#jane hastings

[meitalpo]

I'm sorry, I find this scene hot 🤣

I actually wanted them to get together, that his character arc would eventually prove he is actually a good guy.

Btw I thought he was hot in "Lady Jane" too, so I guess I'm officially a Henry Ashton fan 🔥

Can't wait to see him in GoT universe.

[cordelia-street]

watching my lady jane and agggtm back to back is insaneeeee cause one minute i'm like henry ashton lol to henry ashton choke, die, rot in hell

[mezzinow]

He's everywhere 😭😂

[fideidefenswhore]

Had circumstances been just a little different, Anne Boleyn might still have lived. Had she produced a son, Jane would have been a passing distraction, Anne's enemies would have been silenced, and her fiery character might again have seemed, at least at times, beguiling to Henry. During the course of their brief marriage, which lasted just over three years, there had been many fluctuations. After the final miscarriage, Anne fought back, saying she had been frightened by Henry's accident, but also broken-hearted at his paying attention to another woman. This kind of criticism was not something Henry was prepared to tolerate in a wife; one of Katherine's strengths, as she herself acknowledged, was that she had never shown any sign of animosity or distress in response to the king's infidelities. Henry and Anne's relationship had been a genuine love-match, however, and the volatility which helped bring about the extraordinary events of the break with Rome remained a part of their relationship ever after.

Henry VIII, Lucy Wooding

[the-kennsterrrr]

I’m just like Daphne Bridgerton the way I’m a natural redhead and my life is dedicated to fumbling a bi-racial, bisexual, bad bitch

[cloud-sitting]

It has become clear I may have a problem…

I noticed they were the same room in seconds…

[unnerving-presence]

I hate that I know now exactly who your talking about. I’ve blocked them months ago Jane is absolutely insufferable

there’s a recent video made on her and it’s lowkey kinda funny bc she gets mad at a comp player for some reason. i forgot who asks to 1v1 but the person (laser) asked for no chess merchant. bc chess merchant.. she goes her anyways and funnily enough breaks main doors (they’re on coal tower, and it’s low key weird to give urself that advantage in a 1v1)

with him being a comp player he runs her like shit (though she was running the two purples that speed her up and slow survs down. basically training wheels) and when she downs him she bms him by humping him and then mori’ing him.. IN A 1V1 😭 petty as fuck

he decides to go skull merchant running the same addons as her with brutal, does the same thing and breaks main doors bc she did it first. and obviously destroys her in the 1v1 and downs her within 30-40 seconds in chase. she dcs and asks for a rematch which also ends in her getting downed relatively fast. she dcs and then goes on about how he’s a bad person spreading toxicity, that his chat is transphobic (one person accidentally called her by he instead of she and a mod quickly deleted the message and warned them. everybody else was being respectful)

she also proceeded to gaslight and project her trauma onto him very aggressively and overall was being a dick to someone who didn’t deserve it

not to mention her very entitled behavior thinking content creators need to reach out to her when she’s not feeling good (she said she was disappointed too. like she EXPECTED someone to be there for her) which is very manipulative and playing victim because nobody is entitled to be her therapist, especially when she already has one. the “jerks guide for ___” guy has a post about it on his twitter if you wanna see the ss

she’s also been outed more for gaslighting, being very aggressive and manipulative to others.

she does very questionable stuff and i hope she gets better because clearly she’s not doing well. with all the hate she’s getting just for being trans and playing sm i can somewhat see why she acts the way she does, but it doesn’t mean she gets to act like an asshole

[meitalpo]

This is the second show featuring Henry Ashton that he's got insane chemistry with the main female character and yet, he's not "the one" for her. This is ridiculous! Cast him to something sexy, haters-to-lovers-with-many-steamy-scenes, something like "Normal People" meets "Veronica Mars" (can't you tell I was a LoVe shipper?🤣)

[blackboar]

also, regarding Hastings's execution - both the Croyland Chronicle and Mancini unanimously report that he was innocent. Even Thomas More, who elaborates on the "plot" Richard allegedly accuses Hastings of, ultimately concludes that it was fabricated.

