#the fountain of youth affair

[banemmanan]

Rating each disguise donned by April & Mark in GFU

Part 5/6: Eps. 20 - 24

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Ep.20

Penniless skiier. I ran out of daddy's money 2, health spa boogaloo. Starting to notice a trend here...

3/10

Mr. Crump, world's greatest photographer. Loathes women (very exciting)! Highlight was him taking about twenty pictures of April covered in mud. You just know he had them framed and put on her desk later.

6/10

Ep.21

Hotel employee. We see him for about four seconds, but those are four seconds of straight bungling.

3/10

Ep.22

No disguises in this episode, so have a vaguely suggestive screenshot instead.

Ep.23

Mourner. tfw you mourn so hard that two more people die at the funeral. At least she's wearing black this time.

5/10

Guard. Poor effort, the number of corpses at the funeral tripled under his watch.

5/10

Gambling addict. Did very badly at cards - check! Gambled away all her money and then her jewellery - check! Cried so that a mob boss took pity on her - check! Very successful.

8/10

Ep.24

Waiter. He was very deep in character tbf; he spends the entire episode working at the cafe.

6/10

Madmoiselle Petit Prix. I never once saw her doing any event promotion beyond her initial entry, so somebody is going to be wanting their money back.

4/10

A ghost? Genuinely don't know how inconspicuous they could possibly hope to be looking like this. I don't even know what they were going for, we never get their thought process here, but maybe that's for the best.

0/10

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[cantsayidont]

Despite its protestations of progressive values, STAR TREK media has always explicitly presented (and, with only fleeting exceptions, consistently celebrated) the Federation as an expansionist imperial power, engaged in a large-scale project of colonialism.

The usual apologia/rationalization for this, both from the franchise itself and from its fans, is that the Federation is also a post-scarcity socialist utopia. However, that is expressly not the case in TOS, despite the attempts of the later series to insist otherwise.

Indeed, the plots of some of the most famous and acclaimed episodes of TOS are specifically about resource extraction and ensuring the Federation's access to crucial resources, including lithium (in "Mudd's Women"), pergium (in "The Devil in the Dark"), and dilithium (in "Mirror, Mirror," et al). We are told repeatedly that the Enterprise has a mandate to use force to secure these resources if gentler methods fail. Moreover, while the Federation has a strategic interest in these resources, it's clear at various points in TOS that their extraction and exploitation are, to a significant extent if not exclusively, overseen by private interests for profit. For instance, in "Mudd's Women," Harry Mudd remarks:

Well, girls, lithium miners. Don't you understand? Lonely, isolated, overworked, rich lithium miners! Girls, do you still want husbands, hmm? Evie, you won't be satisfied with a mere ship's captain. I'll get you a man who can buy you a whole planet. Maggie, you're going to be a countess. Ruth, I'll make you a duchess. And I, I'll be running this starship. Captain James Kirk, the next orders you're taking will be given by Harcourt Fenton Mudd!

In "The Devil in the Dark," Kirk ultimately takes a regulatory position — he will not permit the pergium miners to kill the Horta or continue to destroy her eggs — but at no point does he suggest that stopping the pergium production that threatens the Horta is a viable or even acceptable alternative. The accord he proposes is contingent on the Horta's agreement that she and her children will support the mining efforts on her planet, since Kirk emphasizes that "a dozen planets" are depending on the miners to supply needed pergium. (What would have happened to her if she hadn't agreed is not stated, but the episode strongly suggests that she would have been severely punished for noncompliance with Kirk's mediated solution: forcibly relocated to some kind of Horta reservation away from the main mining operations, perhaps.) When the Horta does agree to this proposal, Kirk assures Vanderberg, "you people are going to be embarrassingly rich," which once again suggests that while the miners may have contractual agreements to delivery pergium to Federation worlds, they are still a private, for-profit business, not a Federation department or nationalized entity.

Profit is also Ron Tracey's motivation for breaking the Prime Directive in "The Omega Glory": He believes that he's discovered a "fountain of youth" that he can own, monopolize, and exploit, and that the value of that resource will be enough to buy his way out of legal trouble for his regulatory violations.

We mostly don't see the Enterprise crew handle money except on away missions in other cultures or times, but there are a number of indications that the Federation in this era has not abandoned money: For instance, Harry Mudd's list of past offenses includes purchasing a space vessel "with counterfeit currency," while in "The Apple," Kirk rhetorically asks if Spock knows how much Starfleet has invested in him, which Spock begins to answer, "One hundred twenty-two thousand two hundred …" before Kirk cuts him off. More tellingly, in "I, Mudd," we have the following exchange:

KIRK: All right, Harry, explain. How did you get here? We left you in custody after that affair on the Rigel mining planet. MUDD: Yes, well, I organized a technical information service bringing modern industrial techniques to backward planets, making available certain valuable patents to struggling young civilizations throughout the galaxy. KIRK: Did you pay royalties to the owners of those patents? MUDD: Well, actually, Kirk, as a defender of the free enterprise system, I found myself in a rather ambiguous conflict as a matter of principle. SPOCK: He did not pay royalties. MUDD: Knowledge, sir, should be free to all. KIRK: Who caught you? MUDD: That, sir, is an outrageous assumption. KIRK: Yes. Who caught you? MUDD: I sold the Denebians all the rights to a Vulcan fuel synthesizer. KIRK: And the Denebians contacted the Vulcans.

Whether Deneb is a member of the Federation at this time is unclear, but Vulcan certainly is, and so we may assume that Vulcan and presumably the Federation itself are also part of "the free enterprise system."

The first indication that the Federation does not use money is in STAR TREK IV, and it's not obvious there if Kirk's remark that "They're still using money" is talking about money more broadly or just physical currency, which the Federation may have phased out even if it still uses credit or electronic transfers of monetary value. (Certainly, McCoy's attempt in STAR TREK III to charter a starship indicates that he had some means of paying for passage, since the captain of the ship specifically demands more money upon learning of the intended destination.)

If we accept at face value the assertion of TNG and DS9 that the Federation has genuinely abandoned the use of money, rather than simply going cashless, the most reasonable Watsonian explanation is that this has been a relatively recent development during the 70–80 years between the TOS cast movies and TNG, most likely related to the development of replication technology (which the Federation did not yet have in Kirk's time).

Of course, from a Doylist standpoint, we could chalk up some of this incidental dialogue to the franchise's evolving construction of its own setting, in the same manner as anomalous references to Vulcans as "Vulcanians." Roddenberry and his apologists might also insist that he always meant to depict a socialist utopia, but was prevented by the nattering nabobs of negativity (i.e., the network's BS&P); I'm very skeptical of such claims, but the writers were acutely aware that depicting what Earth is like in Kirk's time would be opening a can of worms, which is why we didn't actually see 23rd century Earth (even briefly) until the movies.

However, the focus on resource extraction and its ramifications is such a load-bearing story element in TOS that the revisionist assertion that the Federation was already a post-scarcity socialist utopia in Kirk's time (as both DISCOVERY and STRANGE NEW WORLDS have attempted to claim) would require really substantial retcons of the original show, perhaps to the extent of insisting that some of those events never took place at all, or happened radically differently than what's in the TOS episodes most STAR TREK fans have seen. For me, anyway, that crosses a line from willing suspension of disbelief to "don't trust your lying eyes," and suggests a frustrating and somewhat disturbing determination to insist that TOS is something much purer and nobler than it is rather than grapple with its actual conceptual flaws and ideological shortcomings.

[animasola86]

I had the idea of facesitting with professor sharp but reader (or mc idk what you prefer) is hesitant

Thank you for the ask! I went a little overboard with this (as I often do), and I apologize for whatever I made this fine gentleman do, but I hope you still enjoy! (If anyone would like to request me with anything as well, please go on ahead! My asks are open!)

Fountain of Youth

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!mc

Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 4.2k // [READ ON AO3]

Synopsis: Aesop Sharp has tried everything to soothe the aches of his battered body, and nothing seems to work, but then he comes across a well of youth in the form of a young lover who is willing to feed him everything he's ever wanted, and more.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Established student/teacher relationship. Size difference. Age gap. Oral sex. Facesitting. Fingering.

Fountain of Youth

They say having a young lover is good for body and soul, and he couldn't agree more. When Aesop Sharp decided to throw caution to the wind and indulge in a rather unusual and certainly forbidden kind of affair, he knew he'd do anything to keep his girl entertained. Not that she ever demanded it, no, she was far from requesting anything, she was the most selfless person he had ever met, and most of the time she was doing everything to keep him happy.

And how happy he was when she would indulge him. It had taken him a while to accept her generous offers, but now he couldn't live without them, without her, be it bouncing on his lap, hidden between his thighs under his desk, or simply pressed against him in bed, deeply connected.

And he wanted to give back, but the state of his body often forbade any activity that was more than sliding his cock into her tight heat. It pained him, literally and mentally, that he couldn't indulge her the same way she did him.

She didn't mind, of course. And she never complained, not even when she left his office or bedroom with a limp because her body had struggled to accommodate the immense size difference between them. She was so tiny in his arms, to be fair he was a giant amongst humans, figuratively, and still she seemed to thrive on it, embrace it and him whenever she could, no matter how much pain he caused her.

Then again she must be some sort of masochist if she spent her time with him rather than with the other seventh-years. He was still a grumpy old man most of the time, even though he wasn't that old, but next to her he did feel his age sometimes.

And yet they connected somehow, not just physically. He felt drawn to her, felt his heart beat faster when he saw her, when she smiled at him. When she'd touch him, his skin would tingle and his sore muscles warmed in anticipation, whether her small hands would massage them or not.

She radiated warmth, inside and out, and while he was very fond of feeling her tight little sheath envelop him in a perfect fit, he also enjoyed holding her small body in his arms, pressed to his chest, breathing in her lovely scent. And it didn't stop there, a smile, a look, a stolen glance across the classroom, and he felt at least five years younger when a strange sensation of heat gathered in his guts.

And somehow, he wanted more, wanted all of her.

One day, she was sitting on a shelf in his hidden hobby room and watched him whittle. She said she loved seeing him work with his hands, and while he knew she also loved having the same hands all over her body and his fingers knuckles deep in her cute little cunt, he also appreciated it when she observed him while he engaged in one of his other hobbies, apart from indulging her. He spent most of his free time sketching landscapes (or more recently her) or doing a little woodwork to keep his hands nimble (for her).

A little sigh escaped her, and he looked up at her, perched on the high ledge of the sturdy shelf, right next to one of those wooden dolls he sometimes made to gift (or scare) his colleagues. At least Abraham seemed to like them, while Mirabel seemed utterly scared by them. And his young lover certainly enjoyed their company too. He'd often catch her re-arranging them behind his back, telling him they must have moved on their own, and to be fair, sometimes he did think they had a mind of their own.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” he asked and put the tools down, patiently smiling up at her.

“Yes, everything's fine,” she said quietly as she shifted on the shelf, her feet dangling off. He noticed that her skirt had ridden up slightly and her blouse was halfway unbuttoned, and by the way she pressed her thighs together, he knew everything was definitely not fine. A knowing smile grazed his lips.

He stood up with a groan, straightened the old bones, and walked closer to her. At his height, his eye level was right between her legs, and he didn't hesitate to push them apart to stand closer to her. Inhaling deeply to take in her scent, and oh the sweet scent she was emanating, he quickly found the cause of it too: she wasn't wearing any underwear. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and watched him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Her hands found his head, fingers caressing his hairline and scalp, and he tilted it to look up at her.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered gravelly, wiping sawdust from his hands before he hooked his arms around her legs to caress her soft thighs.

She licked her lips, a shy blush blooming on her cheeks. “I...”

“Use your words, darling.”

His deep voice caused her to shiver, and he felt the goosebumps as they rippled over her bare skin. While she still struggled to tell him what she needed (even though he already knew it quite well, but he liked to tease her a little every now and then), he leaned his cheek against the inside of her thigh, his beard rubbing against her flesh, and she keened softly.

He eyed her closely, patiently. When she finally spoke, her words made him shiver for a change.

“I want you to taste me,” she whispered, holding his gaze, and he saw that her pupils were blown with lust.

Giving her a warm smile, he turned his head and pressed his lips to her inner thigh. Then once more, and again, kiss after kiss until he reached her heat, and how warm she was. Warm and wet. His good little girl. He kept his hands on her legs, holding them open while he leaned closer, his eyes still on her flushed face as he took a deep breath, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils. She shuddered visibly, biting her lip in a way that was both cute and sensual, which she knew drove him crazy.

Breathing a little rougher against her sensitive skin, he planted soft kisses along her lower stomach, moved back to her thighs, teased her by slowly inching closer to her folds. He took his sweet time, leaving a trail of fire along her soft flesh, and while she was squirming slightly on the shelf, growing impatient, he smirked to himself before he put his mouth to the hidden little bundle of nerves – and she gasped and jerked her hips against him.

