#william miles' wife

[teecupangel]

You know Desmond is really unlucky with how his bloodline like he got the Kenway drama and bad fathers genes from his from one side and the non-existent mother genes on Altaïr's side where instead if you flip them you get Desmond's father (whose name suddenly escapes me) dying while Desmond is young and Desmond either raised by his mother who might be better idk but it'd be hard to do worse than (insert des's dad's name here)

Uuuhhh… well, his mother’s personality has never been explored all that well.

The most we know of her, as far as I know, is that she had been worried and trying to find Desmond when he ran away and that she knew that her husband’s personality can be considered quite cold but she’s used to it and it’s from Assassin’s Creed Encyclopedia p182 (the White version):

“While William’s wife has always been able to deal with this emotional distance, young Desmond could not.”

This could either mean that it was a loveless marriage that may or may not have been amicable OR they had the kind of love where they didn’t need to show it to know that they love each other.

I personally believe that Desmond doesn’t hate his mother. Whenever he talks about her, there’s always this feeling of wistfulness in it. While we cannot be sure what kind of mother she was, it’s clear that Desmond cares for her in some way.

At the very least, he feels some kind of guilt for leaving her when he didn’t feel the same way for Bill.

So in this situation where Bill died while Desmond was young, there’s a higher chance of Desmond not leaving the Farm.

Of course, Bill’s death could easily change his wife and Desmond would now have to deal with a grieving mother who might want to finish Bill’s training.

The grief of losing her husband could just as easily turn to fear of losing her son and that fear would force her to push her son to work harder, to become stronger.

In turn, making her just as bad or even worse than Bill.

On the other hand, losing Bill could be the trigger that makes have a more active part in Desmond’s training with the fear of losing her son making her dote on Desmond more.

We can never be sure how one would react to the lost of someone they love after all.

But what if it had been a loveless marriage?

Then the most that would change would probably be his mother taking a more active role in his life.

So it really boils down to what kind of mother you would want Desmond to have.

The only limitation is that, no matter what kind of mother she is, she did not have the power or she directly didn’t intervene with how Bill treated Desmond.

.

.

My go to ‘mother’ is usually one that’s cold towards Bill and only married and had a child with him because of it was her duty. Why? Because I like to add more drama to Desmond’s life.

She’s usually the one who give Desmond tips when he’s having trouble with training, being the one to teach him how to use fae lies and to close and open his hands to the timing of his slow breathing whenever he’s starting to panic.

She cares for Desmond and tries to be gentle with him but she has a heavy sense of duty to the Brotherhood as a descendant of the Ibn-La'Ahad and her complicated relationship with Bill and Bill’s focus on raising Desmond makes her a bit more distant than she or Desmond would have liked to each other.

When Desmond left, that’s when her carefully created mask of indifference fell apart and she tried to look for him desperately.

That kind of personality would have stepped up after Bill’s death and train Desmond the way she had been trained and the way she wished she had been trained.

In that kind of scenario, there’s a chance that Desmond would actually grow up to be more like Altaïr than the Desmond we all know and love.

.

Personally, I think canonically Bill’s wife does love him (who may or may not have already died in the attack on the Farm if the way Bill sides away from Desmond's request to talk to her in AC3 was any indication). I just like writing her as having a complicated relationship with Bill and Desmond so Desmond inherits the Kenway family drama XD. (which can be seen a bit in The Shadow’s Endgame)

[your-nanas-house]

𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐇𝐘

Because you were a good step-daddy

Out with the dog

“Goodnight, love”

My Dads Friend (series)

Bad mood

Missing you

Cock headcanon part 1

Cock headcanon part 2

Rum, champagne and other excuses

Just for the movie

What does my princess want?

Little fun film

My living dildo

A ride home

TOMMY SHELBY

Just another nightmare

Mother

Work, work… just work

His fookin’ wife

Dad doesn’t like Christmas

Not a virgin anymore

Thirsty

“... eyefucking each other”

A juicy bad apple

Someone like me

Husband’s duty

Mrs. Walsh

“Good girl”

Sweet treat

JACKSON RIPPNER

Tighter than usual

Catch me if you can

The mile high club

KITTEN BRADEN

Oops… I did it again

Truly smitten

Christmas together

NEIL LEWIS

Just acting… right?

Be quick

Unnoticed longing stares

What are we, idiot?

“Such a good girl now, huh?”

Broken stove

In my neighbour’s pool

Her big “heart”

JONATHAN CRANE

Domestic Sunday morning

The conference

Those round pillows of hers

Not so innocent after all

“Scarecrow, Scarecrow”

ROBERT FISCHER

She could be my “woman”

Unwritten

Fuck…ing mommy

After a lonesome Christmas together

Shimmering gold

J. ROBERT OPPENHEIMER

Dr. Oppenheimer… for them

Cherry

JOHN/EMMA SKILLPA

Family or more

JONATHAN BREENCH

Long Nights and Christmas Lights

RAYMOND LEON

Late again

LEONARD MILLER

Whatever it takes

WILLIAM KILLICK

I’m pretty sure you’re mine

A promise

[catherinetheprincessofwales]

James Middleton: Kate, William and the dog that saved my life. The younger brother of the Princess of Wales was so depressed he came close to killing himself. Then Ella, his faithful cocker spaniel, stepped in — and even found him a wife. He tells Matt Rudd about his ‘waste of money’ education, family therapy and the help Prince William gave him. The Sunday Times, 22 Sep 2024.

I’m in a cottage on a farm with the brother of the Princess of Wales and his eyes are filling with tears. He has a cocker spaniel called Luna on his lap and I have a cocker spaniel called Inka on my lap. Both dogs are looking anxiously at their owner as he tries to tell me about the death of their mother, Ella. It could be a bit awkward when a man you’ve only just met starts getting very emotional about a dog that died nearly two years ago. Instead it’s the moment I realise James Middleton isn’t exaggerating. A dog really did save his life.

On a winter’s night in late 2017, Middleton climbed a ladder to the roof above his parents’ flat in Chelsea and contemplated suicide. Overwhelmed by feelings of failure, he had decided that the labour of living was no longer worth the effort. As his thoughts spiralled, it was only the sight of Ella, watching him carefully through the skylight, that gave him pause. How could he leave her, he wondered.