(Interestingly, More writes that Richard accused Jane Shore of being involved in Hastings's supposed plot. This is almost definitely a complete construction on More's part, because no contemporary reports on Hastings's execution mention her at all, and evidence disproves the idea that she accused of witchcraft or any kind of conspiracy. Instead, Richard punished her for "harlotry" as Fabyan's Great Chronicle of London reports - and even that was with Thomas Gray according to Richard's proclamation against him and Hastings according to the Great Chronicle of London, not Edward IV. Considering this major embellishment on More's part, it's likely that was probably embellishing Hastings's alleged conspiracy with Elizabeth Woodville as well - and ultimately, he himself writes that Richard made it up to justify Hastings's execution)

... I went off track, but yeah, I don't think there was any conspiracy. I think that if Hastings was alive when Richard had continued down the same route and usurped the throne, THEN he would probably act against him. He didn't like the Woodvilles but I don't doubt that he would remain loyal to his best friends son, and Richard would have definitely known that.

Shore was certainly not Gloucester's friend, and he used an opportunity to both hurt a foe and send a message about his brother's corruption.

Anywhomst Hastings was way too dangerous and Richard clearly also knew who to spare (Stanley).

[all-ineffable]

(Left)  A detail shot of Talvin Singh’s Kitchen  

(Right) Florence ; The daughter of Nick Hastings & Denise Hurst 

London Style (TASCHEN 2008) - Editor Jane Edwards & Photos Simon Upton 

[ofbatsandballads]

please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.

There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.

You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.

You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.

You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:

To whom it may concern,

I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.

Best regards,

Someone who loves your son.

Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.

You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.

You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.

[wonder-worker]

I should clarify that we don't know if Thomas More actually met Elizabeth Shore! While he claimed that he did, David Santiuste has pointed out that More's description of Elizabeth in her later years, "where a 'fallen woman' loses her beauty, echoes familiar tropes in moral literature" at the time. It was very common to find such narratives in Tudor England, such as Robert Henryson's popular poem, Testament of Cresseid. So, while most historians have (unfortunately) taken More's claim at face-value based on that description, it can and should be questioned more than it has been till date.

Also, More's knowledge about Elizabeth's life was distinctly lacking and unreliable* in a way that makes it hard to believe he was getting his information from her. For example, he claimed that she was still married to William Shore in 1483 even though we know she had divorced Shore years ago; he didn't know that Richard III had accused her of having an affair with Thomas Gray despite the very public nature of that accusation; and he either didn't know or deliberately erased the fact that she married Thomas Lynom (and had a child with him) shortly after her penance walk. Instead, More seems to have created a tragic afterlife for her, claiming that she ended her life destitute and friendless, which was...almost definitely untrue (her reality would have been far, far happier). His claim that Richard III accused Elizabeth Shore of witchcraft was also most probably false and invented by More himself: the Great Chronicle never mentions any such thing, Richard's own proclamations against her suggest against the idea, and a textual comparison to Vergil's account (which More directly used as a source for that specific scene) indicates that More seems to have inserted Elizabeth Shore into the accusation that was, historically, only levelled at Elizabeth Woodville**.

In short: We don't know if More truly met Elizabeth Shore; at the very least, his claim should be taken with a grain of salt. But even if More did meet her, or at the very least came across her (which is plausible, as her second husband had a flourishing career under the Tudors and died in the 1510s), his haphazard knowledge of her makes it very unlikely that he could have questioned her about events of her life. Alternatively, if he did question her, he seems to have had no problem massively editing, rewriting or outright inventing several crucial and defining aspects of her life to suit his own narrative convenience. Whatever the case, it's clear that More was not using Elizabeth Shore as a source of information. It's also clear that he demonstrably did not care about historical accuracy where she was concerned*** (his descriptions of her are incredibly self-indulgent and generic) and should not be taken at face-value when talking about her life.