He held her in a tight grip while he flicked his tongue up and down her nub, feeling it throb against him, while her wetness gathered between her folds. She had her hands on her mouth to muffle her noises, and he only needed to throw her a dark glance, tsking into her heat, and she lowered them, face fully flushed, lips quivering.

Leaning back only a little, he rasped: “I want to hear you, sweetheart.”

She nodded obediently, grabbing the edges of the shelf instead to steady herself. Her arms were shaking. Smiling at her, he focused back on her pretty little pussy. Kissing her mound, he returned to her clit, gently licking it, nibbling on it, and when he pulled it between his lips, she squeaked and squirmed in his hold, her thighs twitching against him.

More mewls escaped her when he started lapping along her lower lips, gathering her wetness on his tongue, tasting her, and he closed his eyes when he took it all in, her scent, her warmth, that sweet, sweet taste. He seldom indulged her like this, eating her out was not the best on his sore joints and muscles, his stiff leg always getting in the way of his enjoyment, but she sometimes found positions to make it easier for him.

He continued moving his tongue through her slit, parting those soft lips, nibbling on them, pulling them into his mouth, while she whimpered softly, her body twitching slightly. When he rubbed his stubbled chin against her soft skin, she gasped and let out a sweet little moan, and his eyes flew open as he watched her arch her head back, neck exposed, hair falling over her shoulders, eyes rolling back in delight.

She loved having his beard all over her, the sound alone, she said, could drive her right over the edge, and she would sometimes just move her fingers over his rough cheeks and mewl quietly while doing so. So he indulged her and scraped his chin along her inner thighs before pressing it to her clit and slowly shaking and nodding his head, feeling the convulsions before the moans left her pretty mouth.

He watched her closely, taking in every single reaction to his ministrations. She was close, he could tell, shivers and shudders and goosebumps rolling over her limbs, and instead of teasing her further, he returned his mouth to her clit, giving it a few hard sucks, and she unravelled right in front of him, shrieking softly when she came. He put his mouth to her folds and lapped at her wetness, gulping it down like a man parched, his tongue moving between her lips and dipping into her quivering cunt, her contractions clenching around the soft muscle as he pushed it deeper into her.

She moaned louder, the feeling of his stubble must be overwhelming for her as he pressed his face to her heat, his hands tightening around her legs as she started convulsing on the shelf. She came again, her noises echoing through the small room, filling his ears as much as her taste filled his mouth. He licked up her slick with long broad strokes, from her clenching hole to her throbbing clit, his own deep groans vibrating through her core, adding to the sensation he was sure.

Her hands gripped his hair then as she bucked her hips against his face, mewling and moaning, barely able to contain herself. He held her in his iron grip, fingers digging into her soft thighs, possibly leaving bruises at this point, but he kept going, addicted to her taste, to her juices, and she was very generous tonight.

Eventually he slowed his ministrations, gently kissing her puffy lips, giving her clit one last lick, before he leaned back, loosening his arms around her legs to bring one hand to her mound, softly rubbing it to calm her.

She was a quietly whimpering mess, her lips parted and quivering, her eyes hooded and exhausted as she finally came down from the highs he had given her. He grabbed her waist and lifted her off the shelf, gently cradling her in his arms as she leaned her head against his shoulder and smiled contently.

“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely.

He smiled back and brought his wet lips to hers, and despite her spent state, she grabbed his face and returned the kiss in full, tasting herself in his mouth as her tongue slipped between his lips to meet his own. He carried her to the table and sat her down gently, still glued to her mouth, savouring her sweet taste, before he leaned back and sighed deeply. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he hummed softly and whispered: “No, thank you.”

She watched him with her cheeks burning when he returned to his woodworking, feeling rejuvenated and ready to take on anything.

Like with any good, fulfilling beverage, he soon felt its effect dwindling, and after a couple of days, he was lying in bed, cuddled up to his young lover, and felt every sore muscle and strain and ache almost tenfold. He could barely move, and even though he never told her that he was in pain, she seemed to notice it nonetheless and tried her best to keep his body as relaxed as possible.

Right now, she had her small hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it expertly while she planted soft kisses on his broad chest, and he just lay on his back, not even able to raise a hand to return her touches. Clenching his jaw, he watched her, his eyes roaming her beautiful body, every curve and bump and hollow, taking it all in, how her breasts moved with every deep intake of air, how goosebumps rippled over her skin when he would hum or groan under the surprisingly strong grip of her hand.

He felt his stomach tighten when she moved her little mouth to nibble on the bulging veins on his shaft, her warm tongue lapping at his hot skin, cooling and warming it simultaneously. His breaths quickened, and he closed his eyes when he felt her lips closing around his tip, gently sucking on it, her tongue flicking against his slit.

Slowly he moved his hand up, his arm shaking slightly, and put it on her thigh, fingers closing around it almost fully. She leaned back and met his hooded gaze, licking her lips. Her eyes were warm and kind, a soft smile grazing that full, wet mouth. He tilted his chin up, giving her a little nod, and she crawled towards him and kissed his cheek, watching him closely, careful not to put any weight on him.

“Tell me what to do,” she whispered, her fingers rubbing along his stubbled jaw.

“I need to taste you again,” he said gruffly, his voice hoarse and strained.

She looked a little conflicted, wondering what to do. He wasn't capable of moving much, and she knew that. He was also about to ask something of her they had never done before, but he knew she wouldn't shy away from it, she was usually very open with trying anything new with him. She was a great student, and he had taught her well.

“Sit on my face,” he said bluntly and noticed how her eyes widened.

“Are you sure? Won't that hurt you?” she whispered, biting her lip.

“It'll be fine,” he rasped.

“H-how do you w-want me to... sit?” she asked quietly, her voice shaking.

He fought the strain in his arms and raised them to place his hands on her waist and guide her towards him. “Sit on my chest, then lean on your knees, facing the headboard. Grab it if you like, to keep your balance.”

She hesitated, but then slowly did as he told her, swinging her leg over him and positioned her knees on either side of his head, her expression still uncertain. Without him mentioning it, she kept her entire weight off him as she leaned on her knees, her beautiful cunt hovering right over his mouth. Her scent was intoxicating. His eyes roamed every inch of her sex, and by the way she squirmed, her legs trembling, he knew she was a little uncomfortable with him staring at her like that.

“You're beautiful,” he told her, his eyes moving up to meet hers. She leaned back slightly to be able to see him, a shy smile grazing her lips. His hands rested on the curve of her rear, gently pulling her closer, and she strained her thighs and followed the hint, gently pressing her folds to his face. A surprised mewl escaped her when his beard rubbed against her soft skin. He inhaled deeply, feeling her shuddering on top of him as he did so.

Pulling her even closer so he wouldn't have to strain his neck, he pressed his lips to her labia before his tongue darted out and licked along her slit. Her taste immediately filled his mouth, her little whimpers filled his ears, and when he closed his eyes, he lost himself in her completely. Lapping at the wetness gathering between her folds, he felt his body relaxing beneath her, his sore muscles warming, and he was able to really grip her plump arse cheeks, kneading them as he sucked and nibbled on her soft lips, pulling them between his teeth and into his mouth, coaxing all the sweet sounds out of her throat.

While he laved her wet skin, his nose kept brushing against her clit, and instinctively or not, she writhed against him, moving lower until he was able to give that sensitive bundle of nerves the same treatment as her folds. She moaned when he sucked on it, his tongue flicking against it, rolling it, and the more he abused her little nub, the more wetness seeped against his chin.

She was still only hovering above him, straining her thighs, her arms outstretched to hold onto the headboard to steady herself. Always so considerate of him. He adored her for it, but he needed her to really engage here, so he could really engage her.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” he hummed against her clit, licking it gently. She squirmed and moaned quietly, tensing on top of him.

“I don't want to hurt you,” she managed to croak out between breaths.

“You won't,” he assured her, his hand tightening around her bum to push her down on him. She still fought it, shuddering under the exertion. “Come on, darling, indulge me.”

She let out a shuddering breath, then slowly lowered herself. It wasn't that she weighed a lot, she barely weighed anything in his eyes, she was just a soft little creature made of sunshine and smiles after all, but when she finally sat down on his face, he felt it. Her lower lips parted around his mouth, and she shivered when his beard rubbed against her sensitive skin. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with her scent, feeling dizzy for a moment, a sensation that wasn't unpleasant at all, before he let his tongue dart out and lap at her soft skin, her wetness basically seeping into his mouth now.

His grunt against her sex made her squeak softly, and she seemed to really force herself not to move against him, still afraid she might hurt or suffocate him. But he had never felt better. He kissed and licked her inner folds, his tongue teasingly dipping into her clenching hole while his nose rubbed against her clit. Her mewls shuddered through her entire body, and he closed his eyes and pushed deeper, his tongue pressing past her entrance, licking at her soft walls.

She started twitching, her noises tumbling out of her uncontrollably, her wetness gathering on his tongue and his lips, and he barely managed to lap it all up before she gave him more. His fingers dug into her soft bum cheeks, teasing along the cleft between them, before he moved them back and hooked his arms around her thighs, holding her open as she started to clamp her legs together in anticipation of her approaching release.

Her arms fell from the headboard and rested next to his head, fingers clawing at the bedsheets, as her hips bucked against his face, and despite never having done this before, she was as usual a quick learner and despite her initial inhibitions not too shy to engage as well instead of letting him do all the work. While he lapped at her folds, sucking and nibbling, drinking up her juices, his groans mixing with muffled slurping and squelching sounds, she slowly gyrated her pelvis against his face, her moans so soft they soothed the aches in his body almost as much as her wetness running down his throat.

He felt light-headed, nearly delirious when her taste and scent took over everything else, and when her movements on top of him grew harder and faster, he let her ride it out, use his face to get her where she wanted to go, and all he could do was lap up her juices, his tongue alternating between stimulating her clit and dipping into her clenching cunt.

The moment stretched forever, and frankly, he could have lived in it for just as long, but then she gasped, spasmed, and cried out loudly as she forced her heat firmer against his mouth, really suffocating him now, before she arched her back and lifted herself only slightly, allowing him to breathe and get a perfect view of how she came undone right on top of him.

Her clit throbbed visibly, her glistening pussy fluttering, and before she could shower him in her juices, he had pressed her heat against his mouth, holding her closely as she convulsed against him, mewls and moans slipping from her, and he lapped and slurped up every single drop she gave him. She collapsed on top of him, spent and limp, her body heavy on his face, but he felt the effect immediately as her warmth filled his stomach.

Using his elbows to push himself up, he rolled her around, carefully placing her down before he grabbed her thighs and dove between them once more, the soreness of his body gone almost completely. He knew it wouldn't last long, but he wanted to make the best of it. She was sprawled on the bed, arms beside her head, legs twitching, chest heaving with her small breasts quivering, nipples perked up, while he lapped and nibbled at her folds, bent over her small frame.

Her taste was addictive, all-consuming, clouding his mind. He had no idea for how long he had licked her quivering cunt, but when a soft hand dug into his hair, he looked up, his dark eyes glazed over, and saw her watching him, her face flushed, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, her lips trembling. He leaned back reluctantly, but then he noticed how red and puffy her sensitive skin looked, and he could have kicked himself for not seeing it earlier. He had licked her raw.

Giving her mound a soft peck, he crawled up her body, caging her in on his hands and knees, while he looked down at her, licking his moist lips. Her small hands moved up and rubbed his cheeks, wiping her wetness from his face before she pulled him closer and kissed him softly. He shared her taste with her and breathed deeply into her mouth, slowly coming down from the high she had given him. She was dangerously intoxicating. She was his drug.

He rolled off her then, still kissing her softly, pulling her soft body against his while his hand moved along her sides until he dipped it between her thighs. Her skin was burning, radiating heat against his palm, and she winced when he touched her, but didn't fight it when he caressed her mound carefully, hoping his calloused fingers wouldn't make it worse. But her body adjusted by making her wet again, coating his fingers and her oversensitive skin.

She was a miracle.

Sighing contently, he released her mouth for a moment, looking deep into her eyes, almost getting lost in the softness of her gaze. His fingers dipped between her folds, teasing at her entrance, and she mewled quietly, her hands rubbing over his stubbled cheeks, and he could see how much the sound and his ministrations affected her as her eyes rolled back and her lips trembled and her body shuddered in nothing but bliss.

He swallowed her moans by claiming her mouth once more, pushing his tongue deep into it at the same time as he pushed two fingers into her warmth, the wet squelching sound like music in his ears. She bucked against him while he pumped his digits in and out of her, harder and faster and deeper, and when her walls clenched around him, she cried out against his lips, her thighs pressing around his hand as he stroked her through her orgasm.

