the knowledge that she would not attend – just like she never attended any student shenanigans and was rather curious as to why people kept inviting her.

But right now, an evening full of alcohol and uni people who had normal problems, problems she should've been thinking about too instead of her supersoldier, sounded better than binge-watching Outlander for the fifth day in a row.

And it was actually loads of fun. She decided right then and there, while having her fifth or sixth drink, that she should leave the house more often. Connect a little, get acquainted with new people who did normal shit. Even if they were a bit boring compared to a certain brooding giant who made love to her like she was a goddess.

She laughed so much that night that her stomach hurt, and a few boys from school were really after her at the party, quenching her need for validation and attention just a tiny bit. The whole crew went to see the fireworks to the city, and they all shared some bubbly in the frigid night, and even if she wanted Simon to somehow teleport himself behind her at the turn of the year, to grab her from behind and raise her in the air and whisper something naughty in her ear, the longing wasn't enough to rob all the fun from that night.

When she walked home, feeling a bit wobbly and more than a bit guilty for having flirted with not one but two guys, she reached for the pocket that held the push dagger Simon had given her. It received loving attention every time she walked to school or to the club, the excitement of doing something forbidden soon having turned to a feeling of security and a promise of prowess, all granted by Simon. It was almost like a comfort object, the way it instantly carried her thoughts to him.

Home felt dark and shabby and even more lonely after having a few good laughs with cheerful people her age, who studied the same subject and had big plans for the future. Her plans for the near future were another day alone, but this time, with a hideous hangover. That future felt so dreary that she didn't quite catch the familiar dark shoes in the hallway as she barged in and fought herself out of her heels all but suavely.

She went straight to the bathroom for a late-night shower, and the men's shower gel bottle – the one Simon had brought to her apartment because he didn't want to smell of "girl shampoo" – stared at her like a reminder of what she couldn't have. She then brushed her teeth and went to get a glass of water before crashing into bed.

Even in the dark, she could see a man sitting on her couch as she stepped into the living room that extended to an open kitchen.

She didn't panic this time. Her reaction was a simple, annoyed sigh upon seeing that he was yet again trying to gauge a reaction out of her.

"You really need to stop doing that."

She could see him tilt his head a little at her bitter tone. They had never fought, but right now, feeling emboldened by the booze, she had a feeling that an explosion was about to happen. Returning to a dark home filled with a dark man was such a contrast to the spirited, youthful gang she had spent her evening with that all the laughter left her for a moment.

How long had he even been here? It was nearly 3 AM. She had gone to the party as early as she deemed acceptable, wanting to get some fresh air and fresh vibes as soon as possible. If Simon had come to surprise her in the evening, he had had a long night.

"Where were you?"

The raspy voice was demanding, and she fought back a jolt of irritation just from hearing that dominant tone. It was just a simple question, but it felt like an interrogation.

And she wanted to scream.

Where were you?

How many times have I waited for you to bless me with your presence?

She had been away just this once, and he hadn't called, hadn't sent a text, had chosen to wait here for her to return from her all nighter, and then accused her of not being home.

"At a friend," she said.

"Which one?"

"Marc."

She heard him draw air upon hearing that she had been to some other guy's apartment.

"A new friend," he noted.

"He had a party," she explained, then tested her luck like an idiot. "It was fun. I made lots of new friends."

She turned to get that glass of water and noticed Simon had done her dishes while she was away. There were flowers in a vase on the counter, too. He had wanted to surprise her on New Year's Eve, probably hoped to spend another peaceful evening at home together.

A tiny needle pushed into her heart at the sight of the pink tulips. Simon didn't know it, but they were her favourite flowers. She wondered whether he had been to the club to see if she was there, only to come back when he noticed she wasn't up tonight. If he had sat on that couch as hours passed by, with dread sinking in from the thought that she might be out somewhere, cheating him with another guy. The needle inside her heart burst into flames.

"Where were you?" She whispered. He finally rose and walked to her, much in the same way he had done when she had been upset in this exact same spot when morning light had filled the room.

"Covering my tracks."

She already knew that "covering tracks" meant he took extra precautions before coming to see her, whether there was a real, heightened risk or not. Christmas time might be a heightened risk: those who wanted him harm would probably want to know where he spent his holidays. Who his loved ones were.

It meant that he was devoted to her, an actual sign of care and deep affection. Simon had just made sure he wouldn't set her in danger.

She could feel his warmth behind her, could smell him, and felt distress spike in her chest when he wouldn't proceed to touch her but just stood there. She turned to face him with a quivering lip and wasn't sure whether she was about to burst into tears or a manic giggle.

He was wearing a black hoodie this time, but it didn't quite manage to make him look any more youthful or boyish. But it was snug, almost cute. The size of it probably double or triple XL to accommodate those shoulders and that chest. That hoodie told her he had definitely planned to stay home, cuddling and making love while the tulips slowly opened their blossoms in that vase.

She knew he came here for her softness. He would never admit it, but he craved the softness of her bed, her couch, her body, even the food she made for him with love. He had just wanted to spend the evening filled with some color, laughter, and affection, certainly not go and watch exploding fireworks that would only remind him of war and death and darkness.

Suddenly she felt guilty about getting so worked up. She felt shame for her condition: she was still drunk, like a sailor, wearing nothing but flushed cheeks and a towel.

"Are you angry?" She searched for judgment in his eyes. He watched her sternly, didn't betray any emotion other than that of guardedness.

"Why would I be angry?" He said in a Should I be? kind of way.

"Because I'm drunk?"

She must smell of booze, of a whole pubful of drunkards. Not ladylike at all. He had heard the state in which she had barged in — she had even sung a dirty song in the shower.