Over weeks and months Middleton had isolated himself from family and friends, ignoring increasingly desperate phone calls and texts. When his sister Pippa came to the door, he would hide in his room. When he tried to go to work, he got as far as the car park and then drove home again.

“I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t sleep, I was constantly agitated,” he says. “If I sat down I had to stand up again immediately. I couldn’t eat because I felt constantly as if I were about to throw up. What was most challenging was that I couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong. It wasn’t living, it was just existing in this awful state of anxiety.”

As his mental health crisis deepened, it was only Ella and the routine of looking after her that kept him going. “I was never alone in a time when I felt very lonely,” he says, stroking Inka’s ears. “I’m surprised there weren’t marks on the carpet from the laps I was doing, but she would sort of get in the way. It was a silent interruption, but for a fraction of a second it would stop the spiralling. “Something was taking over my mind, but not knowing what it was made it very difficult to talk about. And I didn’t feel as though I had a right to be depressed because I’ve had everything, because I am privileged.”

We are meeting today, I should mention, at Bucklebury Farm Park, a genteel sheep-petting outfit plus farm shop (excellent organic pesto) at the more desirable end of Berkshire. It is owned by his sister Pippa Matthews née Middleton and her hedgie husband, James, who is, among other things, the next laird of Glen Affric. Carole and Michael Middleton, parents to James, Pippa and Catherine, live in a manor house a stone’s throw away and Middleton’s own farm, which he bought from the parents of a prep school friend mid-pandemic, is a mile over there. It’s quite the empire.

Now married to the French financier Alizée Thevenet and father to 11-month-old Inigo, Middleton is happy to talk about his annus horribilis and his dog-assisted recovery. He does so at book-length in Meet Ella: The Dog Who Saved My Life. But it’s a good question: what does someone born into such wealth and privilege have to be depressed about?

The roots of his 2017 crisis can be found, like most roots of crises, in childhood. Born in 1987, the same year his mother set up the mail-order company Party Pieces, he followed his two older sisters to Marlborough. If the prestigious boarding school demanded academic excellence and his parents expected it, both were to be disappointed. Diagnosed with dyslexia then, and with attention deficit disorder when he finally sought help in 2017, he struggled where his sisters had excelled.

“School is about comparing yourself to others,” he says, recalling how he would avoid friends phoning to compare exam results in the summer holidays. “I didn’t feel despair when I failed because it happened so often, but I was embarrassed. I felt let down because I didn’t think that those results properly represented me.”

In the early chapters of the book he charts his struggles with expectation — his mother is frequently in tears, his father just as frequently exasperated. Even without VAT, it must have taken a large chunk of the trust fund established by Michael’s grandmother, the heiress Olive Middleton, to put his son through Marlborough. When that son had to spend a gap year retaking his A-level chemistry four times, a “humiliating record” for the school, he tells him his education was “a waste of money”.

Although today Middleton studiously avoids criticising his school or his beloved parents — he learnt valuable survival skills at Marlborough, he tells me, and “Mum and Dad just wanted the best for me” — the pressure was clearly intense. He sought escape from that pressure in nature and in dogs. “I was an outcast … alienated from my classmates,” he writes. “But dogs never judged me. Mum asked repeatedly if I wanted to bring friends home to stay at weekends. But truthfully all I wanted to do was to see Tilly.”

Tilly was the family’s golden retriever, but from an early age Middleton was desperate for his own dog. His parents, on the other hand, continued to be desperate for him to succeed. And so, after that long summer of resits, he squeaked into Edinburgh University, choosing criminology, environmental studies and geography modules because he was “pretty certain they would all be multiple choice”. They weren’t, of course, and he failed his first-year exams. More crying from Mum, more exasperation from Dad, more solace from a dog, this time his own.

“For all my reservations, I shall be eternally grateful for the time I spent in Edinburgh because it is thanks to Ben, a university friend, that I find my adored dog Ella,” he writes, introducing us to the dog that saved his life. Despite his best efforts, puppies and student life are not compatible, and when he was banned from bringing Ella to lectures he finally abandoned his studies. “I knew that if I left university I’d be responsible for that decision,” he says. “It was a big step, but I had Ella with me, as my companion and my responsibility.”

Middleton’s story is not exactly Angela’s Ashes. When he announces that he is ditching his degree to become an entrepreneur in London, he is cut off, he tells us, from the Bank of Mum and Dad, but he can still move in with his sisters at the family’s flat in Chelsea. His uncle Gary Goldsmith, he of Celebrity Big Brother 2024 notoriety, is also on hand to invest in his cake kit start-up. Nobody in this story is going to find themselves on the street.

But cynics desist! Don’t underestimate the impact of parental expectation, nor of not conforming to the traditional model of success. Middleton, anxious and increasingly socially uncomfortable, had left his friends in Edinburgh and washed up in London with his dog.

“She was my shield,” he says. “Through her I could enjoy things. I could take her for a walk and see what she was seeing. I process a lot of things in my mind and that can be overwhelming, but she helped me open my eyes and realise everything was OK.”

There are, I’m sure, many advantages to being royal adjacent, but when his sister Catherine started dating Prince William in 2004, Middleton found the level of media interest “shocking”. A young man who used his dog as an excuse to leave parties early was not equipped for the spotlight, for stepping out of the flat into a sea of flashing cameras.

“I’d never seen a royal wedding,” he says, rather sweetly. “There hadn’t been one in my lifetime. Not a big one anyway. I wasn’t aware of the scale or the global interest. I just felt privileged that my sister was asking me to do it, and it meant something to her. I wanted to make sure I did it.”

His description of the intense amount of practice he put in to the reading is like a potted version of The King’s Speech — he stutters, he stumbles, he takes lessons with the voice coach Anthony Gordon Lennox, he reads nervously and then more confidently to an audience of one dog ­— Ella, of course — in Chelsea Old Church. And then it’s the big day. “Really, the build-up to Catherine’s wedding was no different to Pippa’s or other friends’ weddings,” he says, unbelievably. Just the family, 1,900 guests, Her Majesty, an archbishop and a few world leaders. Watching the recording back today, there’s no hint of nerves — Middleton, 24 at the time, gives a bravura performance. Afterwards an American production company wrote to ask if he’d like to star in his own film — their opening offer was $1 million.