It took him everything not to lean down again and lap at her juices, instead he let her wetness coat his fingers while he kissed her softly as she spasmed against him. When she relaxed in his hold, he continued to massage her soft flesh and watched her melting into the bed. Pulling his free arm around her, he held her close to his chest, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, her breaths deep and soft before she slipped into unconsciousness.

His fingers remained buried inside her heat, and he was tempted to continue his ministrations, maybe even indulge in something more, use her willing body for his own release, but he refrained, ignoring the throbbing of his cock. Kissing her sweaty forehead, he snuggled against her, holding her in his arm and her cunt with his hand as he soaked his fingers in her wetness. Inhaling deeply to take in as much of her scent as possible, he closed his eyes and leaned into the warmth that radiated from her tiny body.

He might have stiff fingers and a sore wrist tomorrow, but he didn't dare to disconnect from her, from her warmth and those delicious juices, from her well of youth. He felt it rushing through his veins, like liquid fire warming his sore muscles and the aches of his battered body.

It was truly addictive.

End notes: Initially I was hesitant to write this, because I couldn't quite see Daddy Sharp here engaging in oral sex like that... but I guess, in the right positions, sure, why not! And I mean, the beard is an added bonus to that, so who wouldn't like that? XD

You know, I was never into the whole Daddy/little girl kink, I accepted it, I read smut with it, ofc, but I never felt anything but slight cringe for it... but this man, dude, why does it work so well with him? (I still refuse to let my protagonists call him Daddy though, nope, but the dynamic is growing on me!)

So, thank you for reading whatever this was! And thanks again for the request! It was really fun! (Give me more, please!)

MORE SHARP SMUT:

Scars

Peace and Comfort

A Demonstration of Power and Support

A Demonstration of Pride and Pain

[ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

[theyanderespecialist]

Base Yandere Mikell Bright Headcanons: A Cowboy's Obsession (+Bonus) (SCP Foundation)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I have been holding off on this cause lack of information but I found some things that are canon for Dr. Mikell Bright that I can work off of. He is 05-12 "The American/The Cowboy" He is in charge of affairs between the foundation and other organizations and such! He is also Conservative to the bone! So be ready for that.] 

(Disclaimer: Dr. Mikell Bright is not yandere in canon and this might be a bit out of character for him, I will try to do him as canon as possible. This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! It is fine to simp for fictional characters and yanderes! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! You know who you are! You Dirty, Flaky, Biscuits! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life. Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you!) 

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Mikell Bright From The SCP Foundation Fandom- 

.Mikell Bright is always wearing a white suit and a bolo tie. 

.He is known as the cowboy or the American. 

.He has been alive a long time, no one can really say, as he uses the SCP that is like the fountain of youth to stay young slash alive. 

.He is one of the oldest siblings of the Bright family and his most infamous brother was Jack Bright. 

.Mikell Bright is part of the O5 Council, his job being to deal with the other organizations that the foundation sometimes had to work with if not the governments if they ever got involved. 

.He is the viel from the world and the world that the foundation does not want you to know about. 

.He fell for you hard and since he is the viel he would want a complete life of normalcy with you. 

.In this case, he would hide who he is and what he does from you. 

.He is a man who wants that picture-perfect life. 

.Regardless of your gender he firmly believes in the Freedom of the American people, and his right to own firearms, and leans more toward a conservative mindset with things like pro-life, the church, and many others. 

.He would want to have that life with you, you would be a stay-at-home parent for the most part or a stay-at-home spouse if you don't want kids. 

.He would be the one working hard and bringing home that bacon. 

.He would also want you to always be well taken care of and for you to not want for anything. 

.This is all when he finally gets his hands on you. 

.As of right now you can bet he has bugged your home with microphones, cameras, and anything slash everything he needs to make sure that you are safe and sound. 

.He is also very overprotective and would put many bullets into anyone or ANYTHING That tries to land a part of them on you. (Like teeth, hands, claws, paws, etc) 

.You are his to protect and he is going to make sure that you are safe and sound. 

.Which was one of the reasons why he put cameras and such into your home. 

.He also did it because he is a bit possessive, and you who is his sugar plum darling, and no way in hell is he going to let some grubby no good doer come and steal you from him. 

.He would deal with rivals by taking them to the edge of the town you live in, showing them the city/town limit. Telling them to leave and never come back. 

.If They do come back, then he is going to blow their heads off. 

.That is it, one chance, if they do not turn on their heels and start walking out of town, you can best bet they will never be seen or heard from again. 

.Since he is with the SCP foundation, he very much could also make rivals disappear and make them into D Class. 

.Of course, to him that is not as satisfying as blowing their brain matter all over the place. 

.He takes a personal satisfaction of putting bullets into their skulls 

.He would also be the type of yandere that is a bit old-fashioned, he is going to romance you and spoil you. 

.Making sure that you are good and in love with him. 

.When he confesses his feelings to you he is eager to hear that you love him too. 

.If you do love him and return his feelings he is over the moon. Hot damn he has his darling and nothing could be better. 

.He is going to have you move into his home in Texas. 

.His beautiful ranch house with horses, cows, and so much more. 

.He of course has the top security to keep you safe and the staff know to not flirt with you if they value their lives. 

.But if by some chance you tell him that you do not have feelings for him, and or turn down his feelings. 

.You can best bet, darling, that you are getting the blunt end of a gun whacked to your head and that you are going to be knocked out. 

.Taken to his home where you are kept there as his captive stay-at-home spouse. 

.Once again since he has top-notch security he knows that you are going to be safe and sound, but in this route, it is more so to keep you from leaving him. 

.And once again his staff is there, but this time they are not allowed to speak to you or even look at you. They are allowed to keep you on the property so if you do try and run you will be hunted down. 

.You a his darling songbird in a gilded cage and he is not going to let you go. 

.He is away at the foundation most of the time so you can expect for him not to be home a lot. 

.But when he is, his sole focus is on you and he will not let you get away from him. 

.You are his darling and now way in hell, will he let his darling ever have the chance to leave him. 

.It does not matter if you were willing or not you are his now and you will stay as his partner for life. 

.He is going to find a way to make you immortal as well. So you can never ever leave him. 

-Bonus Yandere Headcanons with Yandere Mikell Bright X Female Researcher Reader From The SCP Foundation Community and Fandom- 

.With a female Researcher, he might be a bit sexist, with things like you are a little lady that needs a big strong man to take care of you. 

.Or how you would be such a good mother and wife. 

.And how he would love to make you HIS Wife and ONLY HIS Wife, and keep you barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. 

.He still does respect your intelligence though and would use and abuse the rank and power he has over you at work. 

.He is once again a member of the O5 council and with that, he can have you work very closely with him. 

.And can make sure that no rivals ever get even close to you. 

.If any researchers do become close to you like that they will be demoted to a D-class where he is certain they will not even last a week. 

.He would love to make you his wife and already is planning out a wedding for him and you. 

.To make you sweet darling wife and mother to his children. 

.Do not get it wrong he will want you to have kids his kids, although he does not have the best relationship with his current children. 

.He knows that he can make it right this time with the kids that you and he will have. 

.It does not matter if you are into him or not, he is already treating you as his wife and no one is daring to call him on it. 

.So be ready to expect him to propose soon.  .He can be seen as a bit romantic and he would be the type to spoil you. 

.So also be ready for gifts and treats that he gets for you. 

.He would be a very dotting partner to his sugar plum darling, and that his sweet is you. 

.Although he is the man of the house and expects you to respect that chain of command. 

.You are his wife and that means you will do what he says when he says it. 

.He is the one who knows best. 

.When he confesses to you he is downright blunt about it! 

.Telling you he wants to marry you and for you to be his wife. 

.If you accept his love you can bet your sweet ass you will be married in a month at MOST. If not sooner! 

.If you turn him down well he will threaten you with becoming a D Class and forcing you to say yes, there is no getting out of this. 

.You will be his wife whether you like it or not! So good luck! 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another chapter is done! I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter here, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins! 

[fanofspooky]

The Twilight Zone S5E11

A Short Drink from a Certain Fountain

“Picture of an aging man who leads his life, as Thoreau said, 'in quiet desperation.' Because Harmon Gordon is enslaved by a love affair with a wife forty years his junior. Because of this, he runs when he should walk. He surrenders when simple pride dictates a stand. He pines away for the lost morning of his life when he should be enjoying the evening. In short, Mr. Harmon Gordon seeks a fountain of youth, and who's to say he won't find it? This happens to be The Twilight Zone.”

[the-meme-from-uncle]

Not me drawing art for my fanfiction instead of actually writing the bloody thing...

It's an AU on the end of the Fountain of Youth Affair in case you were interested 👀

(lmao what's a background?)

I ate on that third one ngl 😌💅

[reigenkills]

girl why is there plot

ao3 | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | 7 | 8

You keep an ear out for news of the old man and his cursed son Elrick. Being a cursed creature yourself, you've have some sense of solidarity for your fellow unfortunate bastards. And while you don't trust yourself not to go into a depression nap if you try only to fail to save this kid, you still hold on to some hope that he's somehow gonna pull through with this.

A day and a half after the incident at the bar, you hear from local gossip that Elrick is still holding on. Somehow. Whatever's going on with him, ol' Wolfie himself hasn't come to collect yet.

Maybe it's not his time. Death had said something about not meddling with the affairs of life unless it concerned him, and for all that you've bit him, he's refrained from hurting you too badly even though you know full well he could. You don't know all the rules and regulations of being death incarnate, but there must be some line in the sand he can't cross.

You crack the Evil Witch's spellbook and start hunting down whatever you can find that can counter a sleeping spell. 

By the afternoon, you've got little scraps of notes bookmarking possible answers. There's, of course, the classic cure-all - True Love's Kiss; there's the Fountain of Youth, where someone gives a part of their lifespan to someone else, but it won't break the sleeping spell, only buy time until you find another solution; there's a Crossroads Deal, where for a price, any spell can be broken; and there's, of course, finding the original spell caster and having them break the curse.

Things aren't promising, but at least you've got something.

You ask Muffet for directions to Elrick's house. She draws you a map on a napkin and tells you to mind the potholes on the way.

The boy's family lives in a farmhouse in the outskirts of Poisonapple. According to Muffet, the father is a farmer, Elrick's older brother is a Huntsman, and Elrick himself is a shepherd boy. Less than ideal for whatever his beau's family's status is. You can see why he'd get screwed over.

You trudge down the pathway to the farmhouse,  pulling your hood up as a cold breeze blows by. The sky is heavy with clouds tonight, and you can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. Hopefully you won't get caught in the storm on your way back to your inn.

The lamps hanging from the farmhouse creak and rattle in the wind. You eye them warily, stepping away from them, and raise your fist to knock on the front door.

A tall, burly, man with tired eyes opens it for you. He looks like he hasn't slept in days, and it shows in his voice when he croaks out: "Yes?"

"I don't have a clear cut answer for how to wake your brother up, but I might have some things that can help," you say. 

The Huntsman narrows his eyes at you, studying you from head to foot. "You don't look like no witch."

"I'm not, I just know some magic." Just like you know how to hit a drum. No training and no intricate knowledge of tips and tricks, but you know you have to hit it in order to make a noise. It's not the best method for magic, but as long as you follow the instructions, you should be fine. It's worked for you so far.

The Huntsman grunts. After a moment, he steps aside and lets you in.

You pull your hood off and let out a sigh of relief, realizing you'd been freezing in the cold outside once the warmth of the house hits you.

"What do we do?" The Huntsman asks.

"I was told you live with your father," you say. "I think we should discuss this with him."

The Huntsman grunts again, but he leads you to the living room and ushers you to sit. He disappears into a hallway right after, and you hear a door open; he's in the backyard, probably. As you wait, you pull out your spellbook from your satchel, arranging the notes you've pinned between the pages on the table.

The Hunstman returns with his father a few minutes later. The old man's eyes widen as he recognizes you.

"Witch," he says.

"I'm a mercenary, not a witch," you say. "I just have some knowledge from dealing with witches."

"You can help us?"

"I have some terms, first."

The old man nods, quickly moving to sit down while his eldest son eyes you with suspicion and remains standing.

"When you address me, please say can you, or may you, or please," you say. "I am not a dog. Don't tell me what to do so flippantly."

"...and?" the Huntsman asks.

"That's it. Overstep and I'm out the door." You smile thinly. "All I ask is some politeness."

"Huh." The man lets out a huff and takes the seat beside his father. "Okay, can you help us?"

You nod, and present to them your notes, turning the papers around so they can read it, as they're both sitting across you. "Obviously, there's True Love's Kiss, but we have no idea how we can contact your son's beloved, and we might not have enough time to save him if we kidnap her. The Fountain of Youth can buy us some time, but it swaps a portion of someone's lifespan for someone else's."