She felt like a child compared to him, felt like every guy she had talked to at that party tonight was like a child compared to him. The shyness never quite left her, even if they had known each other for months now.

What if he was angry? Or disappointed?

Or worse yet, disgusted?

"You said you didn't like women who drink."

She certainly wasn't a drinker, even if this night had been a bit rowdy. But trying to explain to a man who disapproved of drinking that she wasn't an alcoholic while smelling of booze was somehow too funny in her sleepy, partied, lovelorn state.

She couldn't hold it in any longer, and a stupid little chortle pushed through her lips. This time, he raised a hand and took hold of her shoulder, as if to ensure she was okay.

"I never said that," he said gently. The brown of his eyes was blown dark, and she vaguely remembered that dilated pupils meant drugs or darkness or love.

"One of the guys wanted to walk me home," she blurted out of nowhere. The alcohol in her system had apparently decided it was quite alright to tease him a bit for taking so long. His head pulled back, a subtle indication that he didn't like what he was hearing.

"Or actually, two. It was funny when they both came to give me my coat when I was leaving."

He was silent, the feeling of being reduced to a flustered child – or a drunken moron – in his presence only increasing by the minute. Either he was genuinely astounded by her behaviour, or then she was really pushing her luck with her drunken babble.

And fuck, she would never get over his eyes. Perfectly almond-shaped and so big that supermodels would kill for them. But it wasn't the warm, dark chocolate or the eternal exhaustion of hooded lids that made them so enticing. It was the look of having walked through hellfire… and having emerged undefeated, with scars and a sardonic, knowing smile. He was like Lucifer cast out from heaven, a fallen dark angel who had been thrown to Hell, who merely shrugged at his fate and then started to rule the whole goddamn place.

She opened the towel and let it drop to the floor, then took a step and wrapped her arms around his neck. He went rigid as she pressed her body flush against him, the amber eyes roaming her face while the rest of him was stiff. It was a new situation, her meeting his solemn stare with bold teasing while making it clear that she wanted him to rut her — on that counter if need be. Or better yet, she wanted to climb onto his lap and ride him, run her nails down his chest and sink them in, perhaps to the point of drawing blood.

It was usually he who ravished her…

"I've been a bad girl," she tried to imitate a seductive voice but it turned into another giggle.

Good God… She wished someone would come and put some duct tape on her mouth.

But then a hand was placed possessively on her hip, a thumb brushed over the side of her stomach. Those eyes were now looking at her much in the same way they always did when she was dancing for him. Hungry and dark. Proud… Pleased.

He had looked at her like that for months and months now. Like he owned her. In a stupefied recognition, she realized he had looked at her that way before they had even shared a word with each other.

He moved in a sharp flash, scooped her in his arms and started to walk toward the bedroom.

"Are you gonna punish me?" She whispered without even bothering to cover the heavy anticipation in her voice. He wouldn't say anything, but when they reached her bed, she was thrown on it. Gently and with care – but it was still more of a flung than setting down.

"It's not really a punishment if I enjoy it, right?" She laughed with excitement, all the remnants of her anger dissolving into a soft buzz that gave a nice edge to the upcoming retribution. "I guess the joke's on you."

He still wouldn't budge, still wouldn't speak…

"Are you sure you're not angry?"

She rose to lean on her elbows and watched him undress with a soldierly sharpness. Under the black hoodie was a black t-shirt — of course. But only now did she notice that he was wearing grey sweatpants. Fucking sweatpants.

Why did he have to be such a kissable, huggable cuddle muffin on this night of all nights? Those sweats were so far from the glitter and glamour she had surrounded herself this evening that she felt another burning sting beneath her sternum. The ample bulge against that soft, grey cotton was visible even in the darkness.

The muscles bunched as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. She would probably never tire of seeing those shoulders, not to talk of his divine forearms that were so different from the skinny little things she usually saw at school or even at the club she danced in. Even she had more muscle in her forearms due to pole dancing than some men – but Simon… God, he was an absolute specimen. And with that tattoo slapped on that bulky, veined muscle, she could verily fall on her knees and pray to this man.

Her earlier teasing felt stupid as hell. She wasn't interested in anyone else than him walking her home. That ship had long since sailed.

And how could anyone compare to him? Those boys she had talked to would shit themselves if they saw Simon, even without his gear. Would turn tail and run seeing him in those cozy sweats, even. She wanted to explain herself even if the cleverest thing would be to just shut up.

"Marc's just a friend from school. He was in this group project and then we started to talk about our plans for the New Year, and then I figured I should go to this party because I never go anywhere, you know, and -...mh."

His pants were off, all of them, and she could see his cock spring free, already hard, like he always was when she was lying down like this and he was about to descend upon her. The night swallowed most of him, but it wasn't enough to hide those forearms, that hungry, slightly amused glint in his eyes – or that heavy, obscenely thick erection that was jutting from between his equally massive thighs. It was veined like his forearms, surrounded by the palest, faint hair, similar to the almost invisible ones that coated his chest and back here and there. Everything in him was heavy and thick, except that pale breath of hair…

Her mouth shot full of water, and rich heat pooled between her thighs, which instinctively clamped together as if knowing that this man was too big for her, even if evidence already proved otherwise. He always told her how tight she was, but she felt like it was more the cause of his size than any asset of hers.

"I thought it would be good to connect with people because you never know, right?" Her mouth kept yapping on while her eyes were glued to his massiveness. All of it.

He crawled to the bed between her legs, which opened by themselves for him as if this man was a whole VIP pass that granted access to the exclusive area of her.

"If you wanted to know where I am, you could've just called me. You never tell me where you are or when you come back. You know, "soon" could mean anything."