“They even ventured,” he writes wryly, “that members of my wider family might like to take part.” Middleton is not unaware of how everything is distorted by his proximity to royalty.

On the surface the next few years of Middleton’s life read like a Hello! magazine special — parties, holidays on Mustique, holidays in the Alps, a blossoming relationship with a glamorous older woman (the actress Donna Air, about whom his parents were hesitant because of the eight-year age gap), weekends at Sandringham (“Did you get my message, James?” the Queen asked the first time he visited. “Ella is welcome to stay in your room.”) But then came the night of despair in pyjamas on a Chelsea rooftop. Long sessions of cognitive behavioural therapy followed with a psychiatrist who was happy for Ella to attend too. She was, Middleton says, the only reason he kept going.

In December 2017, his mental health still fragile, he left London without telling anyone and holed up in a remote cottage in the Lake District. While his family grew frantic with worry, much to his irritation (“I’m a grown man”), he describes three days of elemental existence — fetching firewood and water, heating soup, walking Ella and her two pups. For the first time in a year he enjoyed a deep sleep and, in front of the fire after a wild swim with his dogs, he felt fleetingly happy.

“Dogs are amazing,” he says and all five of the dogs in the cottage with us — three spaniels and two beautiful golden retrievers — look delighted. “They do just sense things. Ella had been with me in every therapy session, she was always with me. I think we can learn from dogs. They’re not thinking about yesterday or tomorrow. They’re not even thinking about the next couple of hours. They’re thinking about right now. I’m here, they’re here, in the moment.”

As Middleton’s recovery continued, he says his sisters understood — they both had friends who had depression — but his parents struggled. “They were uncomfortable with the fact that I’d been labelled ‘clinically depressed’,” he writes. “To people of their generation, I can understand why it was concerning. Society was only just starting to break through the stigma.”

The solution, in the end, was to invite the family to the therapy sessions. “I felt guilty because I knew they were worried,” he says. “They felt guilty because it’s really hard if you’re not able to help the people you love the most. I was finally understanding how I felt but I got nervous trying to translate that to my family without the help of an interpreter. When they came into the sessions they had the opportunity to ask questions that I couldn’t necessarily answer.”

In the 13 years since Catherine’s wedding Middleton’s hair has receded a little, but he now has a beard for balance — a little twirl of his moustaches and he could be a not-too-distant cousin of Tsar Nicholas II. He probably is — this generation of Middletons is not the first to hang out with royalty. He looks less bright and bushy-tailed than he did in 2011, but that might be fatherhood or the weekend with friends he has just returned from in Norfolk. Or it might simply be the passing of enough eventful years.

Whatever it is, he tells me he is now happy, which, given the depths of his depression, he still finds extraordinary. His idea of what constitutes success has changed — he is no longer motivated by money but by the things in life about which he is passionate. He doesn’t even like the word entrepreneur any more.

Having stepped away from Boomf, a marshmallow delivery company (Boomf is the sound a marshmallow makes falling from a letterbox), he started James & Ella, a “premium freeze-dried raw dog food” company in 2020. He clearly finds it easier to be passionate about dogs than marshmallows. But it’s in his personal life that the change has been most dramatic.

“I remember sitting in the therapist’s chair with Ella’s head on my lap, wondering how long it was going to take to get better,” he says. “But within a year I had met my future wife. And we’re now here with an 11-month-old son, living on a farm with six dogs. If someone had told me that would happen, I’d have been annoyed. It would have just seemed so ridiculous.”

He met Thevenet, 34, at a members club in South Kensington, west London, in 2018. Ella, having actively disapproved of several previous girlfriends, broke the ice by going over to her table. They married in the south of France in 2021 (a Hello! magazine world exclusive, naturally) and Ella was a flower girl. And everyone lived happily ever after.

Except, alas, the dog. It is one of life’s cruelties that man’s best friend has a much shorter life expectancy than man. Just asking Middleton about the death of Ella, early one Saturday in January 2023, makes him emotional. Despite being given two weeks to live the previous September, she had made it through Christmas, perhaps buoyed by the thought of one final week in the Alps. Of course Middleton was with her when she took her last breath at 3am. The whole family, including William and Catherine, gathered in his parents’ garden for what sounds like an extensive memorial on the Sunday.

“Saying goodbye to Ella was not just saying goodbye to her as a dog,” Middleton says. “It was everything I’d been through with her. She had arrived just as I was starting out in my twenties and she was leaving as I’d finally figured things out in my mid-thirties. She put me on the right path and I didn’t want another day from her. I didn’t want another hour. I would have loved it but I didn’t need it. “She was sent to me before I even knew I needed her, but she chose me. She was able to transform my life better than any human could have done and then she put me in the capable hands of someone and together we’re now raising our own family.”

Eight days after Ella was buried in her favourite sheepskin, Alizée interrupted Middleton’s mourning to announce that she was pregnant. He is convinced Ella knew and that her death was a kind of passing of the torch. His son, Inigo, was born last autumn. “I hope there’s an Ella who will find Inigo, if there’s a time in his life when he needs it,” he says, as one of the golden retrievers has a long stretch.

If you’re not a dog person, you might find this cosmic canine intervention a bit much. Whether Ella was the ultimate therapist or a very effective placebo, it worked for Middleton. His sisters’ families are also fully invested in the joys of cocker spaniels — Pippa has one of Ella’s sons and Catherine, whose announcement of the end of her chemotherapy treatment comes a few days after this interview, now has one of Ella’s granddaughters — no corgis to date. Middleton himself now regards his mental health crisis as a blessing. “Although I would never wish it on anybody and I would never want to go through it again, I’m pleased it happened. It was an opportunity to recalibrate and to re-evaluate what matters.” Happiness, he says, is what matters. Happiness and lots of dogs. Meet Ella: The Dog Who Saved My Life by James Middleton (Radar £22). 