"That wouldn't wake my brother up, would it?" the Huntsman asks.

"No, it's a transference spell. Nothing to do with breaking curses, but it'll reset our clock." You push a sheet of paper towards them. "This one isn't the most optimal, but I've worked many a job concerning Crossroads Deals. As long as you pay up, you can just about ask for anything you want."

"How much is the payment?" the old man asks, wringing his hands together. 

You glance to the Huntsman with some pity. He, at least, seems to know what a Crossroads Deal entails. "It's a what. It's demon magic. They ask for your soul."

The old man sags back in his seat. Alarmingly, a deep look of thought passes over his face. The Huntsman flips the page over to hide the instructions on a Deal away. "You got anything else?"

"We can find the original spellcaster and get them to undo the curse," you say. 

The Huntsman's face falls. There are barely any witches in the area, so if the aristocratic family that's cursed his brother got a spell from one, they probably live miles from here. Maybe they're from a completely different island, even. 

"Could you find the spellcaster?" he asks.

"I could try, but your brother doesn't have enough time," you say. He nods jerkily, frowning down at the table in silence. You lean back in your seat and turn your attention to the window, watching the storm and giving the father and son some privacy.

The Huntsman clears his throat. "Can you…give us some space?"

"Of course." You rise from your seat, taking your spellbook and your notes and tucking them under your arm. "I'll be outside."

Outside is cold and windy, and half of the lamps have already blown out from the chilly draft around you. You draw your hood up over your head again and stuff your spellbook back in your satchel, drawing the rest of your cloak closer to yourself.

A gust of wind snuffs the rest of the lamps at the front of the house out. In the dim light, you can barely see anything. 

There's a flash of lightning to your left. You turn, attention instinctively caught by light, and find yourself looking up at the tall shadow that looms over you.

Twin pinpricks of red stare down at you. In the cold and the dark, you remember exactly how menacing Death can be when he wants.

"Mercenary," he greets.

"Señor Muerte," you say, because you've got manners and he's probably on duty and not in the mood to mess with you, if he's so serious. "So the boy dies, then, after all?"

He chuckles, a low throaty sound that comes out more intimidating than mirthful. "We'll see. His brother's still thinking things over."

"So you're…waiting to see if he does?" you ask. "And then you're scaring the dad into a heart attack?"

"They can't see me, Mercenary. You only can because I want you to." he says. "And Death is patient. I always wait."

"I thought that was supposed to be Love is patient." You snort. "So the kid's either gonna live or die tonight depending on what his brother decides?"

"Yep," he says. "Would have been a straightforward visit if you hadn't come here telling them about the Fountain of Youth, but, look at you. Altruistic little thing that you are."

Ah, shit, is he here to kick your ass for meddling with death or something?

"At ease, Mercenary," he says, laughing slightly. "I'm not going to collect your soul just yet. You didn't completely overturn the balance of nature, don't flatter yourself like that."

"I thought you just, like, knew when it's people's time."

"I do. Every action has its equal opposite reaction, and when people make certain choices, they shape and change their paths," Death says. "Sometimes those paths get them killed, sometimes they don't. When they're on track to kick the bucket, I come fetch them."

"So is Fate, like, bullshit?"

"No, my sister's very real. She's a lot less complicated than you people think she is, though."

You hum, nodding. That…makes sense, you suppose. And it's somewhat comforting to know free will does exist, to some extent.

There's a clatter behind you. You look up just in time as the breeze bangs a lamp against the underside of the overhang. Ugh. It'll be a strong storm tonight.

"Don't suppose I can hitch a ride for when you do your whole disappearing act," you say.

"Hah, tough shit," Death says. "Walk in the rain on your own; maybe then I can snatch you off this mortal coil a little earlier."

"Pipe dream if I've ever heard one, lobo." You chuckle. "You're not getting my soul until I wring every ounce of misery from it by my own damn hands."

"Eh, your lifespans are barely anything to me."

"Yeah, yeah, flex being the grim reaper or whatever." You turn around to glance in the house, and smile as you spot the Huntsman by the window. You know he probably can't hear you over the wind, but you ask anyway: "Well?"

The man blinks, like he's waking from a trance. He moves away from the window and opens the door, beckoning you back inside. Behind you, you can hear Death move, but just as he's said, the Huntsman doesn't appear to notice him.

He steps in with you, ducking under the doorway carefully. You have half a mind to ask if it's possible for him to bump into it if he's somewhat incorporeal, but you'd probably look like you're talking to thin air in front of the Huntsman.

"So?" you ask the Huntsman instead.

"Uh - my dad and I talked," he says, motioning to where his father was still sitting on the couch, his hands wrung together and a concerned, but resigned look on his face. "We want to buy some time for Elrick first."

"Fountain of Youth, then?"

"Yes," he says. "I'll swap a week of my life for Elrick."

"And after?"

"We want you to find the one who made his curse," he says. "But - we probably can't pay you in money, but we can give you our harvest - "

You raise a hand, motioning for him to stop. He does.

"Even I don't know if I can find this spellcaster on time. Think about that if I'm successful," you say.

Death leans over to you and says: "Not really selling your services as a mercenary there."

"My skills are more suited for clean-up," you say, both as an answer and a clarification for Elrick's family. "Not detective work."

"That's fine," the old man by the couch says. "Please just help us."

"I'll do what I can." You turn to the Huntsman. "Now, the Fountain of Youth?"

He nods. "Tell me what to do."

You've packed spell ingredients in your satchel just in case they chose to do the Fountain of Youth. You wouldn't have brought it up if you didn't think there was a possibility they wouldn't bite. So you spend the next few minutes throwing yarrow, lavender, and dragonfly wings into a bowl and mashing it all into a poultice. Afterwards, you pull out a dagger from your boot and motion for the Huntsman's hand.

"I need you and your brother's blood," you say. He warily offers you his palm, and you pull it closer so you can get to his lower arm, cutting a thin line near the elbow and catching the dribble of blood in the bowl. You do the same to the unconscious Elrick, mix everything again, and pour the mixture into two different glasses. 

The blood-mash-potion is barely a few centimeters from the bottom of the glasses. The Huntsman looks at you skeptically.

"You said a week," you say. "You underestimate how human lifespans can be."

Behind you, leaning on the wall, though nobody else can see him, Death chuckles.

The father lifts the glass up to his unconscious son's lips while the Huntsman, though grimacing, knocks the whole thing back. A flash of cold sneaks up behind you, and the candles in the room flicker. You look up just in time as Death approaches and reaches a claw out.

As both Elrick and the Huntsman drink, a faint, thin line of gold loops around their necks. Your eyes widen, though neither the Huntsman nor his father seem to see the glowing string. Death slowly, carefully, grazes it with the tip of a sharp nail, and the color melts into bright, searing red, before it vanishes from existence.

"I honor this exchange," he declares. The candles in the room die out, and in the next instance, spring back into brightness, strong and steady.

Oh. Oh. That's why he stuck around. Because an exchange of lifespans means someone's trading in death for that missing life.

"There," you say. "It's done."

"And…Elrick's got a week?"

You glance towards Death as discreetly as you can.

"About a week and two days, you flubbed the amount of blood," he says.

"About a week and two days, made sure to give us a bit of wiggle room," you say.

Death lets out a bark of laughter. "Hack."

"I'll get to looking for that spellcaster as soon as I can," you say. "I'll try to get correspondence sent in a few days."

"Thank you," the father says, the most relieved you've seen him. "Thank you so much."

"Don't thank me yet," you say, eyeing Elrick's sleeping form. He looks way better, less starved, but it'll only be for nine days.

You have to work fast.

[hookedonapirate]

Lady Cassidy's Lover

Summary: 1919 England, Emma Cassidy, wife of a baronet, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage after the war leaves her husband, Neal, paralyzed from the waist down and unable to produce an heir.

Despite the obstacles, she sticks by her husband's side at Goldby Hall, his family's estate, but when she meets former army lieutenant and Neal's aloof gamekeeper, Killian Jones, she feels curiously drawn to his distant blue eyes and quiet demeanor.

At first, she seeks him out for reprieve from her soulless, mundane existence at Goldby Hall, but what starts out as purely physical quickly turns into more than either of them expects.

But Emma is a baronetess, wife of an aristocrat and Killian is a working class servant. Their love affair is frowned upon, and she risks losing her title, her wealth and her position in the world by being with him. But she is determined to get her happy ending with the man she loves. Even if it means losing everything else in the process.

A/N: Thank you everyone for all the lovely comments and feedback and for following along! There will 1 more chapter after this and possibly an epilogue.

Thank you Ultraluckycatnd for being an amazing beta reader!

Based on Lady Chatterley's Lover for @captainswanmoviemarathon

Hope you all enjoy!

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6 I Ch 7 I Ch 8 I Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I Epilogue

Chapter Eleven

The sisters check into a hotel on Pall Mall when they get to London and enjoy afternoon tea next to a fountain in the lounge. The table is set with a damask tablecloth, white bone china crockery, silver cutlery and delicate napkins. 

They eat sandwiches and cakes and sip tea while they discuss their trip to Venice, listening to a pianist playing soft music at the grand piano. It’s only been a handful of hours since she left Killian, but she already misses him terribly. She tries not to let that affect their day, however. She is away from Goldby, away from Neal, spending time with her sister, and will soon see her father. So she should be happy about that. She is happy about that.

After paying the bill and leaving the lounge, their father shows up at the hotel and takes them to the opera. Truthfully, Emma has missed spending time with them and is reminded of her youth when they lived here in London. Though she wishes their mother could be here with them. Sir Leopold had remarried a few years ago to a woman named Regina, who is currently back at home where they live in Scotland. When he can spend time with his daughters, Sir Leopold cherishes the holidays he occasionally spends away from her.

Emma and Mary Margaret sleep at the hotel that night while their father stays at his club nearby, and the sisters wait for him in the lobby the next morning. Emma feels miserable today, partly because of how nauseous she is from being pregnant. The sweet scent of the flower arrangement adorning the table behind the couch they’re sitting on helps a little. Mostly, her sour mood is due to how resentful she is that Killian can’t be here with them. She wishes she didn’t have to make up some elaborate story about having an affair in Venice. She wishes she could just get a divorce from Neal and be together with Killian without having to worry about the consequences.

She hates being apart from him. One would think she'd be used to leaving Killian since she always had to be back at Goldby after spending time with him, but that has probably made leaving him for three weeks even more painful.

“For heaven’s sake, Emma! We’ll be in Venice tomorrow. Do you have to look so unhappy?

Emma looks over at her sister, her expression clouded with guilt. “I told Neal I’m having an affair in Venice.”

Mary Margaret eyes her in surprise, her mouth falling slightly open. “Why...why would you tell him that?”

“Because he wanted me to get pregnant by another man. He said he’d be glad to have an heir, even if the child isn’t his.”

Mary Margaret arches a brow. “Seriously?”

“Mmhmm.” Tears sting Emma’s eyes. “I don’t plan on having an affair in Venice, I only told him that so he wouldn’t know who the real father is.” She’ll be proud to have Killian’s child, though, and she wants to announce it to the world. If only it were that easy. “But I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this charade.”

Mary Margaret places a comforting hand on her arm. “It’s alright.”

“Keep up with what charade exactly?” Sir Leopold looks puzzled as he approaches them, his hands tucked into his pockets. “What’s happened?”

Emma sighs and looks down at the floor, hoping her father won’t be disappointed in her. “I’m in love with someone…who isn’t Neal. I’m going to have this man’s child.”

“You’re sure?” He doesn’t sound surprised, though. Almost relieved. “Do I know the man?”

“No.”

There’s a long pause. “And what are your plans?”

“Well, Neal told me he wouldn’t mind if I had a child, so long as I went about it discreetly.”

“Only sensible thing he could say under the circumstances. Then I suppose it’ll be alright.”

“In what way?” Emma looks up into her father’s eyes, which are big and green like her own.

“You can present Neal with an heir to all the Cassidys and put another baronet in Goldby.”

“But I don’t want that. I want a divorce from Neal.”

“Because of your feelings for this other man?”

She nods.

“Well, if you want my advice…”—He sighs and sits down next to her, and she knows what he's about to say—"I'm sorry, but you stand to gain very little by breaking things off. Feelings come and go. You may love one man this year and another the next, but the world will go on. Goldby will go on standing. Put a little baronet in Goldby and please yourself, but stick by Goldby. And Goldby will stick by you.”

Emma, of course, doesn’t at all like what her father has to say. She knows the feelings she has for Killian will never go away. She has never felt this strongly about anyone in her life. She has never loved anyone, and she loves Killian with her whole heart. When it comes to her feelings for him, there is no going; there is only coming and staying and growing. But at least he isn’t disappointed in her. In fact, he seems pleased she found another man. Like Mary Margaret, he never much cared for Neal, but he knew, as did Emma, Neal was a safe choice.