She expected him to insert himself to her opening, to push in with a full-blown ego because he must already know she was wet from just seeing him, the bastard. But instead, he dove face first to her folds while sweeping her thighs over his shoulders like they weighed nothing.

"But I get it, you need to–"

A pair of hot lips surrounded by a peak stubble hit her skin, and her head fell back with a moan. Her thighs drifted even further apart as his tongue traveled up her slit, parting the swollen lips with so much love that she knew he definitely wasn't angry with her.

Oh no.

She had only managed to amuse him again.

And of course she had. Her intoxicated state and desperate attempts to make him jealous must've told him that she was a bit of a mess because of him. He wasn't petty, even if he was possessive. It was crystal clear to everyone in this room that she had just tried to distract herself, and she was featherbrained if she thought she could fool him.

"I was mad at you," she confessed with a sigh. "I still am…"

She peeked a look down. The sight of a brawny, wide man on his knees between her legs made her more heady than all the punch she had had that night. The bulk of muscle on his back made her legs look sleek and slender and weak, the coarse stubble against her delicate, swollen folds made her head spin even when she was lying on her back. The faint scent of tobacco and his musk were like incense to her; she inhaled it like it was her only way to heaven, that haze of blazing masculinity, of fire and smoke that was thoroughly him enveloping her as she fell back on the mattress.

Her hand found his hair; it was cut shorter from the sides, but the top had generous amounts to grab hold of, and she curled her fingers there while pushing her cunt against him. She was tired of pretending that it didn't feel fucking best when he gave her head.

An exceptionally hungry kiss echoed through her body, making her spine arch and her legs slide up and down his back. How could it feel like he was kissing her instead of fucking her with his mouth? She had taken Simon as a man who didn't worship women like this, but like always, she had been wrong. Even the very thought of a commanding officer of some super special tactical unit having his face buried between her legs was enough to send her to the verge of orgasm. Not to talk of seeing and feeling him actually there.

She sighed as his hands drew her against his face by the thighs, then gasped as a firm, thick tongue – thick like the rest of him – thrust inside her.

"God… yes, just like that…"

If she was pulling his hair a little too hard, he didn't mind. Or at least he didn't say or do anything about it. At first, she had thought that perhaps he tried to make her shut her mouth this way. Speak with moans and sighs instead of words. But now she felt like she was his prisoner, about to make the confession of a lifetime.

"It drives me crazy, the waiting… I'm always waiting for you." It was a miserable sob, and she was arriving at the center, the numb, veiled core of this whole conundrum.

"You drive me crazy, Simon."

He let her monologue go on. If anything, he encouraged it with his tongue, with his lips that nibbed her swollen bud and sucked.

"You're so annoying." She felt him huff a brief chuckle against her, inside her even, as she was open and dripping and hurting, wholly at his mercy. "Like, no one comes even close. And, and, I…"

The darkness made it seem that she could spill any secret in such a lightless, safe cavity where there was suddenly no time, no past and no future to make her pay for what came out of her mouth next.

"...I love you."

But the laws of cause and effect still applied to this world, and Simon stopped, breathing into her pussy like a long-distance runner.

"What?"

His first words since forever hit her folds with a husky, tentative roughness. That voice was better than any dark rum or gooey chocolate cake or even a hot tub bubbling with maple sugar bath bomb. The heated knot in her stomach coiled and twisted, her eyes were brimming with tears.

"...Nothing."

He breathed into her tender folds, she could feel his lips draw into a smile. He kissed her right at the center, at the core of her, and she jerked a little, bit her lip, and waited.

"You sure?" The gruff, murky voice still talked to her pussy, like it was there where the confession of his prisoner was to be found.

"Yes..?"

A devastatingly languid lick stroked her folds, and the starved sigh was that of a happy, happy man. He had a winning hand, and he knew it.

"Are you absolutely positive?"

She swallowed, her lips trembled, and her heart rammed against her chest as her drunkard's brain thought of the terrible fate that awaited her if she yielded to him. What if they were still playing? She hated poker, especially when she was playing against Simon who always had a royal flush in his hand. She wanted to play together, not against each other.

"For fuck's sake, why do you always have to…" she started, then bit her lip again as he plunged his tongue inside, so deep that it made her chin shoot up toward the ceiling and her hips grind against his face.

"You always have to win," she sighed strenuously, on the brink of tears.

"Love you too," he rumbled against her, and her walls clenched around nothing, more moisture leaked to coat his chin.

"Wh-...What?"

He picked up where he had left, proceeding to kiss and lick and suck like it was just some small talk they had briefly shared while he was eating her out.

"Simon…"

"Shh."

She pursed her lips from happiness and allowed him to finish the job, which didn't take long in her state of bliss and drunken overstimulation. She came with a cry, leaked love in the air – leaked literally, on his lips.

He rose to sit after he was done, panting like it had been a while since he had tortured anyone like that.

"What took you so long?" She asked when he threw himself to lie on his back next to her.

"What took you so long?" He huffed, and she wasn't sure if they were talking about their mutual absence or the late confession. She turned to press against him, thrumming with love. He shifted too and took her in his arms, and her head was shoved against the plates of muscle that made his chest. He was still hard, and she wanted to take him in her mouth, to return the favor tenfold.

"You're so annoying," she chirped with a broad smile while crushed against the world's safest chest.

"Copy that."

"I love you."

His cock twitched between them when she said those words. It was his only reaction to her repeating that long-kept secret.

"You're drunk," he commented with sleepy, honeyed amusement.

"I'm drunk, and I love you."

He sighed and pulled her into an even heavier hug. "Come 'ere."

They cuddled sometimes, mostly after sex, but it was never this ardent. She ran a hand up and down his back while the other was squeezed somewhere between them. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and powerful underneath her cheek.