*We don't know if she and Edward IV truly had an affair, or if it was actually long-term & public (both of which are different things, and both of which have no verifiable evidence as of now). But even if they did have some kind of relationship, evidence strongly contradicts the idea that she was a visible figure during his reign - which may explain More's haphazard knowledge of her. Indeed, the author of the Great Chronicle could not even remember her name, merely calling her "a woman named Shore", with a blank space left before her surname. Similarly, the Elizabethans - who derived their knowledge of her entirely from More's account being printed and circulated from the 1540s - seem to have been so unfamiliar with her that they invented a fake name, fake husband (a goldsmith named Matthew) and fake backstory for her. More himself, in addition to his various inaccuracies about her, claims that she had a memorable role at court while simultaneously taking it for granted that his audience will not know who she is (which...does not make sense). He also literally never bothers to mention her name throughout his account; we don't know if he even knew what it was. Compare this to the consistent and matter-of-fact way contemporary and post-contemporary chroniclers spoke of Alice Perrers and Katherine Swynford, or how Rosamund Clifford's name was organically remembered across the centuries. In contrast, the absence of Elizabeth Shore in post-contemporary chronicles, and the ignorance that both More and the Great Chronicle displayed for the most basic elements of her life, cast immense doubt on the idea of her so-called visibility. If she had an affair with Edward IV, we can also conclude other things about their relationship based on current evidence, which may explain why chroniclers had such lacking knowledge of her. For one, she never received any official grants or rewards from Edward throughout his reign, a striking contrast to Alice Perrers and Katherine Swynford who received plenty from their royal lovers during Queen Philippa and Constance of Castile's lives. With the variety of 14th century English and 15th century French & Breton precedents that Edward had at his disposal when it came to rewarding royal mistresses in such a way, we can only conclude that if they were in a relationship, he simply did not want to honour Elizabeth Shore in such a public manner (ie: through patent and Parliament rolls, etc). Nor did Edward ever favor her parents, despite his patronage of so many other London merchants. It's very hard to understand how someone who had so little influence that she was incapable of obtaining grants for herself or her family would somehow have been able to intercede on behalf of others as Thomas More (very generically and romantically) claimed she did. Indeed, Elizabeth is absent from all known cases of intercession during Edward's second reign, and specific examples dispel the idea that she was viewed as a figure of visible influence like Alice and Katherine had been (see: the Merchant Adventurers Company sending desperate appeals to influential figures at court in 1480; Elizabeth Lambert is conspicuously absent from the list). In my opinion, if historians claim that Edward III and John of Gaunt's affairs with Alice and Katherine were "discreet" during Philippa and Constance's lives despite having actual contemporary evidence of their affairs via records and chronicles, then we must necessarily view the (potential, unverified, unknown) relationship between Edward IV and Elizabeth Shore as 10x more discreet considering we have no evidence for it at all. Based on what we know so far, given that post-contemporary chroniclers could not even remember her name, I think this interpretation is only fair.

**Re Elizabeth's role in 1483: another thing I want to clarify is that her arrest and penance walk doesn't seem to have had anything to do with Edward IV - as is commonly assumed - but with William Hastings. Simon Stallworth's contemporary letter, written on 21st June, makes it clear that Elizabeth was imprisoned shortly after Hastings' execution. The Great Chronicle likewise emphasizes that she was punished for her affair with Hastings (which mirrors how Richard used her to disparage Thomas Gray, and suggests that he was using the same tactic here to vilify Hastings) without ever linking her to Edward IV. Also, the idea of her being a messenger between Elizabeth Woodville and Hastings is simply not true: it is a modern fantasy theory that has been irresponsibly accepted by historians as a fact. It has no basis in history (it's highly improbable that Elizabeth Woodville and Hastings were in an alliance) and no chronicle, including More, claimed Richard accused her of this.

***In general, Thomas More is very unreliable when it comes to Edward IV's life - specifically his love life - as well. Apart from his false claim that he died at the age of 53 (???), More seems to have invented a page-long fictional story about Edward's alleged pre-contract, claiming that it was actually with Elizabeth Lucy who had once been summoned by his mother to court to try and deter him from marrying Elizabeth Woodville (we know that the pre-contract was with Eleanor Talbot, there is no record of a woman named "Elizabeth Lucy" even existing at the time, and there is no evidence of Edward's council or his mother doing any such thing). Additionally, More claimed that Edward IV discussed his marriage to Elizabeth Woodville with his courtiers before he married her, which is obviously not true. He also claimed that Edward had three long-term mistresses, which is explicitly contradicted by other chroniclers like Dominic Mancini, who arrived in England at the end of Edward's life and clearly states that he was known for having very short-term sexual affairs; it's very hard to understand how Mancini could have gotten such a radically different impression from courtiers and local Londoners if a long-term public mistress like Elizabeth Shore existed at that time. For that matter, the claim is also contradicted by Thomas More himself, who implies that Edward's affairs stopped in his last years ("in his youth given to fleshy wantonness...in his latter days, it lessened and well left"). I'm really not sure how we can reconcile that with what More claims about Elizabeth Lambert. Interestingly enough, More's claim that Edward may have eventually stopped having affairs is actually supported another independent chronicler, Habington, who wrote that "Even from [lust] which was reputed his bofome finn, toward the later end of his life, he was [somewhat] cleare: either [conscience] reforming him, or by continuall faciete growne to a loathing of it". Of course, we don't know if this is true or not, but whatever the case, the point is that More's claims re Edward's love life are ... really not reliable. On the contrary, he has displayed a pretty stellar record of invention, exaggeration and general inconsistency. His claims re Ellizabeth Shore cannot be taken at face-value and should be questioned & doubted far more than they are.