The telephone tinkles from the registration desk, and the room clerk answers it.

“Shall we go to Venice?” Sir Leopold stands, and his daughters follow suit, heading toward the exit, the bellboy carrying their luggage.

“Lady Cassidy?” The room clerk grabs her attention before they make it out the door.

“Yes?” Emma steps up to the desk, where the telephone sits, its earphone in the gentleman’s hand. “Someone wishes to speak to you, milady.”

Emma’s heart flitters with panic, her eyes widening as she looks at the man. The only people who know where she’s staying are the people at home in Goldby, as well as Killian, but he does not own a phone. And she told Johanna to write to her if there is any news. So if someone is calling, it must be an emergency.

She takes the earpiece from the clerk’s hand and holds it to her ear, speaking into the mouthpiece at the top of the long black stem. “Hello?”

“Oh, milady, thank goodness you’re still there. You told me to write with any news, but I’m afraid there’s not enough time for that.”

Emma’s body goes cold. What could have happened that there is no time for? Did something happen to Killian? To Neal? Emma assumes Johanna is using the phone at Goldby, based on the fact she’s whispering in a hushed tone. Emma never uses it much herself, she prefers writing letters. “Not enough time for what?”

~*~

There’s a giant knot of nerves in the pit of Killian’s stomach as he walks through the park, just as he has done so many times, wondering what Neal wants to speak to him about. He has mostly kept to himself since Emma left for Venice, only going into the forest to check on the pheasants and working in the hut, so he has no idea why Neal has called for him.

Johanna is already at the door to let him in when he arrives at Goldby.

“Mrs. Bolton,” he greets with a small smile.

“Good day, Mr. Jones.”

“I hear Sir Neal’s asking for me.”

She nods cordially. “Yes, he’s in his study.” She moves aside to let him in.

“Thank you.” Killian salutes her and heads inside.

“Mr. Jones?” she calls from behind him.

When he turns around to look at her, she peers at the ground.

“I called Her Ladyship, and she’s coming back.”

His brows furrow in confusion. Emma had just left yesterday, and she and her sister had planned a day in London and were to depart for Venice this afternoon. So why would she be coming back here to Goldby? Not that he’s distraught about it. In fact, his heart flutters in anticipation. He has already missed her sweet, smiling face, her sparkling green eyes and her wonderful giggle. “When?” he asks, not even bothering to hide his enthusiasm.

Johanna looks up at him, her face contrite. “This evening. As soon as she can get here.”

“How come?” On one hand, he is relieved she’s returning, for he didn’t know how he’d make it three weeks without her. On the other hand, he’s worried about why she felt the need to come back, and judging by Mrs. Bolton’s expression, he has an inkling it’s not good.

Her eyes are full of hesitance and gloom, like she doesn’t wish to tell him something but she knows she must. “I’m afraid Milah has told people in the tavern about you and Her Ladyship. My friends have informed me she came to your cottage to patch things up with you, and she found a book inscribed with Her Ladyship's name in it and a silk nightdress. I told them it was nonsense to jump to conclusions over a borrowed book, and the nightdress could've belonged to anyone, but it didn’t matter. The rumors had already been spread.”

Killian gulps, his face paling, the world suddenly spinning around him so fast, he feels nauseous. At the same time, anger spirals through him. Milah must have broken into his cottage yesterday when he’d gone for one of his walks with Jolly or when he was at the hut. “I take it that’s why Sir Neal wishes to see me?”

She nods, her eyes cast downward at the ground. “I’m afraid so. I overheard Sir Neal talking to Mr. Geppetto earlier today, so I called Your Ladyship right away to inform her. She said you could meet her at the hut and decide what to do.”

“Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Bolton.” He begins to turn around once more, but pauses to look back at her. “There’s…there’s dark days coming. Best to steer clear of it all.”

She nods as he turns around and heads inside, removing his hat. His heart hammers away in his chest as he goes to face Neal, wondering what he believes is the truth. But he, like everyone else, probably assumes what he heard is true, and he knows Killian had an affair with his wife, so he’s most likely about to get fired.

Killian knocks at the door of Neal’s study. He knew this would happen eventually, he knew he and Emma wouldn’t be able to hide it for too long, he just didn’t expect it would happen so soon.

“Come in,” Neal calls through the door.

Killian takes a deep breath, his heart lodged in his throat as he walks inside, closing the door behind him.

Neal is behind his desk, his hands joined together as he stares blankly at Killian, his expression unreadable.

Killian remembers the first time he stepped into this study after Neal became a baronet. Killian was so lost and hopeless and alone. He hated the world, especially Milah. He had no idea he’d fall in love with Neal’s wife, he had no idea Emma would give him reason to live again. And he doesn’t regret one second of it.

After a moment of studying him, looking him over, glaring at him, Neal finally speaks. “You are my servant, living upon my land at my sole discretion, and now your indecencies have become the subject of gossip.”

“Then you should shut the mouths of the gossips…”

Neal scowls at him, unamused. Killian imagines he wouldn't be either if he were in Neal's shoes. But Neal doesn’t seem to show any emotion at all, apart from annoyance. Like the affair and gossip are merely inconveniences he has to correct.

Neal always came off as the sort of man who only sees things and people as machines or the new technology of the twentieth century. Emma, his servants, a Goldby heir, the workers. He believes their mere existence is to make his life easier, and he finds no emotional attachment toward any of it. Not even his wife. He thinks he needs her. But he doesn’t. She’s a vice he likes to keep close, just like Killian is only a vice to Milah, whom she holds close.

“Are you aware Lady Cassidy’s name has been slandered?”

That, of course, is the last thing Killian wanted. He never intended for the word to get out like this. And he hates Milah even more than he already did. Though he also blames himself for starting anything with Emma in the first place.

“Apparently, her name was inscribed in a book found at your cottage.”

“I’ve got a picture of Queen Mary on my wall calendar, I suppose she’s in my harem as well.”

Neal’s nostrils flare, his face turning scarlet with anger. “I do not appreciate your sarcasm, Jones. You have until the end of today, after which time I never want to see you set foot on my land again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Oh, perfectly. I better get packing then.” He turns around and walks out the door. There are a million things he wants to say to Neal, like how he should’ve treated Emma better and made her happy. Maybe then she wouldn’t have found herself so lonely and in need of affection and companionship that she had to seek out one of Neal’s servants. But it’s best not to anger the man even more than he already has. If Emma’s on her way here, he wants to be able to see her when she arrives. So instead, he turns around, looks Neal straight in the eye and says the truest thing he can say without Neal having him escorted immediately off his land. "I'm sorry about how things turned out, I'm sorry Her Ladyship's name was slandered...but I'm not sorry about how I feel about her." He sucks in a breath and speaks very proudly and firmly. “I’m not sorry for loving her and showing her the love and tenderness she deserves. I will never apologize for that.”

Neal says nothing in return, just stews in silent vexation—his stare could burn a hole through Killian’s forehead—and with that, Killian turns around and walks out the door. At least the man has the capability of showing emotion—when he wants to, at least.

~*~

As soon as she ended the telephone connection with Johanna, Emma told her sister and father she couldn’t go to Venice. She had to go back home before Neal kicked Killian off his land. So her sister gave Emma the key to her car and told her to go. Mary Margaret and Father would go to Venice by train, as they had planned to do anyway. Emma just wouldn’t be going with them.

She takes her sister’s car and drives to Goldby as fast as she possibly can. Her heart is pounding the whole time as she wonders what will happen. Where will she and Killian go? Will Neal even let her leave? Will he grant her a divorce?

Emma knew she’d have to face these questions, she just didn’t think it would happen so quickly. Or like this. All because Milah had to spread rumors. Emma never liked what Milah did to Killian, and she has liked the dreadful woman even less since yesterday morning, when she came over to his cottage while they were in bed together. She almost ruined a perfectly good morning, tried to put her hands on him and tried to get back with him. It had Emma seething under the blankets. She had no doubt Killian would send her away.

As soon as Emma pulls up onto the lane-end, she jumps out of the car and runs through the forest, her heart hammering in her ear. She hopes Johanna got the message to him, and she hopes Killian is able to meet her in the hut. She knew the cottage would be too risky. People would be too nosy and try to see if Emma would show up. Hopefully, they won't go to the hut as well.

Emma dashes up the steps and bursts through the door, catching her breath as she sees Killian. They run into each other's arms, lips colliding so eagerly and passionately, tears streaming down her cheeks without effort. For a long moment, they just hold onto each other, lips latched, with no intention to let go. As though they’ve been apart for years rather than a day and a half.

He draws back and holds her face in his hands, regarding her with so much love, her heart swells. She wants to get lost in this moment, but reality crashes over them, and he breaks away from her to scan the outside and make sure no one is around.

 Emma’s eyes roam the hut, and she spots his bag and jacket on the chair. When she looks back at Killian, his face is clouded over with worry. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

He leans against the edge of the table, where they had made love many times.

This hut holds so many memories for them—it was where they had been together for the first time—but she fears this will be their last time in this hut. “Killian?”

“The cat is well and truly out of the bag now, Emma.” He sighs, his eyes meeting hers. “Everybody’s talking. I’ve been sacked. You cannot be seen here, Emma. You need to be in Venice.”

She shakes her head, a hopeful smile spreading over her lips. “But we could just leave together. Now.” This is their time to get away. Escape. From Neal, from Goldby. From all of it. They could live their lives the way they want. They could spend their days together in a house of their own, raising their child. Just the three of them. Or four or five, or however many children they decide to have.

But Killian doesn’t appear to be happy or hopeful about any of it. “Look at me. I have nothing to give you. I’ve no job, no home. I’ve no purpose in life. Nothing.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t say that. You are everything to me. I don’t need anything else. You and our child are all I need. All I’ll ever need.”

 “Jones!” comes a voice from outside the hut.

Killian rushes over to the door, shuts it and locks it. Neal must have sent his men here to make sure Killian leaves.

“You need to go!” the man shouts impatiently.

Killian looks through the cracks of light between the panels, and Emma knows they don’t have much time.

She goes over to him and wraps her hands around the back of his neck. “Look at me.”

He turns toward her and cups her cheeks in his hands, his stormy blue eyes connecting with her green ones.

Her heart sags in her chest at the thought of leaving him again. “Promise me, promise me we’ll share our lives.”

“Aye,” he whispers, nuzzling her nose with his. “I promise, my love.” He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. “When the time comes.” He whispers even softer, his words ghosting over her lips. “When the time comes.” He captures her lips, and Emma lets her eyes fall shut, savoring his taste, for she has no idea when she'll get to kiss him again. When she’ll get to touch him, hear his voice or see his sparkling blue eyes. The future is so unknown.

“Jones!” the man shouts through the door again.

Killian groans and grumbles as he turns around and cracks open the door. “Can I grab my coat, mate?”

Emma sniffles as more tears leak down her cheeks.

Killian shuts the door and goes to the chair, grabbing his bag and draping his coat over his arm. He closes the gap between them once more and touches her cheek with his free hand, his thumb wiping away a tear. This time his eyes are brighter, calmer and full of hope and promise. “I love you, Emma. I will always love you.” He brings his hand to her belly and kneels down, caressing her there. “I love you, baby,” he whispers against her dress, kissing her stomach gently. He rises and searches her eyes with his glistening ones as he rests his forehead against hers, his fingers grazing along her cheek. “I will find you,” he whispers. “Wherever you are, I will find you.” His words send a shiver down her spine.

It's one more promise before they part. And it gives her a shred of hope to hang onto. Knowing he will be trying to work his way back to her, knowing he won’t forget about her or the times they shared. Knowing he’ll do whatever it takes to reunite with her.

“I love you, Killian Jones.” Emma grabs his face and kisses him one last time before he’s forced to leave, her hands sliding into his thick hair and her heart sinking deeper and deeper as the seconds pass by.

Her eyes fall shut as tears stream down her face and mingle with the taste of him as she curls her fingers in his hair and keeps her lips there, holding him close, wanting this moment to last as long as possible. Wanting to stop time and keep him here, never letting him slip from her grasp. But she knows she has to.

She doesn’t even open her eyes until he’s heading through the door, looking back at her. She can’t find it within herself to say goodbye, she doesn’t want this to be goodbye. But when he closes the door, leaving her there all alone in the hut, it all becomes too real, and suddenly it feels like the room is a million times bigger and emptier and colder than it was a moment ago.

Emma knows she’ll see him again—she trusts him to find her. This isn't the last time she'll see him, but she's caught up in a wave of grief, and her heart hurts so badly it feels ripped in half.