"Don't send me pictures of your family," he grumbled through half-sleep. "It's an unnecessary risk."

He had rigged her phone with schizophrenic detail so that their calls and messages couldn't be traced. He had even built a sort of a Faraday's cage out of a shoebox, wired mesh, aluminum foil and whatnot, where he put his phone when he came to her place. She didn't even know all the things he did to ensure no one knew about their relationship. Safety measures weren't doubled, they were tripled with Simon.

She gathered the photos she sent of herself were a weakness for him since he never forbade her from sending them. She didn't know if they got destroyed right after, though, or what kind of a headache it was for him to get rid of all the metadata.

"Whatever you say," she murmured while pressed flush against him. His erection wouldn't die, and in her opinion it was unfair, downright sinful, to leave him in such a state after he had given her so much love. She raised her leg and swept it up the side of his thigh until it came to rest on his hip so she could rub against him.

"You need to sleep," he said, but didn't stop her. He even allowed her some space to snake a hand between them to grab him and guide the tip to her folds, still soaked from his treatment. The notion that he prioritized her rest over his own pleasure only made her more wet. He responded with a shallow, hoarse exhale as she helped his cock against her slickness, coating it with moisture.

"You love me?" She was a lovesick puppy now, and he grunted at her neediness.

"How many times do I have to say it?"

"You only said it once."

"Once is enough."

She glided along his length with slick, moist sounds filling the darkness pulsating with love.

"No it's not."

"Insatiable woman," he muttered, slightly out of breath from what she was doing to him. And as if he had only now noticed that she was handling him and not the other way around, he switched their roles and rolled partially on top of her.

"Could you just say it?" She watched him with what must've looked like the most desperate, needy stare she had ever worn. He simply seized his cock and adjusted it to her entrance.

"Pretty please?" She whispered while he pushed in, only halfway, knowing she was more than ready to take him fully. She even grabbed his ass to force him, but he refused her.

He always had to win… Always.

"I love it when you beg."

The voice was harsh, rugged, but his eyes were soft, even softer than the double bed under her.

"I love your cunt," he continued, and a moan slipped from her as he teased her with a few shallow, unhurried thrusts. "Love the sounds you make when I fuck you hard."

"Mh-..."

"...or gentle. Fuck you real slow and deep. I know you like that."

He finally went completely in, finally gave her that sweet satisfaction that came from being filled. It felt so snug, so gratifying that it could only be compared to having a piece of your favourite cake after a shitty day or taking the first sip of coffee in the morning or easing into a hot jacuzzi when you were cold.

"I love it when you say you're a bad girl when you're the swee'est girl there is."

That one ended in a short, mocking laughter. As if she was absolutely shitty at trying to deceive him in anything.

He continued to tell her everything except the thing she wanted to hear. He told her he loved her bedhead, her cooking, the look of concentration when she was curled somewhere to read a book. He told her he loved her laugh, her sharp tongue, and how adorable she was when she was mad at him. The list went on and on, it even had the time when she had slapped him, on it. She was just about to plead again, beg for it if she must, when he finally relented.

"Yeah, sweetheart… I love you," he whispered in her neck with a burnt voice, burnt from tobacco or barking commands. "Should be bloody fuckin' obvious by now."

She dug her nails into his back, not worrying about the consequences, which were only delightful. The coarse stubble chafed her neck as he kissed and sucked her skin, surely leaving marks.

She was so wet for him that she was creaming around his shaft. Big as he was, he glided inside her with no effort at all, even when she felt herself tighten around him with another upcoming release. She was going to come a second time, a rarity, even with Simon.

He pressed her against the mattress with every thrust, the feeling of being crushed between the plush, soft bed and a bruisingly hard body absolutely glorious. Feeling weightless and completely open, she came while clinging to him, knowing it would send him on another ego trip for having worked her to a climax twice already.

The sound that left her, more like a helpless wail than a satisfied moan, meant she had lost all her chips in a bet against someone who had invented the whole game. Her cries painted the darkness as she throbbed and clenched around his cock like it was the sweetest thing in the world.

"Now what did I say? Insatiable." His voice turned into a wined and dined tone when he was pleased, almost braggingly so, and she wanted to dig her nails in his back again and make him grunt instead. But that voice also caressed her, much like his hips that gently rocked her through the waves of the orgasm.

He came shortly after, through gritted teeth and a feral edge to his peak. Her neck was burning from all the love it was getting, but the last roll of his hips was almost lazy, and he collapsed on top of her, trapping her under a blazing hot chest. A palm slid along the dip and swell of her waist, caressed the side of her thigh, and pulled her leg to rest on his back while he remained buried deep inside her. He turned from a savage, heated man into an affectionate lover so quickly that she could only hang onto him as best she could.

His back had broken into a sweat, but when he eventually pulled out, he didn't roll to the side like he usually did. Instead, he shifted to lay his head on her chest, and clutched her in a sideways hug, slack against the bed and partly on her. The ragged breathing was interrupted by an uneasy swallow.

"Life was easy before you came along. Didn't have to worry about gettin' killed."

More confessions were spoken in the fading night, and she raised a hand to stroke his hair. The light had slightly changed, the wintry night was easing into a break of dawn while they were finally about to get some sleep.

"Guess I have to stay alive now."

Only Simon could make something like that sound romantic, but his tone was somber, as if he was letting an essential part of himself go when he chose life and her. She wondered if she had brought Simon back to life like he had brought her. It wasn't what they had planned for themselves, but here they were: spent and alive, meshed together at the dawn of a new year.