[solspina]

Absolution in Angelism

Luis Dante ⋆˙⟡

trapped within an endless and grotesque night terror, dante realizes that he’s been here a million times before. with his serf finally losing her title and nothing changing, something has to be done.!

have part two to my dante blurb because i can’t find motivation to write rn :( so sorry if this feels rushed!

tw: heavy descriptions of gore

tags: @ottobooty @kit-williams @moodymisty

the pulpy floor seemed to yield with every step dante took forward. blood splashed onto the golden calves of his armor with every sickening squelch the ground made, occasionally accompanied by the snapping and cracking of fragile and decayed bones. trapped pockets of air were released from the endless heap of flesh beneath his feet, emitting muffled gurgling in their wake. the air was thick with the stench of rot and putrescence, and it pooled in his throat with every shallow breath.

this was no battlefield; he had walked through those before and come out relatively unfazed. he had seen the bodies of his brothers, and been able to identify each one by their faces and mourn them as individuals. that wasn’t the case this time. instead, each face engraved into this unholy amalgamation of human meat was indistinguishable. if he looked hard enough, he could make out the shapes of different body parts. hands, feet, arms, faces here and there, all cauterized together into an unholy organic mixture.

but the sights, the horrors, were no longer new.

dante had been here before.

the soles of his boots were soaked in shimmering crimson, the gold underneath providing a metallic finish to the display of gore beneath him. he used to tremble at such an image, completely appalled by the gore and putrid smell of decay within this world. now, though, he simply continued walking.

the emotions this place had brought forth in him before now felt minuscule in comparison to what took their place.

he once hesitated to cut away at the arms that reached up to pull him down, for although this mound of flesh was undoubtedly a hive, each limb seemed to react to his presence as if it were an individual. the arms would recoil in pain, the hands would be crushed beneath his feet with a deafening crack, the faces would release guttural and piercing screams from their throats before blood erupted from their mouths as they choked.

axe mortalis no longer spared them it’s mercy.

once he believed them innocent. once he believed them individuals, some form of human.

but they tormented him. night after night they dragged him back into this morbid, pungent smelling nightmare. night after night they made him watch his personal serf be cradled in the arms of his beloved primarch, had his primarch been a bloodthirsty and hideous monster. night after night he watched die the woman who made him wish to keep living, her death unwanted but granted by the hands of the demi-god who had denied him the death he both wished for and deserved.

“dante…”

accompanied by his thoughts were the apparitions he had walked for miles to see.

she lay limp and nude in sanguinius’ arms, a familiar sight to the now scowling dante. the lips of the angel were wrapped in tight suction around the skin of her neck, and tears fell from her sorrowful and pained eyes.

many times, he had fallen to his knees and pleaded this monster for mercy. he had allowed it a thousand times to torment both him and the helpless serf in its arms. he no longer cared. he was not real, and neither was the blood dripping from axe mortalis or the endless sea of limbs that reached up to claim him. the fear, the sadness, the pain, all faded into resentment for this mockery of his primarch.

how dare it wear the face of the angel.

his expression remained unchanging as he pulled infernus from his waist and aimed at the chest of the false sanguinius, his hands steady and his voice firm as he spoke to the mimic.

“get your hands off of my wife.”

it’s lips departed from the woman’s neck as it’s face contorted into both confusion and shock. dante was not afraid of him? what had happened to the trembling and sobbing man that used to fall to its knees in anguish? was it abnormal in the modern world to use weaker serfs for blood letting?

no, dante had become just as much a terrifying spectre as the false sanguinius had. blood found itself on his body from head to toe, and he showed no sign of hesitation in pulling a gun on his beloved primarch.

“get your hands,” dante readied the great infernus, placing his finger on the trigger and closing one of his eyes. “off of my wife.”

“dante…”

his wife turned toward him, still caged in sanguinius’ arms, trembling as blood fell from her chin in waterfalls. her breathing remained shallow, now accompanied by wheezing and the occasional moan of pain as the angel dug sharp fingernails into her skin. blood trickled from those wounds, too.

“i love you, dante…”

his eyes closed at the bright flash of white light that consumed his vision.

with a hiss and the ringing of his ears, all had gone still.

had sanguinius killed him?

had he been pulled under again?

no. he could still feel the squelching of meat under his armor. he could still see red all around him. red, and only red. not the shining gold of noble armor or the white of two perfect wings…

red, and only red.

he had pulled the trigger.

he woke with a sharp intake of air, but without his heart skipping a beat this time.

he let out a sigh of relief, for the lack of him jolting awake meant that his peacefully sleeping wife could remain in her state of blissful rest. he looked upon her features, something he was seldom able to appreciate when she was merely his serf, a title much too low for someone of her beauty and compassion.

she had been up nearly every night with him, increasingly so after their marriage. bags had begun to develop under her eyes as a result of her constantly interrupted sleep.

maybe he would allow her rest this morning, rather than wake her to join him for his morning routine. a celebration, he would see it as, for their nightly routine was over.

finally over.

he had little time until his day would begin, and so he lay back down. his body faced the sleeping woman, his eyes continuing to memorize every centimeter and detail of her face.

he lay still for many moments, fighting the urge to close his eyes again and slip into the first peaceful dream he would have in years, a liberty only afforded due to his newfound protectiveness over his wife. for being his wife meant he could treat her as a serf no longer, she gave him duty to attend to… that of her life in the false primarch’s hands.

even after everything he had done both in his dreams and in the waking world, deserving this felt impossible.

it was death that he deserved. the sweet release of death, not the warm and loving embrace of a woman he once held in servitude and only recently brought up to his level. she deserved better long ago.

he moved his hand to gently remove a stray hair from her head, placing his palm down on her cheek once her hair had been tucked securely behind her ear. one final moment in bed to remember throughout the day, a reason to look forward to the next period of rest.

with a kiss placed gently to her forehead, he rose from the comfort of the sheets, immediately missing her warmth, wondering if he could make an excuse for not tending to his duties today.

no. he was responsible for half of the imperium. those duties could not wait.

though they would, if it were ever her need.

he walked toward his door, sparing her one final gaze before he turned his attention to axe mortalis, taking it in his hand as it surged to life with power at his touch, just as she had done to him. his spare hand reached for the keypad on the door, pausing to gaze at the foreign object taped over the numbers by the handle.

a paper, an incredibly small one in which words were inscribed upon its surface with the same pristine delicacy that dante’s smile held as he read over the writing.