(Of course, this isn't to argue that everything More claimed about Elizabeth was an outright invention. This isn't true at all: he clearly did know some pretty important things about her. But when it comes to the existence and nature of her alleged affair with Edward IV...we just don't know. More could have been making it up; he could have been telling the truth; he could have been narrating what he believed was the truth; he could have been basing his account on a grain of truth while exaggerating/constructing the rest (in my opinion, the last one makes the most sense and fits best with what we know so far). What I'm trying to say is that More's claims regarding their alleged affair are not verifiable and reliable, and his claims regarding the nature of that affair can be contradicted by actual evidence and other sources, including More's own account. All in all - like you said, he can't be used uncritically as a source when it comes to her.

What is your opinion on Elizabeth Lambert? Does she have any unknown related knowledge?

I find her very interesting, particularly with the way her story parallels Alice Perrers and Eleanor Cobham, and I find her a very sympathetic figure. I don't know too much about her since the end of the Wars of the Roses isn't one of "my" periods and the thought of sorting through the Ricardians from the Ricardian-influenced to the Tudorites to find decent information about them just makes me go "no" and give up.

I'm not quite sure what you mean by your second question. We don't know a lot about her since the lives of mistresses aren't very well documented, particularly ones not of aristocratic birth. In addition, a lot of what we know about Elizabeth comes from Thomas More. He did claim to have met her but More can't be used uncritically as a source. The best coverage of Elizabeth's life, afaik, N. Barker's article, 'The real Jane Shore’ in Etoniana, 125 (1972) and 126 (1972). I've not read them myself but I believe Barker was the scholar who discovered "Jane Shore" was in fact Elizabeth Lambert.

[heedeungism]

synopsis: the duke loves you dearly, yes, but how could you possibly know that? includes: bridgerton au, suggestive, profanity , hoon is a rake

as duke and duchess of hastings, it was expected that you produce an heir within the year. being the notorious love match of the season, the diamond and the duke, the image of your family back in london was counting on your ability to ‘perform your duty’, as the ton loved to put it.

sunghoon, your husband, the duke, had been the one to propose the deal. you’d been told your whole life that your interests meant nothing if your husband did not share them, yet he had asked you what your favorite color was. you had been told that horse riding wasn’t ladylike, yet he had shown you his favorite mare and asked you if you’d ever ridden.

he was all the right things, you’d thought. though truthfully, he had one quality you couldn't look past. he was a rake. he frequented brothels, fucked whores, but called on you and gave you the most expensive flowers, and spoke the sweetest of nothings. it was almost enough to look past. you’d thought that you’d be able to get past it, that if he was in love with you enough to propose he’d be in love enough to stop visiting the brothels.

that hope was shattered the moment he’d proposed. it wasn’t romantic, nor was it anything you wanted.

“a deal?” you remember asking when he had looked at you with eyes you had never seen so unfeeling, “or a marriage?”

“you will be allowed the estate. every luxury you desire will be yours.” he had stated, “while i—“

“spend your nights at your beloved brothels?” his face when you had spoken those words had sent your heart into its own frozen hell. “you do not have to explain yourself, your grace.”

and so, the two of you married. you knew that despite the pieces he had left your heart in he would keep his word, and he did. you’d never worn such luxurious gowns nor felt fabric so soft and breathable as your nightdress.

your mama had told you little about what the night of your wedding entailed, only that if a certain event did not transpire the marriage would be null. that event was never described in full to you by your mother, only hinted at by jane austen, and yet it had been nearly a month since your nuptials and the duke had left the space between the two of you alarmingly obvious. the large bed that while you both slept on you did not share, the avoidance of eye contact, and the heat of his hand on yours only for him to pull away before you can let it pool.

on mornings that you allow yourself to sleep in, you are unsure if the ghostly touch along your cheekbone and the gentle tucking of your hair out of your face is your imagination or just the breeze coming from the open window. on nights that you are plagued by the feeling of being undesirable, you can feel his gaze on your back when he thinks you’re asleep.