"You're spooking me to death as it is. I don't want to know how you would be like as an actual ghost." She tried to lighten the mood that was slipping into something darker, something she didn't wish to think about after a night like this. But Simon had chosen to make her cry.

"Would haunt you still."

She couldn't say anything from the bittersweet pain that spread through her heart. It was hard to breathe when a choked sigh clawed at her throat and tears threatened to cause a whole flood.

"Did you like the flowers I got you?"

…And just like that, he changed the subject. She blinked back tears and tightened her hold of him, so snugly settled there over her heart.

"I love tulips. Thank you," she whispered in the crown of his head.

"Hm."

He was already on the verge of slipping into sleep, like men used to after a good fuck, especially when already exhausted from work. Or from loneliness. She hugged him so tight she could feel the flare of his ribs as his breath slowly evened out. She caressed his hair, the back of his neck, stroked his back and felt him rumble softly against her.

"Not your pet..."

His last note was more of a weary sigh that turned into soft snoring as he fell asleep on her chest. She was not far behind, drifting off to sleep too while cradling him — precisely like a pet, or a child, her last thought being how oddly beautiful it was that he finally allowed her to hold him like this.

[fallershipping]

CW (Content Warning): Ableism in a fictional setting

Note: I do not like the 'Looker is a Zoroark' headcanon. I actively dislike it. I would like my headcanons to not be associated with something I consider dehumanizing.

There's a specific concept of how Zoroark and Human interactions have been historically negative, and is somewhat similar to the Changeling myth. It's said that the Zorua family will take the form of a mute child or barely parrot human speech in a very uncanny fashion in the case of stronger specimens. This is nothing more than an evolved survival strategy-- Zoroark never predated humans but used to be known as, at BEST, pests that steal food and livestock, and at WORST, wicked monsters that must be exterminated or else a bad omen will set upon the village. It was once superstition that a Zorua or Zoroark disguising as a human was plotting to replace them in the village.

This has, as you can infer, led to horrible treatment of people who were mute or exhibited any sort of traits associated with being Neurodivergent. For what it's worth, this wrongful manner of thinking was culled sometime after the events of Legends Arceus.

However, the side effects are present in modern times, to a lesser extent yet still harming. Comparing one to a Zoroark (or in modern times a Ditto due to its recent appearance) is mostly done out of blind ignorance, but it still carries the implication that the other is not human, exhibiting traits that can only be regarded as a non-human entity.

Nanu once referred to Looker as one for his disguise techniques, not intending to be harmful. Looker's very sour reception to his remark was enough of a message to the older agent to never use that comparison again. The Detective might have lost his memories, but something about that comparison struck a nerve somewhere deeply rooted in childhood.

[thevamplelio]

He is, or rather, was, what I’d call “titled but broke,” or “impoverished patrician.”

See also: court royalty vs titled ancien regime vs new money vs the proletariat in Les Liaisons dangereuses and the up and coming Comte (Count) in The Count of Monte Cristo, also over half of any recent American revolution historical fiction I’ve read (gimme recommendations!!!!).

Thus making his later dandyism even more a pretentious performance and a lie (affectionate).

Hilarious that people believe that Lestat being born into “aristocracy” and the youngest son afforded him some sort of privilege when if they’d ever even read the beginning of TVL they’d know all it got him was bloodied and bruised.🤔🤷🏽‍♀️

[cavalorn]

Eye of newt and toe of frog: what was really in the witches’ cauldron in Macbeth? (CW: torture, death, historical racism, historical antisemitism, animal and human body parts) Ever since Scott Cunningham first made the following claim in the 1980s, there has been an increasingly widely circulated belief that the ingredients of the Macbeth potion were not grisly animal parts at all but merely herbs and plants, concealed under code names:

“every ingredient (Shakespeare) lists as being in the witches' pot refers to a plant and not the gruesome substance popularly thought”

This proposal had not appeared at all in analyses of Shakespeare prior to Cunningham’s Magical Herbalism: The Secret Craft of the Wise but is now extremely popular, especially the often-cited proposal that ‘eye of newt really meant mustard seed’. Lists of ‘herbal codes’ circulate online, purporting to explain all the different ingredients of the Macbeth potion away as plants. Witches, according to these lists, were grossly misrepresented. Their grisly concoctions were nothing but herbal mixtures.

Code-names and substitutions have certainly played a part in magic in history. Cunningham was familiar with, and makes reference to, the Greek Magical Papyri in which a famous list of secret substitutions is given. For example, ‘the tears of a Hamadryas baboon’ are to be taken to mean ‘dill juice’. The concept of a secret herbal code in which grisly-seeming or mythical ingredients are in fact plants – and only the enlightened few are aware of this - was therefore not a new one.

Was Cunningham correct?

First let’s look at the historical context.

Shakespeare wrote Macbeth under the patronage of James VI of Scotland / I of England. The King was paranoid about witches, was personally present at the interrogation of at least one, and wrote a book called Daemonologie all about them. The depiction of witches in Macbeth would have needed to flatter and support the King’s personal convictions. These fictional witches are therefore evil through and through, and we should be suspicious of any interpretation that seeks to lessen their horror.

Other plays were written around the same time that feature witches in similar roles, such as Jonson’s Masque of Queens and Middleton’s The Witch. We will come to those in due time.

Let’s examine the evidence for Cunningham’s claim, line by line. Round about the cauldron go;

In the poison’d entrails throw.

Right from the start, we have a reference to ‘poison’d entrails’. This immediately tells us that the ingredients are characterised both by being poisonous or venomous in nature and by coming from living creatures. Herbs and plants do not have entrails.

Toad, that under cold stone

Days and nights hast thirty one

Swelter’d venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.

The first ingredient is, quite plainly, a living toad. Specifically, it is a toad that has been secreting venom over a period of time.