“i love you, dante”

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1935 Duesenberg

Clark Gable and his 1935 Duesenberg

His wife, Carole Lombard, had one too, which is now in a museum in NZ.

HOLLYWOOD, Calif.

Its 420-cubic-inch straight-8 pulled like a train; it was reputed to have a 115-m.p.h. top speed – “right off the showroom floor,” It could exceed 100 m.p.h. in the second of its three gears, boasted E. L. Cord, the company’s president at the time. Its wheelbase of nearly 12 feet gives the car a poised, unflappable ride. And its massive steering wheel guides the wheels straight and true – although its vacuum assisted drum brakes provide the car somewhat uncertain stopping power

Today, the car’s odometer shows 13,416 miles.

It was January 25, 1936 and Clark Gable had a new car to show off – to a new object of his affections. She was actress Carole Lombard, and the hostess of the lavish White Mayfair Ball, a formal Hollywood soiree, to which Gable drove his 1935 Duesenberg Model JN convertible that night.

The suave actor eventually convinced Miss Lombard to “take a spin around town” with him; when he invited her to his suite a few miles away at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, she famously replied, “Who do you think you are? Clark Gable?”

They weren’t exactly strangers; they had already co-starred together in “No Man of Her Own”. After filming wrapped Miss Lombard presented Mr. Gable with a ham – with his picture on it! But their professional relationship went no further at that point; Miss Lombard was then married to William Powell (she divorced him a couple of years later).

Nevertheless, after they re-connected at the White Mayfair Ball, a scandalous affair ensued; Mr. Gable, still married, was often spotted traveling in the Duesenberg with Miss Lombard from her bungalow on Hollywood Blvd. to night spots, restaurants and hotels all over town. One of those places, The Georgian Hotel in nearby Santa Monica, now advertises the couple had trysts there often.

“This is nothing discreet about this car,” Mr. Gooding said as he pulled up in the glowing Duesenberg, in front of The Georgian. Not exactly the type of car for two famous stars to be seen in – when they are trying to downplay their affair!

. The car fairly screams “notice me!”. Even now the Duesenberg, which appeared in a couple of actual movies of its own, is a show-stopper.

“The record for an American car sold at public auction is $10.34 million, for a Duesenberg – the 1931 Whittell Coupe – which we sold last year,” Mr. Gooding said. “In many ways, however Gable’s 1935 JN is an even finer example.” It is undeniably rare; fewer than a dozen JNs were built – only four of which were convertibles. But no other Duesenberg is like this one. (I will update this post Aug. 19 with the sales price!)

And, then there is the consideration of its celebrity provenance. “I’ve never seen a car with a history behind it like this one,” Mr. Gooding said.

Its 420-cubic-inch straight-8 pulled like a train; it was reputed to have a 115-m.p.h. top speed – “right off the showroom floor,” Mr. Gooding said. It could exceed 100 m.p.h. in the second of its three gears, boasted E. L. Cord, the company’s president at the time. Its wheelbase of nearly 12 feet gives the car a poised, unflappable ride. And its massive steering wheel guides the wheels straight and true – although its vacuum assisted drum brakes provide the car somewhat uncertain stopping power.

A work of automotive art!

Of course, that has often been said about many great works of art – sculptures, paintings, and the like – but seldom about automobiles. Many collectors, however, consider the 18-foot-long Duesenberg, with its flamboyant, following lines, the epitome of automotive art.

The Model JN that Mr. Gable bought originally had a body by Rollston. Mr. Gooding noted, “It was a work of art already.” But Mr. Gable decided it wasn’t audacious enough for his tastes.

So he took it to master coachbuilders Bohman & Schwartz, in Pasadena, Calif., for a complete re-working. And besides, the convertible top leaked – which Miss Lombard reportedly thought amusing; Mr. Gable, however, was mortified.

Clark Gable shows off his beloved Duesenberg!

“Not only did Gable sketch out many of the changes he wanted himself,” Mr. Gooding said. “He also got hands-on with it, and worked on it himself. I don’t recall an example where a celebrity got so involved, and essentially helped craft the car.”

The modifications included body-colored radiator cowl and headlamp pods, raked windshield, extended hood with custom air scoops, re-location of the side-mounted spares to a double-deck “continental kit” at the rear, rear fender skirts, chrome side pipe exhausts (with a driver-controlled bypass lever), functional rumble seat, and a stowable convertible top – that no longer leaked!

It was also re-painted from a pale green to a luminous cream color that seems to glow – apropos of any star of stage, screen or even outer space.

Despite the fact Mr. Gable owned a large, discerning collection of other Duesenbergs, Packards, and Mercedes-Benzes, the JN remained the preferred ride of the inseparable lovers.

So public was their romance that Photoplay magazine ran a feature in December 1938 out-ing them as one of “Hollywood’s Unmarried Husbands and Wives.” Mr. Gable had also been linked in recent years with Joan Crawford, Jean Harlow and Loretta Young (with whom he fathered a love child) – among others. Producer David O. Selznick was ready to cast Gary Cooper as Rhett Butler in “Gone With The Wind” unless Mr. Gable cleaned up his personal life. So the studio reportedly helped pay for Mr. Gable’s costly divorce from heiress Ria Langham; he got the part. The rest, as they say, is history.

Gable got the part!

Mr. Gable and Miss Lombard (who lost out in casting for Scarlett O’Hara) eloped in March 1939. In 1941 the happy couple set off in the Duesenberg on an epic vacation – sort of a belated honeymoon – from their ranch in Encino, Calif., up the Pacific Coast to Vancouver, British Columbia. The trip was nearly 1,500 miles, on primitive roads.

It must have been quite a sight: two of Hollywood’s biggest stars pumping their own gas, fixing their own flats, even changing their own oil – the Gables didn’t want anyone else touching this car! – in a car easily worth $35,000 then (Mr. Gable made more than that in one month, in salary, in those years – and Miss Lombard made nearly as much).

“This was at a time you could buy a Ford for a few hundred dollars,” Mr. Gooding noted.

In Vancouver, the couple would see the Duesenberg for the final time. They stored it there, planning to return the next summer to drive it back to California. They took the train home.