on a night like this one, you find yourself reaching a point of exhaustion. “your grace.” you greet as you enter his study, the place he would keep to himself and even eat on most nights.

he barely glances up from his paperwork, “do you need something?”

shaking your head, you pull the shawl you have over your shoulders to cover the skin that your nightdress didn’t. the pink color of the fabric was what you had described as your favorite when the duke had asked. it’s the color of nearly every dress you have been provided with since moving into clyvedon. “no, i simply came to inform you that i am having the maids move my things into the duchess’s chambers.”

his interest is piqued, and he finally looks at you. “why ever would you have them do that?”

“is reason needed to move into my own chambers?”

your response garners a look from your husband, “separate rooms shall not be suffered.”

his words cause you to scoff, “yet a silent marriage will be?”

he is silent for a moment before he speaks, “jones.” the butler standing by the door straightens up, “inform the maids that they will under no circumstances move the duchess’ belongings from our chambers.”

“sir.” the man nods, exiting the room and leaving you with your husband.

“will you continue to go about your days acting as if i do not exist?” you question goes unanswered as sunghoon resumes his paperwork. “fine, i will move them myself.”

“you will do no such thing.”

“oh, i believe i will.” you retort and sunghoon stands, hands placed on the desk as his jaw shifts.

“i forbid you.”

the audacity baffles you, frustration turning into fury within the second, “you forbid me?”

sunghoon walks out from behind his desk, stopping beside it, “you are my wife. your hatred i can tolerate but i will not allow the agony of separate rooms.”

“am i your wife?” you ask, watching his hands twitch at his sides and his eyes darken, “we had a wedding, yes, but if we did not spend that night together are we truly married?”

“you speak nonsense.” he dismisses, eyes no longer on you as he turns away, “go to bed.”

“do not speak to me like i am a child—“

“i said-“ he starts, voice raising as he turns back toward you with a darkness in his gaze, “go. to. bed.”

his eyes pierce your own as his voice is low and nearly breathless, you lower your chin just the slightest as your heart aches, “i am not a child, nor am i a fool. i know you do not love me but i did not think you cruel enough for trickery.”

“trickery?” he asks, seemingly clueless as the what you mean.

you begin, “the day we met in that garden i thought you different, kind. you led me to believe such lies, you knew i could not say no to you, you trapped me in a loveless marriage that you knew i did not desire—“

“loveless? if that is what you believe this marriage to be, it is not i who is the cause,” he argues, and you narrow your eyes.

“am i to believe that you love me? have your actions up to this very moment warranted such beliefs?” your question causes your husband’s jaw to shift.

“go to bed.” he looks down at his desk again.

“do not tell me what to do.”

“what do you want from me?” he whips around to look at you. “i have given you riches, i have given you every gown you could possibly desire, i have had the finest soaps imported from india and yet you continue to oppose me. what. do. you. want?”

“i want a husband. not a stranger that i share a bed with, not a keeper.” you state, “i know you do not love me, but if I am to be duchess and produce an heir i deserve better than an absent duke.”

sunghoon remains silent for a moment before his hands clench into fists and his cold eyes meet your own. “call me a stranger, loathe my existence for the rest of your life but never think for even a moment that i do not love you.”

you are stunned into silence, and he continues, stepping closer and closer until your breaths mingle as he says, “i have spent the past fortnights in agony. suffering through the nights i cannot touch you. speaking to you is not enough, nor is being in your company. i have never in my life felt as though i cannot inhale what another does not exhale and yet i find myself suffocating with every moment i am not by your side.”

his fingers ghost over your cheekbone and you find your breath caught in your throat. “i have loved you ever since i saw you in that garden. do not dare question that.”

your lips part and his eyes follow them. your chest rises as you inhale sharply and deeply, attempting to process the words leaving his lips as well as their close proximity to your own. “you…love me.”

your tone is not one of question, and his pleasure in that fact is shown through both his actions and the three words you had yearned to leave his lips since he’d proposed. the same lips that capture yours in a hungry and insatiable kiss that has you in shambles.

your knees buckle, legs turning to jelly, and like he had expected it his arms wrap around you and pulls you closer. his tongue meets yours the moment your lips part and as he brings you to sit on his desk, the pressure of his body between your legs sends a jolt of pleasure you have never experienced before up your body, prompting a choked whimper to escape between the mess of lips and tongue.