The choice of a venom-secreting toad as the very first ingredient cannot have been a coincidence, seeing as the King had himself interrogated an accused witch who had been put to torture, and who had ‘confessed’ to collecting toad’s venom in order to use it in a sorcerous attempt against the King’s life.

The alleged witch’s name was Agnis Thompson, and the King interrogated her in 1591. His account of this is written up in his book, Daemonologie. Agnis Thompson 'confessed' to having taken a black toad, hung it up and collected the venom that dripped from it over three days in an oyster shell. This venom was supposedly intended to be used in a spell that would bewitch the King to death, 'and put him to such extraordinary paines, as if he had beene lying vpon sharp thornes and endes of Needles.'

It is worth noting at this point that the King also recorded his belief that the Devil causes witches to "joint dead corpses, & to make powders thereof" which are then used in spells. This belief can also be found in Daemonologie.

So in the very first ingredient that goes into the cauldron, the live toad steeped in its own venom, we have an immediate disproof of Cunningham’s claim that ‘every ingredient refers to a plant’, along with a clear reference to the King’s own personal lived experience and profound beliefs concerning witches.

It ought to go without saying that King James VI/I was a deluded bigot who had innocent women tortured and put to death in service to his twisted agenda, but let’s say it anyway.

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

As with ‘entrails’, the use of the term ‘fillet’ leaves in no doubt that we are dealing with a dismembered living creature. A fenny snake is simply a snake from the fens.

Convoluted attempts have been made to identify ‘fillet of a fenny snake’ as a plant of some kind, but given that Cunningham’s claim has already been disproved, there seems no point in not taking Shakespeare at face value.

Eye of newt

Let’s get this out of the way: there is zero historical evidence that ‘eye of newt’ ever meant ‘mustard seed’. There are no herbals that give this as a name – not that were written prior to the 1980s, at any rate. The obvious conclusion is that it is modern lore created in sympathy with Cunningham’s claim. The ‘mustard seed’ interpretation is all over the Internet, of course, because sites typically copy one another without bothering to look for original sources.

(I would like to say, for the record, that if I assert here that ‘no historical source says X was ever used to mean Y’ and anyone later provides a historical source that unambiguously DOES say X was used to mean Y, I will print this article out and eat it. With mustard.)

Assertions that eye of newt meant mustard seed usually also assert that it was a popular component of witches’ spells. In fact, Macbeth is the one and only historical instance of ‘eye of newt’ appearing as a spell component. It is famous because the play is famous, not because it was in widespread use. The idea that it was a codename for some other ingredient thus appears even less credible.

Other attempts to interpret Shakespeare according to the Cunningham agenda include the rival claim, sometimes seen, that ‘eye of newt’ actually meant a type of daisy. Just as with mustard seed, there is no historical evidence at all to support this.

We should perhaps expect to encounter multiple claims as to the ‘real meaning’ of the potion ingredients, because the point of these claims is not to provide a definitive substitution code that was actually used by practitioners of the past, but simply to repeat the insistence that Shakespeare’s words do not mean what they say.

It is, of course, possible to assert that the enlightened ‘mustard seed’ interpretation has simply been handed down secretly through the years from witch to witch, never once appearing in print until the 1980s when such things could at last be shared openly within the hallowed pages of Llewellyn books. Claims of this sort are unanswerable.

Incidentally, the typical construction for plant names is not ‘B of A’, but ‘A’s B’ or simply ‘AB’, as we find with names like day’s eye (daisy), baby’s breath, coltsfoot and foxglove. If Shakespeare’s spell had run ‘breath of babe and eye of ox / foot of colt and glove of fox’ then we would be having a very different conversation.

Tongue of dog

This ingredient is the first one where the Cunningham agenda might seem credible, if it had not already been disproven by the very first of the ingredients. There is a herb called ‘houndstongue’, Cynoglossum officinale, which is also known as houndstooth and dog’s tongue.

Was Shakespeare referring to a herb here, then, rather than the tongue of a literal dog? Given the anatomical specificity of some of the later ingredients, there is no reason to think so. Animal tongues have played a part in magic for centuries. The Epistula Vulteris (800 CE), for example, proposes putting a vulture’s tongue in your shoe to make enemies adore you. The 16th century Tree of Knowledge instructs the reader to take the tongue of a hoopoe and hang it on the right side of the body, close to the heart, in order to defeat anyone in court.

Wool of bat

Despite this ingredient being relatively innocuous – ‘wool’ could theoretically be harvested from a bat without harming it – attempts have been made to identify this as moss, or even as holly leaves, via a convoluted train of association that links the shape of bat’s wings with the shape of holly. No historical sources give ‘wool of bat’ or ‘bat’s wool’ as a term for a plant.

Toe of frog

Some modern sources assert that ‘toe of frog’ refers to the buttercup, possibly because the Latin name Ranunculus means ‘little frog’. One is left to wonder what part of a buttercup the ‘toe’ might refer to.

Unfortunately, no historical sources give ‘toe of frog’ or ‘frog’s toe’ as a term for a plant.

Adder’s fork

At first sight this looks like another possible point for Cunningham. Adders have forked tongues, and there are several plants that bear the name ‘adder’s tongue’. However, there is no evidence of the use of the specific term ‘adder’s fork’ to refer to a plant.

We would also have to explain why, given that these ingredients are demonstrably not being presented in an overall context of plant symbolism, any of the plants known as adder’s tongue would be intended here over the surface meaning.

Blindworm’s sting

The ‘sting’ (fang) of a venomous snake, or possibly a slow-worm, which are ironically not venomous. This ingredient is probably intended to pair with the last one: they are both from the mouths of reptiles.