Some months later, however, Miss Lombard was killed in a plane crash near Las Vegas, Nev. Gable, devastated, instructed an agent to sell the beloved Duesenberg – with the proviso that he never would see it again. He never did; he died in 1960.

The Duesenberg became a four-wheeled vagabond, crisscrossing the country, changing hands more than a dozen times. It was re-painted at least four different colors. Its engine was replaced in the 1950s. Parts went missing.

But the current owner, Mr. Gooding said, acquired it in 2006 and ordered a no-expense-spared restoration to its Gable-era glory.

Text via John Piazza

Credit: Respective Owner ( DM for credit or removals )

[hannah-banana-lou]

Come back to me

Husband william afton x Wife female reader AU

it's here!! sorry for the delay. i have been super busy!!

(Pt.2)

i'm not the best at writing smut but i'm trying! i promise!!

Content warning: Marriage issues, verbal abuse, smut!!! (lots of it in this chapter!!!), age gap couple - William (early 50’s) Reader (mid/late 20’s)

UNDER 18’S DNI!!!

Come Back To Me (Pt.2)

You’re home. He kissed you for the first time in months, less than 40 minutes ago. It’s sparked hope within you. Maybe that tiny bit of affection means that he will change? Go back to normal?

Think again.

He is back to his cold, distanced, usual self. You find yourself in the kitchen. Making a late lunch for your twins. He is standing next to you. You finish what you’re doing and smile over at him, placing your hand on his. He immediately recoils. Your eyes widen, confused. Before you can question it he storms off upstairs, into his home office. Slamming the door with force, which made you and your toddlers flinch.

You spend the next few hours confused. Your mind is miles away. Searching your brain for Answers. Clues. Anything.

the rest of the day goes by quickly. running errands, dropping the twins off with your mom for the weekend. you hope that the weekend alone with your husband might provide some answers. fingers crossed.

you get home. he is out. nowhere to be found. not sure where he is or when he is coming back. the clock reads 9:00pm. he should be back by now. you made dinner, hoping he would sit with you and enjoy the meal. like old times. it's now gone cold.

Sitting in the living room, the silence is uncomfortable. you've been alone in the house before but this, this just feels weird. like you're waiting for something to happen. alas, nothing does. your thoughts are consuming you. where is he? why isn't he back yet? is he okay?

as if you manifested it, your mobile rings.

Caller ID: the pizzerias landline.

you pick up the phone, answering it immediately "Hello? will?"

"Hi, i won't be back for another hour" his voice is strained, rough. almost breathless

"oh" you respond. suspicious at the sound of his voice "what are you doing at the pizzeria so late?"

"working" he responds quickly. you hear thudding in the background.

"what was that?" more like who was that? you think to yourself.

"What was what? anyways. i have to go, i'll see you in a bit" he cuts off

"love you" you respond, voice soft, deflated.

For a few seconds you hear silence on the other end. "bye" he grunts out before he hangs up.

you sigh. breaking the silence of the house as you get up off the sofa and head upstairs to what used to be yours and William's bedroom but now it's just yours.

you climb into bed, crawling under the duvet. closing your eyes, trying to sleep. ultimately failing. the bed feels so big, so lonely.

After what feels like hours, you start drifting off to sleep before you hear the front door open and slam closed. keys jingling as they're inserted into the lock.

Heavy footsteps ascending the stairs.

The bedroom door creaks open. the landing light flooding the darkness of the bedroom.

Silence as he stands in the doorway.

Eyes directed towards your, assumed, sleeping figure. you hear him walk closer. the bed dipping as he sits on the side that was once allocated to him.

Silence again.

Staring at your back. he takes his boots off and gets under the covers, letting out a tired groan. you stay silent, waiting for his next move. why was he in bed with you?

he rolls over to you, wrapping his arm around you, hand resting on your hip, head rested on your shoulder as he plants kisses upon the skin.

"you awake?" he whispers into your skin

"mhm" you respond. soft. tired. a whisper.

you feel his hand gently move away the hairs adorning your neck. moving his kisses from your shoulder up to your neck. the hand resting on your hip, gently caressing your side as he trails it up and down.

"i miss you" he whispers out, kissing and painting your neck with saliva.

you let out a soft moan at his ministrations. confused to say the least. the mixed signals messing with your mind.

he snakes his hand down your side, fingers sliding under your pajama pants. no panties. no resistance. he paws at your thighs, before dipping his finger between your soaked folds. index finger circling your sensitive nub. eliciting a moan from you.

he growls, moving his finger down and plunging it inside your tight hole. moving it at an agonizingly slow pace.

in... out.... in.... out...

he slips another digit inside. speeding up. another moan from you. you bite your lip, attempting to suppress any thing else from coming out.

he curls his fingers, rubbing deliciously against your sensitive spot. mouth open, moaning loudly. you grab his arm, unsure why. Not trying to stop him at all.

he chuckles "Look at you" he whispers, mockingly. fingers working faster inside of you. you're close. he can tell. the soaked digits abandon your dripping cunt. you let out a protesting whine.

he rolls onto his back in the middle of the bed. you sit up, looking over at him. his cock straining against his pants. "here" he snaps his fingers, pointing to the space in between his legs. you obey. crawling between his legs. moving your hands up and unbuttoning his pants, pulling them down with his boxers. his cock springs free. standing to attention.

Big. thick. adorned with bulging veins. pink tip. as you remember it.

you place your hand around the shaft, leaning your head down, licking a stripe on the underside of the shaft to tip. mouth wrapping around the tip. he lets out a groan. a hiss.

your cheeks hallowing as you suck. hand stroking the base. working in unison. His fingers raking through your hair before grasping at locks. pushing you down onto his cock. taking him in your throat. causing you to gag slightly. he bites his lip, pulling you off and pushing you back down. thrusting his hips into the air with each suck.

after a while he pushes you off completely. you look up at him confused. he Shifts his body, getting onto his knees, turning you around and pushing you down into the bed. ass up in the air. he yanks your pajama pants down to your knees. moving his face down. kissing your cheeks before spreading them open. your pussy dripping. he accumulates the wetness on his fingers, sucking on them. letting out a groan at your taste. one he's missed.

silence.

you try to move your head up and look over your shoulder but he pushes your head back down into the duvet. you gasp as you feel his tongue dive into your soaked sex. tongue fucking your hole before licking stripes. sucking on your nub. obscene noises. rubbing his face into your pussy. beard scratching against your skin which only adds to your arousal. fingers back inside you, working in unison with his tongue. moans and groans from both of you. your core pulsating, grabbing the bed sheets as you're edging closer and closer to orgasm. getting desperate. grinding against his face as you feel your release closing in. before you know it you're screaming, cumming. shaking.

he plants a firm slap to your overstimulated pussy causing you to flinch and jump forward. you hear a small grunt as he grabs your waist, pulling you back to him.