“your grace.” you exhale against him, quickly silenced by his lips once again as he breathes you in like you’re the last atom of oxygen on earth.

“your grace.” he responds in kind, hand trailing up your thigh under your nightdress. then, there’s contact and a loud keen that like the rest of them, he swallows with ease.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[thewertsearch]

TG: jakes bday is coming up really soon TG: just a few days before mine remembr […] TG: i just wanted your advice on what to get him TG: something sentimental i guess? but i mean im mostly tapped out of precious heirlooms atm so idk TG: but not like anything coming on too strong

I don't think you need to overthink things, where Jake is concerned. Just like John, he strikes me as a rather straightforward guy, and would probably appreciate the direct approach.

Seriously, just be upfront with your feelings. He'll respond with either "capital! let us begin courting, post-haste!", or "sincerest apologies, my dear compatriot, but my heart lies with my cerulean beauties!"

Either way, the issue will be resolved. Simple as that.

TG: something that says TG: this is totes platonic and everything TG: no eyebrow raising funnybiz is goin on over here TG: but still says you know TG: call me TG: if you wanna

Nah, I'm just fucking with you.

These are teenagers. They're full of big emotions that they don't know what to do with, and they're navigating the treacherous waters of romance without a map. I might have dunked on Eridan when he said it, back in our Hivebent days, but when you're a kid, growing up really is hard, and nobody does understand. Not even you.

Roxy's not going to initiate a frank discussion about her feelings with Jake - she's going to pine for at least fifty pages, and then impulsively confess everything at once, probably in the middle of a crisis. Sometimes, that's just how it goes, when you're a teenager - and it's always how it goes when you're a fictional teenager.

TG: u dont think that if i didnt say he was off limits on account of you being my best friend TG: i wouldnt be all the hell over that????

Wait, ok. So Roxy is pretending she's going to flirt with Jake - but she's really just messing with Jane, because Jane's also into him.

It's nice that there's no bad blood between the two as a result. You just know that in a lesser story, Jane and Roxy would proceed to squabble over this guy until it completely ruined their friendship. Thank you, Homestuck, very cool!

TG: you dont even let me say your dad is hot even though we both know he way the fuck is i mean come one

In every timeline, Roxy is destined to swoon over the prefect gentleman that is Dad Egbert.

GG: I don't see why you don't try to court the favor of Mr. Strider. If you ask me, he and you are perfect for each other. TG: oh jane TG: so naive TG: soooo niaev

The Bro we knew probably shouldn't have been dating anyone. Perhaps this version of him is equally unapproachable, and Roxy knows it - his little out-of-office responder would certainly suggest that that's the case.

GG: How can you be this fargone so early? […] TG: its a lot later here GG: You're three hours ahead of me! TG: youd would be amazed TG: how much can happen TG: in 3 hours GG: Tsk. What would your mother have to say if she caught you? TG: p sure she wouldnt give a shit

Rose, what the fresh fuck!

Look - guys, I know she's not exactly the maternal type, but come on. Even the adult Roxy, absent and alcoholic as she was, at least lifted a finger to keep her daughter safe, and you're telling me Rose can't even clear that bar?

Maybe Roxy's projecting a little. Rose often assumed her mother was acting in bad faith, even when that wasn't necessarily the case, and there's no reason that something similar couldn't be happening here.

...right?

[haggishlyhagging]

[Note: Dworkin’s analysis of Wuthering Heights is astonishing. Below is her first paragraph. I suggest reading the novel as well as Dworkin’s analysis in its entirety.]