No historical sources give ‘blindworm’s sting’ as a term for a plant.

Lizard’s leg

The leg of a lizard.

No historical sources give ‘lizard’s leg’ as a term for a plant.

Owlet’s wing

The wing of an owlet, or baby owl.

No historical sources give ‘owlet’s wing’ as a term for a plant. (I am getting as tired of typing this as you probably are of reading it.)

Scale of dragon

An ingredient that at first glance appears to buttress Cunningham’s claim, because unlike the others it cannot possibly mean what it says. Dragons don’t exist. However, ingredients that use the term ‘dragon’ in their naming do exist, such as ‘dragon’s blood’.

Excitingly, there is a plant known as the dragon’s scale fern, Pyrrosia piloselloides. Should we concede a point to Cunningham here?

Unfortunately, I do not think we can. The dragon’s scale fern is native to Singapore and was first catalogued by Carl Linnaeus in 1763. There seems no way that Shakespeare could possibly have heard of it. Moreover, ‘dragon’s scale’ is merely an English translation of the term ‘sisek naga’. I’ve been unable to find any use of the name ‘dragon’s scale fern’ in English prior to the 20th century.

Did Shakespeare mean a literal dragon, then? Considering his plays involve literal ghosts (e.g. Caesar, Banquo, Hamlet’s father), literal monsters (Caliban) and literal witches with the power to ‘hover through the fog’ and summon storms at sea, we needn’t worry about Shakespeare depicting things which we now know to be impossible. So yes, literal dragon’s scale. Tooth of wolf

It is tempting to identify this ingredient as the herb houndstooth, but the problem there is that houndstooth is the same as houndstongue, for which see ‘tongue of dog’ above.

No historical sources give ‘wolf’s tooth’ as a term for a plant. Witches’ mummy

Either ‘the mummified flesh of dead witches’ or ‘mummified human flesh, as used by witches’. Bizarre though it may sound, mummified human flesh was used for medical purposes before and after Shakespeare’s time. See Sir Thomas Browne, Hydriotaphia, 1658: ‘The Egyptian mummies which Cambyses spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy is become merchandize, Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams.’

No historical sources give ‘witches’ mummy’ as a term for a plant.

Maw and gulf

Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark

The mouth and stomach of a shark.

No historical sources give ‘shark’s maw’, ‘shark’s gulf’ or ‘shark’s stomach’ as a term for a plant. There is a succulent called Shark's Mouth Mesemb that is native to South Africa, but given the additional description lavished on the shark – ‘ravin’d, salt-sea’ – it seems pretty obviously a literal shark.

Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark

Here we come to our first actual plant ingredient, which is named as such. Do please note the significance of ‘digg’d i’ the dark’. It’s not just hemlock, it’s hemlock that has been gathered in the ‘proper’ way. Where literal plants are concerned, the time and method of harvesting is magically significant. This suggests that far from everything in the spell being a plant as Cunningham proposed, the actual plants involved are special and treated with particular care.

Liver of blaspheming Jew

Exactly what it appears to be, disgusting historical antisemitism and all.

Gall of goat

The gall (bile) of a goat. (Goat’s gall and honey were used as a treatment for cancer in Saxon times. Who knew?)

No historical sources give ‘goat’s gall’ or ‘goat’s bile’ as a term for a plant.

Slips of yew

Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse

Another actual plant ingredient, named as such. Just as we saw with the hemlock root, when the spell calls for actual plants, the witch is careful to specify the method of gathering. ‘Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse’ means that the yew was peeled off in slivers during an eclipse of the moon.

Nose of Turk

The literal nose of a literal Turkish person. My suspicion is that this mocking of foreign people and their religions was deliberate pandering to the King, almost to the point of pantomime.

Tartar’s lips

See above.

Finger of birth-strangled babe

Ditch-deliver’d by a drab

The severed finger of a baby strangled at birth, having been born in a ditch to a sex worker.

There is a Korean succulent called ‘baby’s finger’ but there is no hope whatsoever that Shakespeare could have meant something so innocent.

Tiger’s chaudron

A tiger’s entrails. Derives from the exact same source as ‘cauldron’, so Shakespeare was frankly cheating a bit to use it as a rhyme here.

No historical sources give ‘tiger’s chaudron’ or ‘tiger’s entrails’ as a term for a plant.

A baboon’s blood

Curiously, ‘the blood of a Hamadryas baboon’ is one of the ingredients in the Greek Magical Papyri which is deemed to be a code name. Unfortunately for Cunningham, the ingredient it is a code name for is the blood of a spotted gecko, bringing us all the way back to lizard’s legs and newts’ eyes.

It’s worth noting in passing that Shakespeare wouldn’t have been familiar with the Papyri Graecae Magicae, given that they weren’t rediscovered and republished until the 19th century.

In any case, no historical sources give ‘baboon’s blood’ as a term for a plant.

In summary, of the twenty-three ingredients that go into the witches’ cauldron:

two – yew and hemlock - are unambiguously plants and named as such, with the method of gathering described

two – tongue of dog and adder’s fork – resemble extant folk names for plants, i.e. houndstongue and adder’s tongue

the remaining nineteen are all animal or human body parts, or in the case of the toad, the entire animal

Cunningham does not seem to have considered that disguising innocent herbs with grisly sounding names would have invited trouble rather than deflecting it. For example, even if ‘wool of bat’ had been a codename for moss, no practitioner with an ounce of sense would have referred to it as such when they could just call it moss. Gathering moss might be eccentric; gathering wool of bat could be seen as diabolic.