She slides down to the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs and tucking them under her chin. Her body shudders violently, and suddenly, in an indrawn breath of silent sobbing, the tears come faster down her face. She buries her face in the crook of her arm and weeps, hoping she’ll see Killian again. Hoping she won’t have to be apart from him for long.

Hoping he’ll find her.

[mischas]

If you were to create a playlist for Ryan + Marissa, what songs would you put on it? It can be anything from songs that have been on the show, songs you feel fit them as a couple, songs in movies & other T.V. shows, etc.

This is such a fun question! It's also impossible to nail down completely because I honestly imagine RM when I listen to music, lol. Here's my working list (they include head canon/future ideas):

Savior Complex by Phoebe Bridgers

Smoke Signals by Phoebe Bridgers

ICU by Phoebe Bridgers

The Night We Met by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers

White Flag by Clairo

Strawberries & Cigarettes by Troye Sivan

Lucky Strike by Troye Sivan

Nobody Compares to You by Griffin

Losing You by boy pablo

Prom by courtship.

Just Friends by Audrey Mika

New York by Snow Patrol

Make This Go On Forever by Snow Patrol

Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol

Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat by Del Water Gap

Summer Years by Death Cab

Near/Far by Death Cab

Transatlanticism by Death Cab

I Will Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab

Such Great Heights by The Postal Service

So Contagious by Acceptance

England by The National

Light Years by The National

Slow Show by The National

I Should Live in Salt by The National

illicit affairs by Taylor Swift

tis the damn season by Taylor Swift

august by Taylor Swift

cardigan by Taylor Swift

exile by Taylor Swift and Bon Iver

Last Kiss by Taylor Swift

Mine by Taylor Swift

Labyrinth by Taylor Swift

I Almost Do by Taylor Swift

The Last Time by Taylor Swift and Gary Lightbody

Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift

Daylight by Taylor Swift

Afterglow by Taylor Swift

Renegade by Big Red Machine and Taylor Swift

Easy Silence by The Chicks

In My Veins by Andrew Belle

A Drop in the Ocean by Ron Pope

The Man Who Can't Be Moved by The Script

If You Ever Come Back by The Script

Breakeven by The Script

May I by Trading Yesterday

Love Song Requiem by Trading Yesterday

Orange Sky by Alexi Murdoch

Forever Young by Youth Group (Alphaville cover)

Paint the Silence by South

Maybe I'm Amazed by Jem (Paul McCartney cover)

Honey and the Moon by Joseph Arthur

Dice by Finley Quaye and William Orbit

Yellow by Petra Haden and Bill Frisell (Coldplay cover)

Fix You by Coldplay

California 2005 by Phantom Planet

In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Matt Pond PA (Neutral Milk Hotel cover)

Strange and Beautiful by Aqualung

Blue Light by Bloc Party

All Kinds of Time by Fountains of Wayne

Legendary by Lou Barlow

Trouble Sleeping by The Perishers

Nothing Like You and I by The Perishers

This is not at all exhaustive! A chunk of these came from this playlist. So much of my music tastes of the last year came from there. Whoever made it, bless you. Also I know the genres are kind of all over the place, lol. I tried not to make it too angsty, and I have songs like F2F by SZA that I think are applicable to very specific situations (late s3). Moon Song by Phoebe would work for s2 as well. Stuff like that. Basically every Phoebe song.

[trickstercaptain]

DMTNT VERSE ALTERATIONS.

CONTINUITY WITH OST AND THE TRILOGY Jack and Henry KNOW each other. Jack was a sporadic presence in the young boy’s early life and became a surrogate father to him in Will’s absence ( but never did he seek to replace Will. Jack was always the one telling Henry stories about his father ). Therefore, when Henry receives the message from Salazar to find Jack, and he encounters Jack in that jail cell, the two of them already have a strong relationship and rapport. This also means that Jack is in favour of using the trident not only to defeat Salazar, but to free Will from the Dutchman’s curse.

POST-AWE: Jack briefly meets Margaret Smyth during this post-AWE period, because Carina is the same age as Henry in the novelisation ( they’re both nineteen ). this is also around about the time that she’s conceived and later left in an orphanage by Hector. this is also why I lean towards the headcanon that Jack and Barbossa spent more time together leading this joint crew than is implied right at the end of AWE, and therefore Jack does not immediately lose the Pearl following the third movie.

PRE-OST: during the time between AWE and OST, Jack would have been pirating, regularly ( ish ) visiting Elizabeth and Henry on Shipwreck Cove but, most importantly, looking for the Fountain of Youth. he does eventually find it – or at least locates the caves past Whitecap Bay, hence why he is in a position to lead an expedition there during the fourth movie – but he does not know of the ritual at this point, nor does he actually see the fountain himself.

The events of OST take place SEVEN years after AWE.

The events of DMTNT take place TWELVE years after OST, meaning that is the length of time in which the Black Pearl has been locked away in bottle-form.

To explain away Jack being in his late fifties at this point yet looking and acting like a man no older than his late forties, even though he doesn’t drink from the Fountain himself in OST, some of the youthful properties of the water rub off on him and slow his ageing process after this point. Jack wonders at whether he has somehow unlocked the secret of effective immortality.

CHARACTERISATION:

FIRST THINGS FIRST, JACK IS NOT THE USELESS DRUNK JESTER THAT HE IS FOR THE VAST MAJORITY OF THIS MOVIE. HE DOES NOT MAKE LEWD COMMENTS ABOUT ELIZABETH OR ACT AS IF HE DOES NOT CARE ABOUT THE TURNERS, NOR DOES HE LACK THE INTELLIGENCE AND WIT HE POSSESSES IN THE OTHER FOUR MOVIES.

He is depressed at the very beginning of the film, which results from a curse placed on him by Shansa at Barbossa's request to 'curse his enemies.' This curse is placed on him around a year or two before the events of DMTNT, and immediately hampers his cultivated legend by causing repeated bad luck and disaster at every turn.

Every attempt he makes at getting the Black Pearl out of the bottle or tracking Barbossa down with the intention of using his sword to do so ( in the twelve years since OST I refuse to believe that thought does not cross Jack's mind ) ends in failure. He attempts to barter and scheme for another ship and instead ends up with the Dying Gull, which is so unseaworthy that it strands Jack and his crew on the island of Saint Martin.

Jack has spent roughly six months on Saint Martin prior to the events of DMTNT, and his grand plan to secure passage off of it is to steal from the bank ( with the aid of the mayor's wife, Francis, with whom he is having an affair and intends to accompany him ) and use the funds to refit the Dying Gull and make her seaworthy again.

I am also stating right here that Jack does not demand tribute of his crew following this failed bank robbery and, when it comes to his execution scene, Gibbs does not have to be paid to come and rescue him. That's nonsense I want nothing to do with, thank you.

When that ends in failure, Jack, in a moment of desperation and amplified by the effects of Shansa's curse, gives away his compass for another drink. For a fleeting moment, he gives it away with no intention of getting it back, and that is all the compass needs to lash out and free Salazar.

The compass' reaction is the first moment of realisation for Jack of how far he has sunk in the last couple of years. When Henry reaches him with Salazar's warning, he actually sits up and takes notice and, for the rest of the film, is the same Jack we know and love and actually cares about seeing Henry reunited with his father.

With the trident of Poseidon destroyed, Shansa's curse is lifted and Jack is once again free to do as he pleases.

Jack goes with Henry and Carina on land where they are united with Will at the end of the movie.

THE COMPASS

To explain away that Jack has given away his compass MULTIPLE times throughout the trilogy without any serious repercussions such as... whatever the Devil's Triangle is, I'll firstly note that each time he has bartered it away to somebody, the intention on his part has never been permanent. He has always intended to get it back somehow or use the bartering away to further his own ends, and through whatever laws of magic or physics has always obtained it again.

The difference in DMTNT is that Jack gives it away with no such intention, and that is what constitutes as betraying it. Jack and the compass are inextricably linked and have been ever since he was given it by Tia Dalma as a child: the compass is a powerful enough magical artefact in my opinion to have a consciousness or soul of some kind, in the same way that the Black Pearl is implied to have. In betraying it, the compass is spurred to react.

I don't like the idea that the compass directly caused Salazar to be trapped inside of the Devil's Triangle ( since Salazar and his crew went down as they entered -- that had nothing to do with the compass ), but instead I interpret that freeing Salazar is the compass' reaction to being betrayed. It lashes out and causes the earthquake in order to punish Jack and, on some level, spur him on to restore his reputation and break his own curse that's plaguing him.

FLASHBACK

The ship Jack is on is NOT the Wicked Wench. Nor is he made captain of it through his actions against Captain Salazar. Instead, he is a sometimes crewman on an unspecified ship sailing from Shipwreck Cove and comes up against the Silent Mary in battle. Jack's actions and quick thinking save the lives of those on his ship and others trying to escape the carnage.

Jack does not gain his 'sparrow' moniker from Captain Salazar. Firstly, there is no plausible way for Jack to overhear or know that Salazar refers to him as a sparrow given that they do not say a single word to each other ( other than Jack shouting in the crow's nest ) and Salazar spends the next several decades trapped inside of the Devil's Triangle, and secondly my own interpretation is that Jack obtains his last name from his mother.

Jack did not receive his compass from the captain of the ship he's on in the flashback, but from Tia Dalma as per trilogy canon. He also does not receive pieces of his costume from the crew as tribute.

Jack did not realise that Salazar would end up trapped inside the Triangle. He saw the ship get destroyed by the rocks and go down once it entered the cavern and so Jack assumed, for the next forty years, that he’d killed both Salazar and the rest of his crew.

Over the next forty years, the Devil’s Triangle became a place of legend ( enough for Henry to be able to recognise it ). It was rumoured that any ship who strayed too close would disappear without trace ( much like the Bermuda Triangle myth ). Jack eventually hears about the rumours but thinks nothing of them, and certainly doesn’t put two and two together that his compass could potentially lead to their escape.

[mayfly-maycry]

For as long as you can remember, and much longer than that, you have been an executioner. How can you know, when you do not remember? You wrote it all down.

Your first century is contained in only a few volumes, as you started writing only when you began to forget. It was written rather haphazardly at first, one volume of what you could recall in your initial scramble to record your memories before they were gone, and several more volumes of addendums that came to you after. Since then, you have had to transcribe the older journals to a newer page, one that wasn’t so old it threatened to fall apart at a single touch, and took the opportunity to put things in order as best you could.

You may not remember your youth itself, but you have memorized every word of your journals, especially the older ones. Taking a life didn’t always mean stealing it; you thought it started sometime soon before you were born. It was when you were a child that people started to figure it out— that some people had stopped aging, and whispers made it to the streets that lives could be stolen. Murder began to run rampant as many sought eternal life; people became bolder as the benefits of killing those they quarreled with increased, and children started disappearing off the streets, kidnapped and either killed on the spot or sold to the wealthy for the same purpose. The government at the time was good, not yet corrupt as all governments eventually become, and intervened. They named an extended lifespan the curse of a killer, and punished those who sought to evade death with that which they ran from.

However, there was a problem: one who kills a killer is themself a killer, and would gain eternal life, making the position of executioner one that was coveted by all. Already wealthy families were calling for the implementation of the death penalty and jockeying to get their sons the position. And so they decreed that the guilty would be determined by a jury unrelated to the executioner, of which only one would exist for the nation. And to be that executioner, they took an average young man, a baker’s son, a youth who had never stolen a life, and appointed him the position.

You had been given a choice, of course. You had forgotten why you accepted by the time you recorded the event, but you had accepted nonetheless. You were forbidden contact with your family, and it was a year before you started your new profession. Ostensibly it was to “train” you, but they really did very little of that; your journal suggests the goal was to ensure you truly lacked connections and, more importantly, that you aged as you should.

The memory has since left you, but your first day of work was recorded in painstaking detail in your journal. The juries had been busy for the past year, and in that time had prosecuted enough to fill the jails twice over. It was a public affair; you were dressed in long robes of white, walked onto a stage in the courtyard, and handed an axe. They brought up the first person, a middle-aged man, and put him in the stocks. When you just stood there, staring at him and gripping your axe, they told you to do your thing, gesturing to the man’s neck. Your hands were shaking, but you lifted the axe and swung with all your might. The crowd cheered, and you opened your eyes to find his neck had become a fountain of red.

You had recorded the faces of the first six — exactly six — people you executed, but past that it became a blur. After about twenty, the crowd stopped cheering. After about forty, most left for lunchtime and never came back. Despite the lack of viewers, you were not allowed to stop. When your arms became weak, you stopped swinging and let gravity do the work. The axe became dull enough that it took two swings to take off their heads, but they didn’t hand you a newly sharpened one until it took three. A few spectators — the more bloodthirsty ones — stayed throughout the afternoon, with several popping in to see if you were still going and report back to their friends and families. Even those spectators disappeared as night fell, but your work didn’t stop.