"Stronger than a man, simpler than a child, her nature stood alone," wrote Charlotte Brontë of her deceased sister, Emily. Wuthering Heights, her one novel, published under a male pseudonym before her death at thirty, also stands alone. There is nothing like it—no novel of such astonishing originality and power and passion written by anyone, let alone by a nineteenth-century woman who was essentially a recluse. Nothing can explain it: a worldly, obsessed novel of cruelty and love that surpasses, for instance, the best of D. H. Lawrence in both sensuality and range; an act of passion as well as a work of intellectually rigorous art; a romantic, emotionally haunting, physically graphic rendering of sadism as well as an analytical dissection of it; a lyric and at the same time tragic celebration of both love and violence. "It is moorish, and wild, and knotty as a root of heath," wrote Charlotte, who admitted to being somewhat repelled by the book. "Nor was it natural that it should be otherwise; the author being herself a native and nursling of the moors." So was Charlotte, but she wrote Jane Eyre, a novel of civilized pain and outspoken dignity. Both women had a deep understanding of male dominance, which does suggest that, for women, the family is Blake's famous grain of sand. Emily did take the family as a paradigm for society, especially for the creation of sadism in men. She showed how sadism is created in men through physical and psychological abuse and humiliation by other men; and she wrote about femininity as a betrayal of honor and human wholeness. She was indifferent to sex-roles per se, the surface behaviors of men and women. Instead, she exposed the underbelly of dominance: where power and powerlessness intersect; how social hierarchies emphasize difference, fetishizing it, and repudiate sameness; how men learn hate as an ethic; how women learn to vanquish personal integrity. She anticipated contemporary sexual politics by more than a century; and, frankly, I don't think there is a contemporary novelist, man or woman, who has dared to know and say so much. There is nothing to explain her prescience or her prophecy or, for that matter, her radical political acumen; except to say that Emily Brontë seemed to share with her monster creation, Heathcliff, a will that would neither bend nor break. He used his will to create pain for those he hated. She used hers, no less ruthlessly one suspects, to live in a self-determined solitude, to write, and, finally, to die. Shortly after her brother, Branwell, dissolute and self-obsessed, suddenly died, Emily got consumption, and wasted away with what seemed a premeditated fierceness and determination. On the day of her death, she got up and dressed and groomed herself and sat on a sofa and sewed. She said a doctor could be called and soon she died. Branwell had died in September 1848; Emily died in December. "She sank rapidly," wrote Charlotte. "She made haste to leave us. Yet, while physically she perished, mentally she grew stronger than we had yet known her. . . . I have seen nothing like it; but, indeed, I have never seen her parallel in anything."

-Andrea Dworkin, Letters From a War Zone

[trendywaifus]

a lil sum for jane doe since 1.2 came out yesterday! | cw: gn! reader with a dick, slight shower sex, teasing, p n v, edging, top! jane

the bathroom slowly fills itself up with steam as warm water droplets cascade down your body. your tense muscles relax, a soft sigh of contentment escapes your lips. “ jane should be returning home soon, i’ll have to get out soon to make dinner. “ you mutter to yourself, pushing back wet strands of hair obscuring your vision. due to the sound of the shower running, you’re oblivious to the shower curtains quietly peeling open and an extra body slithering in behind you.

“ i’m already here, sweetheart, “ the aforementioned woman’s smooth, saccharine voice whispers in your ear; her naked body pressed into your back. “ stay with me, won’t you? we can worry about dinner later.” her hands sensually run down your sides, a shiver skims down your back. “ i. .i didn’t think you’d come home early today, jane. “ you gulp, well-manicured nails lightly dig into your hip bones. her tail softly swishes before it curls around your leg.

“ i didn’t expect it either but here i am, with you. “

jane’s hot breath tickles the shell of your ear, warm lips grazing against it. you swallow, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth as her hand snakes down to your sex. “ j-jane, i-in the shower? “ you queried, drawing in a sharp breath. she hums, placing a few slippery kisses on your shoulder blade. “ mhm, unless you want us to finish this after we shower. it doesn’t matter to me right now, i guess you can say i’m impatient tonight. “

a soft groan leaves your lips as jane leisurely strokes you, her ear twitch at the pleasant sound. “ c-can we finish, mmm, after the shower? “ you stutter, hips buckling into her hand. the rat woman chuckles, planting one more sweet kiss on your wet skin before she lets go of you. you’re so adorable. “ of course. i’ll hold you up to it. “

the bedroom air feels cool against your naked, warm skin as you and jane exist out of the bathroom. “ lay down for me, baby. “ jane softly command against your lips. you nod eagerly, laying yourself down on the bed. her darkened teal eyes narrow into an predatory gaze, she crawls on top of you, licking her lips. the fresh, sweet scent of peach body wash fills your lungs. heat settles under your skin the longer the weight of her gaze lingers on you. jane’s body weight gracefully falls down onto you as she leans down to seal your lips into a intoxicating kiss.

your arms wrap around the small of her back, holding her in place. her lips softly move with yours, a hint of haste in the kiss. her tongue prods at the small opening between your lips before she expertly enters inside, tilting her head at an angle to deepen the kiss. her fingers thread into the wet strands of your hair, hips steadily rocking against your hardened member. her wet muscle explores your hot mouth with ease, jane gladly swallows several soft whine from you. as she continues her teasing ministrations, you held her tighter and tighter.