Some commentators have taken the view that Shakespeare might have been using ironic humour, by listing ingredients that were grisly sounding but also folk names for ordinary plants, intending the audience to pick up on his clever references. The audience would, so the theory claims, have recognised the wordplay because the folk names would have been in common use at the time. This theory falls apart, however, simply because the vast majority of the ingredients were not folk names for plants, and only two can possibly be considered such. Even in their case it is necessary to use some creative interpretation.

There is an additional problem with the ‘secret herbal code’ hypothesis. Cunningham’s core argument is that ‘witches, magicians and occultists wished to keep secret the most powerful of the old magics’, hence the use of codes. And yet, the arguments advanced for which ingredient represents which plant are based on common folk names, not secret lore unavailable to the masses. One cannot draw a link between ‘tongue of dog’ and the herb houndstongue, insist that the parallel is obvious, and then claim that this was a secret code.

To use the Papyri Graecae Magicae as an example of a genuine secret substitution system, ‘a physician’s bone’ is code for ‘sandstone’. There is no conceivable way a person could have inferred the real ingredient from its code name. And yet, the supposed herbal codenames in Macbeth are all based on inference, such as ‘finger of birth-strangled babe’ being taken to mean ‘bloody finger’ and thus ‘foxglove’.

Media magica in other Jacobean dramas

As mentioned above, it was not only Shakespeare who wrote plays in which witches prepared concoctions that contained human or animal body parts. However, only Shakespeare seems to have been singled out for his alleged use of secret herbal code names (which, as we have seen, does not bear scrutiny).

Ben Jonson’s The Masque of Queens was written for King James VI/I and was first performed in February 1609 (three years after Macbeth) in honour of the King’s eldest son, Prince Henry. Like Macbeth, it flatters the King’s obsession with witches by featuring a gathering of them. They discuss the ingredients they have gathered, such as:

I have been all day, looking after

A raven, feeding upon a quarter;

And, soon, as she turn'd her beak to the south,

I snatch'd this morsel out of her mouth.

This hag has snatched a morsel of human corpse that had been cut into four pieces (as in ‘hung, drawn and quartered’) out of the beak of a raven.

Just as in ‘Macbeth’, we then hear of a miscellany of gruesome ingredients, such as the bitten-off sinews of a hanged murderer, the fat of an infant, the brains of a cat, frog’s blood and backbone, owl’s eyes, viper’s skin and basilisk’s blood, none of which can possibly be taken to be codenames for plants. Moreover, we are fortunate to have Jonson’s own notes on his work, in which he laboriously details the sources he used and the practices he intends to depict:

But we apply this examination of ours to the particular use; whereby, also, we take occasion, not only to express the things (as vapours, liquors, herbs, bones, flesh, blood, fat, and such like,

which are called Media magica) but the rites of gathering them, and from what places, reconciling as near as we can, the practice of antiquity to the Neoterick and making it familiar with our popular witchcraft.

Jonson’s representation of plants is of particular interest here. He has one hag declare: And I have been plucking, plants among,

Hemlock, henbane, adder's-tongue,

Night-shade, moon-wort, libbard's-bane;

And twice, by the dogs, was like to be ta'en.

And offers the following explanatory text: Cicuta, hyoscyarnus, ophioglosson, solanum, martagon, doronicum, aconitum are the common venefical ingredients remembered by Paracelsus, Porta, Agrippa, and others; which I make her

to have gathered, as about a castle, church, or some vast building (kept by dogs) among ruins and wild heaps.

Just as with Shakespeare’s mention of hemlock and yew, there is no suggestion of code names.

‘The Witch’ by Thomas Middleton was also performed by the King’s Men. It, too, depicts witches in exactly the way the King expected to see them depicted. For example, Hecate says to Stadlin: [Giving her a dead child's body] Here, take this unbaptised brat.

Boil it well, preserve the fat

The subject of herbs comes up in this graphic exchange: STADLIN

Where be the magic herbs?

HECATE

They're down his throat:

His mouth cramm'd full, his ears and nostrils stuff'd.

I thrust in eleoselinum lately

Aconitum, frondes populeas, and soot-

You may see that, he looks so b[l]ack i' th' mouth-

Then sium, acorum vulgare too,

[Pentaphyllon], the blood of a flitter-mouse,

Solanum somnificum et oleum.

Middleton even brings a comic touch to the loathsomeness of the witches’ concoctions. Almachildes (who has brought the witches toads in marzipan as a gift) is invited to dine with them, and responds

How? Sup with thee? Dost think I'll eat fried rats

And pickled spiders?

Conclusions

The witches depicted by Shakespeare, Jonson and Middleton for the entertainment of King James VI/I are shown employing animal and human body parts as well as plants in their spells, in accordance with the King’s personal beliefs and with the playwrights’ understanding of magic as depicted in such texts as Cornelius Agrippa’sDe Occulta Philosophia.

There is no evidence to support the suggestion that any of the ingredients named are meant to be taken other than literally. They are not codenames for plants. Eye of newt in particular is not a folk name for mustard seed and never has been.

Scott Cunningham’s assertion that “every ingredient (Shakespeare) lists as being in the witches' pot refers to a plant and not the gruesome substance popularly thought” is simply wrong.

Although Cunningham was wrong, and may well have known it, his motivation is understandable. Modern witches are revolted by the idea of body parts being used in spells and wish to distance themselves from it. The ‘herbal code’ interpretation provided a means to recast the horrific Jacobean witch (who did not exist outside of the popular and kingly imagination) as an enlightened and humane herbalist.

But if we allow ourselves to misrepresent Shakespeare in this way, we risk erasing the memory of the real victims: Agnis Thompson, the accused witch who was tortured into ‘confessing’ her use of a toad, and her fellows. Squeamishness must not be allowed to prevent us from confronting the uncomfortable facts of history.