You kept going through the night, and when the curious came to check at dawn, you were still going. A silent crowd gathered to watch as the sun rose. You were going much slower, as you were exhausted and starving, but you were still going. The crowd watched as you prepared to swing the axe on the next neck, but none came. You looked blearily around the stage for the next prisoner, but one of the officials was stepping to the front of the stage and addressing the crowd. It was over. As soon as you realized, your grip on the axe loosened, dropping it behind you, and you promptly followed, collapsing into a pile of your robes. They had been stained completely scarlet, not a speck of white left. It wasn’t until later that you realized the whole thing had been performative; the piling of years of sin onto a single pure soul. Neither you nor your journal had any idea how many you had executed that day; you had lost count after a baker’s dozen of baker’s dozens, which was as high as you had known how to count. You were likely still living off of that one day of execution, even all this time later.

If someone is killed, however many years they would have lived is added to the killer’s lifespan. For as long as you can remember, you have been an executioner.

[yya47]

Payment for The Holy Trinity in Any Form to Not Be Used for Sex or Rape or Ever Be in Original Lair and in Antis Domains As Anyone At All

LIST OF SONGS LISTENED TO 9-10-2024

Sainte- Eyes are Open Sainte- If You Ever Feel Alone Sainte- Technicolor Sainte- Everything Makes Me Sad Oh Wonder- Lifetimes Oh Wonder- Drive Oh Wonder- Technicolor Beat Oh Wonder- Without You Two Door Cinema Club- What You Know Two Door Cinema Club- Costume Party Two Door Cinema Club- Come Back Home Jimmy Eat World- The World You Love Jimmy Eat World- Kill The Kooks- Junk of the Heart (Happy) The Wombats- Tokyo (Vampires and Wolves) Bad Suns- Disappear Here Young the Giant- Crystallized The Weepies- World Spins Madly On The Weepies- Painting by Chagall The Weepies- Nobody Knows Me At All Stars- Your Ex Lover is Dead Songs Listened to 10 15 2024

The Fear by Lily Allen Fuck You by Lily Allen Not Fair by Lily Allen Everyone's At It by Lily Allen The Show by Lenka Love Song by Sara Bareilles Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall

Clarity by Zedd, Foxxes Stay the Night by Zedd, Hayley Williams I Want You to Know by Zedd, Selena Gomez Love Drunk by Boys Like Girls Swing, Swing by The All American Rejects Sink or Swim by Tyrone Wells Stacy's Mom by Fountains of Wayne ERE by Juan Karlos YOUTH by Troye Sivan Kill Bill by Sza Never Enough by Loren Allred from The Greatest Showman A Million Dreams by Hugh Jackman and Ziv Zaifman from The Greatest Showman Rewrite the Stars by Zac Efron and Zendaya from The Greatest Showman Eat, Sleep, Wake (Nothing But You) by Bombay Bicycle Club Good 4 U by Olivia Rodrigo Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo Love is Embarrassing by Olivia Rodrigo Deja Vu by Olivia Rodrigo Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo Ur so Gay by Katy Perry Never Be What You Want by We Are The In Crowd The Best Thing (That Never Happened) by We Are The In Crowd Rumor Mill by We Are The In Crowd Kiss Me Again by We Are The In Crowd Reflections by We Are The In Crowd Both Sides of the Story by We Are The In Crowd (You're not quite Satan but I really think I hate you) Carry Me Home by We Are The In Crowd Take it Home by White Tie Affair Shadow by Livingston Half Life by Livingston Two is Better Than One by Boys Like Girls and Taylor Swift Can I Have This Dance by Zac Efron and Vanessa Williams All My Heart by Sleeping with Sirens Terrified by Katharine McPhee Way Back Into Love by Hugh Grant Just Give Me a Reason by Pink and Nate Ruess I Won't Say I'm In Love by Susan Egan from Disney's Hercules Impossible by Shontelle Here Without You by 3 Doors Down Symphony by Clean Bandit feat Zara Larrson Rockabye by Clean Bandit feat Sean Paul and Anne Marie

[animasola86]

SCARS AND PEACE AND COMFORT MASTERLIST

OVERVIEW:

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader (with a face scar)

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut

Synopsis: He was there to give you confidence, attention, comfort, and you were there to give him peace - and so much more.

NOTES: This is a series of one-shots that can be read individually, but also portray the same characters and their developing relationship. (There are also some spin-offs under EXTRAS.)

OVERALL WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Size difference. Age gap. Established student/teacher relationship.

READ ON AO3

↓ SCARS

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 3.5k

Synopsis: He was there to give you confidence, attention, comfort, and you were there to give him peace.

Read here (or on AO3)

↓ PEACE AND COMFORT

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 4.5k

Synopsis: A much-needed massage turns into something much more sensual.

Read here (or on AO3)

↓ A DEMONSTRATION OF POWER AND SUPPORT

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 6.3k

Synopsis: He gave you confidence, you gave him a bad case of jealousy.

Read here (or on AO3)

↓ A DEMONSTRATION OF PRIDE AND PAIN

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 5.1k

Synopsis: In the aftermath of a rough night, you find yourself easing his pain, while you embrace your own.

Read here (or on AO3)

↓ DOUBTS AND DISTRACTIONS

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader Genre: Angst/Fluff/Smut // Words: 6.5k

Synopsis: You fall into a carousel of dread, overthinking everything, but once you're back in his arms, all seems forgotten.

Read here (or on AO3)

EXTRAS

↓ FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!mc Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 4.2k

Synopsis: Aesop Sharp has tried everything to soothe the aches of his battered body, and nothing seems to work, but then he comes across a well of youth in the form of a young lover who is willing to feed him everything he's ever wanted, and more.

Read here (or on AO3)

↓ NEWS TRAVELS FAST IN HOGWARTS

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader (x Aesop Sharp) Genre: Angst/Drama // Words: 3.8k

Synopsis: Sebastian finds out about your affair with a certain Potions Master.

Read here (or on AO3)

SCREENSHOTS

Boys and men of Potions Class

Aesop Sharp Appreciation Post

Aesop Sharp in black & white

Aesop Sharp in black & white (again)

Aesop Sharp in black & white (again...)

Sharp Edges

Genevieve x Professor Sharp

Genevieve x Sharp

...

[ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

[dailyanarchistposts]

CHAP. V. - Education of mankind, in Schools and Trades.

Mankind in the days of his youth is like a young colt, wanton and foolish, till he be broke by education and correction; and the neglect of this care, or the want of wisdom in the performance of it, hath been and is the cause of much division and trouble in the world.

Therefore the law of a commonwealth does require that not only a father but that all overseers and officers should make it their work to educate children in good manners, and to see them brought up in some trade or other, and to suffer no children in any parish to live in idleness and youthful pleasure all their days, as many have been, but that they be brought up like men and not like beasts: that so the commonwealth may be planted with laborious and wise experienced men, and not with idle fools.

Mankind may be considered in a fourfold degree, his childhood, youth, manhood and old age. His childhood and his youth may be considered from his birth till forty years of age; and within this compass of time, after he is weaned from his mother, who shall be the nurse herself if there be no defect in nature, his parents shall teach him a civil and humble behaviour toward all men. Then send him to school, to learn to read the laws of the commonwealth, to ripen his wits from his childhood, and so to proceed in his learning till he be acquainted with all arts and languages. And the reason is threefold:

First, by being acquainted with the knowledge of the affairs of the world, by this traditional knowledge they may be the better able to govern themselves like rational men;

Secondly, they may become thereby good commonwealth's men, in supporting the government thereof, by being acquainted with the nature of government;

Thirdly, if England have occasion to send ambassadors to any other land, we may have such as are acquainted with their language; or if any ambassador come from other lands, we may have such as can understand their speech.

But one sort of children shall not be trained up only to book learning and no other employment, called scholars, as they are in the government of monarchy; for then through idleness and exercised wit therein they spend their time to find out policies to advance themselves to be lords and masters above their labouring brethren, as Simeon and Levi do, which occasions all the trouble in the world.

Therefore, to prevent the dangerous events of idleness in scholars, it is reason, and safe for common peace, that after children have been brought up at schools to ripen their wits, they shall then be set to such trades, arts and sciences as their bodies and wits are capable of; and therein continue till they come to forty years of age.

For all the work of the earth, or in trades, is to be managed by youth, and by such as have lost their freedoms.

Then from forty years of age till fourscore, if he live so long, which is the degree of manhood and old age, they shall be freed from all labour and work, unless they will themselves.

And from among this degree of mankind shall be chosen all officers and overseers, to see the laws of the commonwealth observed.

For as all men shall be workers or waiters in store-houses till they be forty years of age, so none shall be chosen a public officer till he be full forty years of age: for by this time man hath learned experience to govern himself and others: for when young wits are set to govern, they wax wanton, etc.

What trades should mankind be brought up in?

In every trade, art and science, whereby they may find out the secrets of the creation, and that they may know how to govern the earth in right order.

There are five fountains from whence all arts and sciences have their influences: he that is an actor in any or in all the five parts is a profitable son of mankind; he that only contemplates and talks of what he reads and hears, and doth not employ his talent in some bodily action for the increase of fruitfulness, freedom and peace in the earth, is an unprofitable son.

The first fountain is the right planting of the earth to make it fruitful, and this is called husbandry. And there are two branches of it:

As first, planting, digging, dunging, liming, burning, grubbing and right ordering of land, to make it fit to receive seed, that it may bring forth a plentiful crop. And under this head all millers, maltsters, bakers, harness-makers for ploughs and carts, rope-makers, spinners and weavers of linen and such like, are all but good husbandry.

The second branch of husbandry is gardening, how to plant, graft and set all sort of fruit trees, and how to order the ground for flowers, herbs and roots for pleasure, food or medicinal. And here all physicians, chirurgeons, distillers of all sorts of waters, gatherers of drugs, makers of wines and oil, and preservers of fruits and such like, may learn by observation what is good for all bodies, both man and beasts.

The second fountain is mineral employment, and that is to search into the earth to find out mines of gold and silver, brass, iron, tin, lead, cannel coal and stone of all sorts, saltpetre, salt and alum-springs and such like. And here all chemists, gunpowder-makers, masons, smiths and such like, as would find out the strength and power of the earth, may learn how to order these for the use and profit of mankind.

The third fountain is the right ordering of cattle, whether by shepherds or herdsmen; and such may learn here how to breed and train up cows for the dairies, bulls and horses for the saddle or yoke. And here all tanners, hatters, shoemakers, glovers, spinners of wool, clothiers, tailors, dyers and such like, may learn how to order and look to these.

The fourth fountain is the right ordering of woods and timber trees, for planting, dressing, felling, framing of timber for all uses, for building houses or ships. And here all carpenters, joiners, throsters, plough-makers, instrument-makers for music, and all who work in wood and timber, may find out the secret[s] of nature, to make trees more Plentiful and thriving in their growth and profitable for use.

The fifth fountain, from whence reason is exercised to find out the secrets of nature, is [to] observe the rising and setting of the sun, moon and the powers of the heavens above; and the motion of the tides and seas, and their several effects, powers and operations upon the bodies of man and beast. And here may be learned astrology, astronomy and navigation, and the motions of the winds and the causes of several appearances of the face of heaven, either in storms or in fairness.

And in all these five fountains here is knowledge in the practice, and it is good.

But there is traditional knowledge, which is attained by reading or by the instruction of others, and not practical but leads to an idle life; and this is not good.

The first is a laborious knowledge, and a preserver of common peace, which we find God himself acting; for he put forth his own wisdom in practice when he set his strength to work to make the creation: for God is an active power, not an imaginary fancy.

The latter is an idle, lazy contemplation the scholars would call knowledge; but it is no knowledge but a show of knowledge, like a parrot who speaks words but he knows not what he saith. This same show of knowledge rests in reading or contemplating or hearing others speak, and speaks so too, but will not set his hand to work. And from this traditional knowledge and learning rise up both clergy and lawyer, who by their cunning insinuations live merely upon the labour of other men, and teach laws which they themselves will not do, and lays burdens upon others which they themselves will not touch with the least of their fingers. And from hence arises all oppressions, wars and troubles in the world; the one is the son of contention, the other the son of darkness, but both the supporters of bondage, which the creation groans under.

Therefore to prevent idleness and the danger of Machiavellian cheats, it is profitable for the commonwealth that children be trained lip in trades and some bodily employment,-as well as in learning languages or the histories of former ages.

And as boys are trained up in learning and in trades, so all maids shall be trained up in reading, sewing, knitting, spinning of linen and woollen, music, and all other easy neat works, either far to furnish store-houses with linen and woollen cloth, or for the ornament of particular houses with needle-work.