“ careful when you hold me tight like this, i might squeak. “ jane teased in a breathless voice, breaking the kiss. a trail of saliva thins it out and disappears while she slowly pull away. “ sorry, you just feel so good against me. “ you admitted, embarrassment evident in your honest, glimmering (e/c) eyes. a warm smile tug at the edges of her lips. you’re just too adorable for your own good. she brings a hand down to your cheek, stroking the tender skin under your eye with the pad of her thumb. “ i’m sure you’ll feel even better in the next minute, sweetie. “

jane sits upright and straddles your lap with her thighs. your cock is smushed between your lower abdomen and her cunt. your hands shyly grab the fat of her thighs. “ just lay like that, yeah? you don’t have to do a thing, let me do all the work. “ she insists, rocking her hips up and down your shaft. you watch closely at how her puffy clit rubs deliciously against you. up and down. up and down. she’s taking her time, building up the desperation and pleasure swelling inside of you. a little bit of pre-cum spills out from the slit and onto your stomach.

your lover speeds a little faster and you can feel wetness smearing your cock. you grip her thighs tighter, tipping your head back against the mattress. “ feels good, doesn’t it baby? “ there’s enjoyment laced with her voice as she teases you. jane delves down and gives you a big wet kiss on the cheek. nimble hands explore the plane of your stomach, the pointed end of her tail grazes the underside of your chin. admittedly, the remainder of her patience was waning but earning these pretty reactions from you was worth it.

she descends down to your neck, peppering open-mouth kisses to your skin and marking up her territory. her tongue circles a fresh hickey before she pulls away to look at your face. “ i need those pretty eyes on me for a moment, mouse. “ jane says, teeth baring in her smile when your half-lidded eyes meet hers.

“ good. watch closely, won’t you? “

jane pecks your lips one last time before she straightens up again. she lifts her hips off your lap and grabs ahold of your throbbing length. she lines herself up with the swollen head and slowly slides down on it. you nearly cum the moment her warm pussy swallows every thick inch of you. you can never get use to how perfect she feels. it’s so heavenly. “ d-don’t move—please don’t move yet, jane. “ you stammer, gripping her thick thighs tighter. chuckling, she pauses so you can adjust accordingly.

“ mhm, just for you. “ she replies roguishly, her abdominal muscles tensing as she feels your cock twitch inside. jane dips back down again to busy herself by kissing at your neck while you adjust to her. “ i’m glad that i have a sweetheart like you all to myself. “ she trail her damp kisses down your collarbone and your chest. “ mine, and only mine.”jane wouldn’t call herself a possessive person. she’s very confident to say she’s a well-disciplined woman. but, when it comes to you—her human, she can’t help but act on her natural instincts. her lips wrap around your perky nipple and suckle.

“ j-jane. .” you breathed, squeezing your eyes closed, focusing on the warmth of her mouth and her pussy clamping around you. god, she hasn’t even started and you’re already on the verge of releasing.

with a soft pop, she briefly pulls away to ask you a question. “ can i move now, baby? “

it takes a moment for you to respond, “ uh-huh, y-yes. “

she skillfully start moving her hips again, sliding up and down on your length. your hands reach around to grab a handful of her round ass. your shaft drag further along her spongy walls as it sucks you in. “ ‘feels so amazing. “ you breathe, gritting your teeth in pleasure.

“ you too, sweet thing. i’ve been waiting for this all day. “ she moans, before letting out a strained giggle. jane’s sacrifices her momentum for rhythmic and deep bounces. the fat cockhead just barely grazes a sweet spot that has cursing under her breath. “ i-i change my mind, move your hips up for me a little. you can do that for me, baby? “

“ i-i can, i can. .” you thrust your hips into her, your cock roughly rubs against the sweet spot and a throaty moan erupts from her red lips. “ good, good—just like that, nngh! “ her tail thumps against the mattress as your cock stretches her out, shaping her slippery walls like it’s your home. the intoxicating sound of her ass slapping against your groin, the wet sound of squelching hitting your ears has you spiraling. “ j-jane, i can’t hold it anymore, can i cum, please, please? “

sweat rolling down her brow, she kiss at your parted lips and pulls at the bottom lip, “ give it to me. it’s not like we’re going to be stopping after anyway. “