And if this course were taken, there would be no idle person nor beggars in the land, and much work would be done by that now lazy generation for the enlarging of the common treasuries.

And in the managing of any trade, let no young wit be crushed in his invention; for if any man desire to make a new trial of his skill in any trade or science, the overseers shall not hinder him, but encourage him therein: that so the spirit of knowledge may have his full growth in man, to find out the secret in every art.

And let everyone who finds out a new invention have a deserved honour given him; and certainly, when men are sure of food and raiment, their reason will be ripe and ready to dive into the secrets of the creation, that they may learn to see and know God (the spirit of the whole creation) in all his works; for fear of want, and care to pay rent to taskmasters, hath hindered many rare inventions.

So that kingly power hath crushed the spirit of knowledge, and would not suffer it to rise up in its beauty and fulness, but by his club law hath preferred the spirit of imagination, which is a deceiver, before it.

There shall be no buying and selling of the earth, nor of the fruits thereof .

For by the government under kings, the cheaters hereby have cozened the plain-hearted of their creation birthrights, and have possessed themselves in the earth and calls it theirs and not the others' and so have brought in that poverty and misery which lies upon many men.

And whereas the wise should help the foolish, and the strong help the weak, the wise and the strong destroys the weak and the simple.

And are not all children generally simple and weak, and know not the things that belong to their peace till they come to ripe age? But before they come to that understanding, the cunning ones who have more strength and policy have by this hypocritical, lying, unrighteous and cheating art of buying and selling wrung the freedoms of the earth out of their hands, and cozened them of their birthrights.

So that when they come to understanding, they see themselves beggars in the midst of a fruitful land, and so the proverb is true, 'Plain dealing is a jewel, but he who uses it shall die a beggar'. And why?

Because this buying and selling is the nursery of cheaters, it is the law of the conqueror and the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, which both killed Christ and hindered his resurrection, as much as darkness can to put out light.

And these cunning cheaters commonly become the rulers of the earth, and then the city mankind mourns, for not the wise poor man, but the cunning rich man, was always made an officer and ruler, such a one as by his stolen interest in the earth would be sure to hold others in bondage of poverty and servitude to him and his party.

And hence arise oppression and tyranny in the earth upon the backs of the weak younger brethren, who are made younger brothers indeed, as the proverb is, by their cunning elder brother; and as Daniel said, The basest of men under kingly government were set to rule, who can command but not obey, who can take other men's labours to live at ease, but not work themselves.

Therefore there shall be no buying and selling in a free commonwealth, neither shall any one hire his brother to work for him.

If the commonwealth might be governed without buying and selling, here is a platform of government for it, which is the ancientest law of righteousness to mankind in the use of the earth, and which is the very height of earthly freedoms. But if the minds of the people, through covetousness and proud ignorance, will have the earth governed by buying and selling still, this same platform, with a few things subtracted, declares an easy way of government of the earth for the quiet of people's minds and preserving of peace in the land.

For as, like a tradesman, I ask the highest price:

Yet I may fall (if you will rise) upon a good advice.

How must the earth be planted?

The earth is to be planted, and the fruits reaped and carried into barns and store-houses, by the assistance of every family. And if any man or family want corn or-other provision they may go to the store-houses and fetch without money. If they want a horse to ride, go into the fields in summer, or to the common stables in winter, and receive one from the keepers; and when your journey is performed, bring him where you had him, without money. If any want food or victuals, they may either go to the butchers' shops, and receive what they want without money; or else go to the flocks of sheep or herds of cattle, and take and kill what meat is needful for their families, without buying and selling. And the reason why all the riches of the earth are a common stock is this, because the earth, and the labours thereupon, are managed by common assistance of every family, without buying and selling; as is shewn how more largely in the office of overseers for trades and the law for store-houses.

The laws for the right ordering thereof, and the officers to see the laws executed to preserve the peace of every family and the peace of every man, and to improve and promote every trade, is shewed in the work of officers and by the laws following.

None will be an enemy to this freedom, which indeed is to do to another as a man would have another do to him, but covetousness and pride, the spirit of the old grudging snapping Pharisees, who gives God abundance of good words in their sermons, in their prayers, in their fasts and in their thanksgivings, as though none should be more faithful servants to him than they: nay, they will shun the company, imprison and kill everyone that will not worship Go(l, they are so zealous.

Well now, God and Christ hath enacted an everlasting law, which is love; not only one another of your own mind, but love your enemies too, such as are not of your mind: and, having food and raiment, therewith be content.

Now here is a trial for you, whether you will be faithful to God and Christ in obeying his laws; or whether you will destroy the man-child of true freedom, righteousness and peace in his resurrection.

And now thou wilt give us either the tricks of a soldier, face about and return to Egypt, and so declare thyself to be part of the serpent's seed, that must bruise the heel of Christ; or else to be one of the plain-hearted sons of promise, or members of Christ, who shall help to bruise the serpent's head, which is kingly oppression; and so bring in everlasting righteousness and peace into the earth Well, the eye is now open.

Store-houses shall be built and appointed in all places, and be the common stock.

There shall be store-houses in all places, both in the country and in cities, to which all the fruits of the earth, and other works made by tradesmen, shall be brought, and from thence delivered out again to particular families, and to everyone as they want for their use; or else to be transported by ship to other lands, to exchange for those things which our land will not or does not afford.

For all the labours of husbandmen and tradesmen within the land, or by navigation to or from other lands, shall be all upon the common stock.

And as every one works to advance the common stock, so every one shall have a free use of any commodity in the store-house, for his pleasure and comfortable livelihood without buying and selling or restraint from any.

And having food and raiment, lodging and the comfortable societies of his own kind, what can a man desire more in these days of his travel?

Indeed, covetous, proud and beastly-minded men desire more, either to lie by them to look upon, or else to waste and spoil it upon their lusts; while other brethren live in straits for want of the use thereof.

But the laws and faithful officers of a free commonwealth do regulate the unrational practice of such men.

There are two sorts of store-houses general and particular.

The general store-houses are such houses as receive in all commodities in the gross, as all barns and places to lay corn and the fruits of the earth at the first reaping: and these may be called store-houses for corn, flax, wool; for leather, for iron, for linen and woollen cloth or for any commodity that comes into our hand by shipping; from whence [a] particular family or shop-keepers may fetch as they need, to furnish their lesser shops.

So likewise herds of cattle in the field, flocks of sheep and horses, are all common store-houses- so that from the herds and flocks every family may fetch what they want for food or pleasure, without buying and selling.

So likewise all public dairies are store-houses for butter and cheese: yet every family may have cows for their own use, about their own house.

And these general store-houses shall be filled and preserved by the common labour and assistance of every family, as is mentioned in the office of overseer for trades.

And from these public houses, which are the general stock of the land, all particular tradesmen may fetch materials for their particular work as they need, or to furnish their particular dwellings with any commodities.

Secondly, there are particular store-houses or shops,

To which the tradesmen shall bring their particular works: as all instruments of iron to the iron-shops, hats to shops appointed for them; gloves, shoes, linen and woollen cloth in smaller parcels, to shops appointed for every one of them; and the like.

Even as now we have particular trade[rs?] in cities and towns, called shopkeepers, which shall remain still as they be, only altered in their receiving in and delivering out. For whereas by the law of kings or conquerors they do receive in and deliver out by buying and selling, and exchanging the conqueror's picture or stamp upon a piece of gold or silver for the fruits of the earth; now they shall (by the laws of the commonwealth) receive into their shops, and deliver out again freely, without buying and selling.

They shall receive in, as into a store-house, and deliver out again freely, as out of a common store-house, when particular persons or families come for anything they need, as now they do by buying and selling under kingly government.

For as particular families and tradesmen do make several works more than they can make use of: as hats, shoes, gloves, stockings, linen and woollen cloth and the like, and do carry their particular work to store-houses:

So it is all reason and equity that they should go to other store-houses, and fetch any other commodity which they want and cannot make; for as other men partakes of their labours, it is reason they should partake of other men's.

And all these store-houses and shops shall be orderly kept by such as shall be brought up to be waiters therein, as is mentioned in the office of overseers for trades.

For as there are some men more ingenious to work, so other men are more ingenious in keeping of store-houses and shops, to receive in and deliver out commodities. And all this easy work may be called waiting at such and such a store-house: as some may wait at corn houses, some at linen and woollen houses, some at leather, some at iron shops; and every general and particular commodity shall be known where they are by their houses and shops, as it is at this day. So that towns and cities, and every family almost, are but store-houses of one commodity or other, for the uses of the commonwealth or to transport to other lands.

Now this same free practice will kill covetousness, pride and oppression: for when men have a law to buy and sell, then, as I have said before, the cunning cheaters get great estates by other men's labours; and being rich thereby, become oppressing lords over their brethren; which occasions all our troubles and wars in all nations.

Come hither now, all you who challenge your brethren to deny Christ, as though you were the only men that love Christ and would be true to him.

Here is a trial of your love: can you be as ready to obey the law of-liberty, which is the command of Christ, as you would have others to obey your kingly laws of bondage? It may be you will either storm, or go away sorrowful; does not Christ tell you, that if you have food and raiment, you should therewith be content? And in this common freedom, here will be food and raiment, ease and pleasure plentiful, both for you and your brethren; so that none shall beg or starve, or live in the straits of poverty- and this fulfils that righteous law of Christ, Do as you would be done by: for that law of Christ can never be performed till you establish commonwealth's freedom.

Therefore now let it appear, seeing the child is come to the birth, whether you will receive Christ who is the spreading spirit of freedom, righteousness and peace; or whether you will return to monarchy, to embrace that Egyptian bondage still. Well, here is life and death set before you, take whether you will; but know that unless your righteousness exceed the righteousness of the kingly and lordly scribes and Pharisees, you shall never enjoy true peace in your spirit.

[a-modernmajorgeneral]

This large handled jar held the water used to dilute large quantities of wine in preparation for the Greek symposium. It was considered uncivilized for a Greek to consume undiluted wine, so water was fetched from a public fountain house in a jar like this one. The horizontal handles made it easier to carry, while the vertical handle at the back was used for pouring.

On the front of this vase, the hero Hercules wrestles Triton - the messenger of the sea who is depicted as a merman - as a man and a woman look on. They are likely Nereus and Triton’s mother Amphitrite, but we cannot be certain. The intricate composition has the Greek hero astride the monster, his arms locked around Triton’s neck in an implacable grip, while Triton flails his arms, black fingers stretched against the red background. They face different directions-Herakles to the viewers’ right and up, victorious, and Triton to the left and down, vanquished. Precise incision renders the outline and details of the lion skin that Herakles wears, as well as the contour and detail of Triton’s scales and fins. Above this scenethe artist has written kalo[s]p[u]this – or “Pythis [is] beautiful”; exactly who Pythis is is another mystery.

On the shoulder of the vessel, the area above the front scene on the flat surface between the handles, another mythological scene plays out. This time it is the judgement of Paris, in which the handsome youth must judge a beauty contest between three goddesses - Aphrodite, Hera and Athena (shown seated). Aphrodite famously wins the contest by promising Paris the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. The woman in question turns out to be Helen of Troy, whose love affair with Paris would set in motion the deadly Trojan war.

Black figure hydria, Greece, 515-550 BC

from The Art Institute of Chicago

[varinsson]

One thing I absolutely hate about Marvel's take on Norse mythology that ruined most of the newer movies for me is how readily the women of Norse mythology were erased. Among other figures ultimately named in this post.

You have a figure as wildly popular as Thor or Loki with that devout of a fanbase and you could have EASILY dropped in that Odin had an affair with a Jotunn named Jord, got his balls busted for it, and Thor was the product of that affair.

Or that Loki carries his mother's name, Laufey, but you rarely hear of his father, Farbuati. That Loki and Odin share a blood bond between them that both routinely try and nearly break, until right before Ragnarok, when they're both equally guilty of breaking it.

(Did I mention both Loki and Thor are redheads in the sagas?)

No, instead, you get the tiny little Jotunn that Odin takes pity on, whisks off to Asgard and raises alongside one son, Thor, while having a faithful marriage to Frigga. Thor grows up, the elder sibling to Loki, and marries Sif, to whom he is faithful, never having the affairs that lead to Modi, the god of berserkers, or Thrud, a powerful Valkyrie. Thor never has his half siblings - Vali, the god of revenge, the silent god; Baldr, the god of light and love, or any one of the others. You never see Odin's brothers, Vili and Ve, the three of whom created all the realms, created humanity and watched over. You don't have Idunn and her life-giving, almost Fountain of Youth apples, Heimdall and his nine mothers and rooster, Njord or Skadi, Ullr or Bestla and Bor.

You get the watered down, family friendly(-ish) version and it's honestly hot garbage nine times out of ten.