"you wanted my attention, now you've got it" he growls out. grabbing his cock and aligning it to your tight entrance.

he pushes in abruptly. not even caring about if you can take it all or not. you did a while ago. in his mind, you should be able to now.

a loud whimper escapes your throat. he's quick to comfort you. shushing you.

"shh...shh i know, it's been a while bunny" he smooths his palm over your ass cheek with a modicum of affection.

"Relax bunny" he continues, slowly sawing into you. not the speed he wishes to go but your pussy is like a vice clamp right now.

a few soft and slow thrusts into you. whimpers and moans leaving your lips and he feels you relax. He takes that opportunity to stop lazily sawing into you, instead he speeds up, pounding into you at a unforgiving pace. moans, grunts and skin hitting each other, filling the silence of the room. grasping at the bedsheets as you feel yourself reaching peak again, toes curling, a loud squeak causing him to chuckle. a firm slap against your ass cheek, causing a red mark. his hands firm on your hips, pulling you back onto him with each thrust.

he's panting, in a frenzy as he feels himself get closer. before you know it he's filling you up. his seed painting your insides. pulling out. collapsing back on the bed with a thud, you follow suit. he wraps an arm around you possesively.

planting a soft kiss to your forehead. "i'm going to try and be better. for you. i promise" he mumurs between panting breaths.

you hope his promise was true. not some fake excuse to stall you on getting a divorce.

[heretodestroyou]

heart-shaped sunglasses.

pairing(s); matthew lillard!william afton x reader

fandom; five nights at freddy’s [movie]

w/c; 592

trigger/content warnings; slightly unholy thoughts from william about you in your uniform, fem!reader, (reader wears lipstick, has boobs, is called 'girl' by william and has medium-length hair), heavy lana del rey influences (diet mountain dew), mentioned that reader smokes cigarettes, age gap (william is late 40s, reader is mid 20s), no explicit romance but it's heavily implied there's mutual pining, written from william's pov, reader knows his real name, not proof-read, NO use of y/n, lmk if i missed anything.

stella speaks! at this point someone reblogs/tags me in a shitpost about this man, i add tags while my brain is inconsolably horny, and then all of a sudden i'm writing a new draft. and yes, ik lana wasn't really a thing in 1990s, but for now let's pretend he's still a silver fox in the 2020s.

tags; @truecobblepot bc ofc🫶🏽🫶🏽

inspired by this post and the shenanigans that ensued.

“I just wanted to know how much I appreciate you staying late these past couple weeks.”

William’s voice is smooth, he’s demeanor calm, the slight tilt of his head and the casual clasp of his hands in front of him giving no hint to the turmoil in his brain.

You’re his employee. His best employee, no less. He can’t afford to lose you, to drive you away. So he’ll make sure you’re not looking him in the eye when his roam your body.

The words that come from your mouth are sincere. He knows this. He doesn’t much care in this moment however. That red vest is pulled across your breasts, and the top button of your shirt is undone, your tie looser now that the building is empty.

It’s his fault, how tight your uniform is on you. He has your size on file, but he always orders a size down, just for him. He doesn’t pay mind to the way teenage pizza boys and older brothers here with siblings watch you, because he knows he’s miles better than they are.

His eyes linger in the plastic heart-shaped sunglasses hanging from your collar, and he nods towards them. “And those? I do hope you haven’t been wearing those all day.”

It’s a gentle correction. No matter how much William favors you, he still must keep his image up. You shake your head. “No, I just got them out of my locker when I closed up with Robyn.”

“Where did you get them?” He asks, leaning forward. The movement is subtle, but he knows you catch it.

“It was a gag gift from some party,” you answer, taking them off your vest and sliding them on. William's breath barely catches in his throat. The frames are the same shade as the blood red lipstick you love wearing.

It’s your signature. It’s how he knows you’ve been in the break room, paper coffee and water cups stamped with your lips in the trash, lipstick printed cigarette buts in the back alleyway that he’s convinced himself are prettier than anyone else’s.

William's brain is rapid firing all kinds of signals, ranging from you're nearly 20 years younger than him, to why have I never felt this was about my ex-wife?

Everything about you seems to catered to William's preferences. You hold eye contact with him and customers, you're great with kids (including his!), and you actually appreciate the care he takes of his animatronics.

He chuckles as you look around his dim office with your heart-shaped sunglasses. "Well, now, look at you. Never was there ever a girl so pretty." You giggle, tugging on a strand of hair and sliding them up into your hair. "That's so sweet, Mr. Afton!" William chuckles. You're picture perfect and William is damn well aware that he's no good for you. "Please, call me William. It's only fitting that we remain on first name basis...as of your promotion to assistant manager."

Your eyes widen, and you let out a little gasp. "Do you really mean that, Mr. Af-- William?"

God, the way your lips form his name is intoxicating. He nods, his demeanor wavering slightly as you beam at him, thanking him.

It’s a power move, he knows. A selfish one, no less. But he can’t risk losing the one competent employee. And besides, the assistant manager’s uniform is closer to his, the pale purple shirt and darker tie, black slacks and black shoes (of your choosing, of course).

And who is he to deny himself that view?

[scotianostra]

On January 14th 1872 Edinburgh’s world famous dog, Greyfriars Bobby died.

For many visitors to Edinburgh, a must-see is the statue of Greyfriar's Bobby on George IV Bridge and, although it's officially frowned upon, rubbing Bobby's nose for luck. The true story of Greyfriar's Bobby is so enchanting that even Walt Disney decided to make a movie about him.

Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye Terrier who became famous in the 19th century for his unwavering loyalty to his owner. In 1850 John Gray, his wife, Jess and their son John arrived in Edinburgh. John was a gardener but could not find employment in his new hometown, so he worked as a night watchman for the Edinburgh Police Force.

It was a lonely job, so to keep him company, he bought a wee Skye Terrier, who he called Bobby. Soon John and Bobby became inseparable through the long winter nights they maintained a watch over their charges.

Edinburgh's damp and murky weather eventually took its toll on John, who was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Despite treatment from the Police Surgeon, John died on 15th February 1858 and was buried in Greyfriar's Kirkyard.

Bobby, who had never been apart from John, refused to leave the cemetery and stayed by his owner's grave. Despite the efforts of the graveyard staff to evict Bobby, he always returned and eventually, they gave up and provided little Bobby with shelter beside John's Grave.

Word of Bobby's loyalty quickly spread, and he became a local sensation. It is said that crowds would gather outside the graveyard at one o'clock each day. When Edinburgh's famous one o'clock gun was fired, Bobby would leave the grave and join local joiner William Dow for a walk to a local coffee shop.

John and Bobby visited Traill’s Temperance Coffee House on their rounds, and Bobby was always given something to eat by the owner John  Traill. This tradition continued after John's passing, thanks to the generosity of the owner.

A new by-law was passed by the Edinburgh Council in 1867, making it mandatory that all dogs had a licence and a collar. The Lord Provost of Edinburgh, Sir William Chalmers, undertook to pay for Bobby's licence, and he received a collar with the inscription "Greyfriar's Bobby from the Lord Provost 1867 Licensed".

If you visit the Museum of Edinburgh on the Royal Mile, you can see Bobby's collar and drinking bowl. as seen in the pics, that I took in 2016/.

Bobby stayed by John's grave for 14 years until he passed in 1872. He was buried in the same cemetery, just a few feet away from his beloved owner.

Greyfriars Bobby's story is one of the most enduring tales of loyalty and devotion. It serves as a reminder of the special bond between humans and animals.

In 1981 a new headstone at Bobby's Grave was unveiled by the Duke of Gloucester. The inscription reads, "Greyfriars Bobby – Died 14 January 1872 – Aged 16 years – Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all".

The legend of Bobby touched the heart of Baroness Angelia Georgina Burdett-Coutts. She was the daughter of the banker Thomas Coutts (of Coutts Bank fame) and inherited £1.8 million on her grandfather's death, making her one of the wealthiest women in England.

Burdett-Coutts spent most of her wealth on philanthropic causes. She co-founded the Urania Cottage for "fallen young women" with Charles Dickens and became a social housing pioneer.

The Baroness got permission from Edinburgh Council to erect a statue of Bobby at the junction of Candlemakers Row and George IV Bridge, just outside Greyfriars Kirkyard. The artist William Brodie was commissioned to create the statue in 1872.

Since its unveiling, the statue of Bobby has become an important Edinburgh landmark.

[c1tr1sfl0w3rs]

'My Pretty Wife'

Hey guys! I know it's been a while I've been very busy with school stuff so I haven't had time to write but I had inspiration by a dream :) didnt edit or spell check

18+ MDNI NSFW DARK (DO NOT READ IF YOU DONT LIKE DARK CONTENT!!)

You loved being a housewife, in your pretty sundresses and aprons cooking, baking, cleaning doing your wifely duties that william expected you to do. it got lonely without him though, he was the only person you saw and without him it was just you, alone, you hate being alone. so everyday when your husband came home to you, you're kissing him and wrapped up in his big arms where you belong.

He loved the fact that you needed him, it stroked his ego and warmed his twisted heart. seeing you all pretty in the dresses he picked and bought for you, so desperate for a crumb of his affection, bombarding him with your love. "hi honey did you miss me baby?" your response is muffled into his chest but he hears every word "I always miss you daddy, I'm so lonely without you"

He breaks out into a smirk, he grabs your chin making you look into his handsome face, "I missed you more bunny" he leans into you and kisses you holding both sides of your face, making you breathless, dominating you with his mouth. he can put you into a daze with no effort, everytime he does it makes you drip onto your thighs because william won't let you wear panties under your dresses.

William was so proud how far you've come, how good he's trained you. his precious bunny, from a crying mess in his basement to his perfect pretty wife. breaking your passionate kiss seeing you as putty in his hand, he knew you were ready for the next part of his plan.

Looking into his eyes not a thought in your head. eyes you were scared of not long ago but that was now a fuzzy far away memory. you loved your husband and you would do anything to please just how he liked it.

"Bunny I wanna do something special tonight but I need to know you're ready for this, ready for me." he said moving his hands from your face to your waist. "I'm always ready for you daddy. I belong to you." your responses never fail to give him a smile as he smiles at you again, so big it's almost creepy since it was him though you found it exciting. he only smiled like that when he was gonna make you come so many times that what little you have left of your brain is gone.

"That's what I love to hear honey, I know you get lonely when I'm gone. how about daddy gives his sweet bunny a baby. do you want that sweetheart?" your heart thumping out of your chest, goosebumps erupt over your skin. a baby? you've never thought about kids but you would never be alone again and it would be your and williams baby. head racing a million miles a minute, he wanted a baby with you. he picked you as his wife and now he wants a baby, a family with you. your heart swelled with happiness. you're just as twisted as he is

After a long pause of silence you finally spoke up. "please give me your baby, please I need you daddy." the second those words left your mouth william was kissing you intensely, consuming you and turning you to mush. "I knew you were gonna be a good bunny and take my babies when I first saw you, daddy had to have you baby and I'm so glad I do. my best girl, mine who do you belong to honey?" his words combined with the fact he had now picked you up and was carrying you back to your shared bedroom made you a mess you wondered if he could feel your wetness leaking though his pants with the way your legs wrapped around him. "I belong to you daddy, only you." he places you down on the bed crawling in between your spread legs. sucking on your neck, thumbing your hard nipples through your thin dress. you whimper out a pathetic noise and he snickers then whispers in your ear "beg me to touch you slut, prove to daddy that you need me."

Your hands reach up to grab at his wrists "Ill do anything please touch me, I love it when you touch me" he moves a hand from your chest to your thighs under your skirt, tracing the letters of his name right next to where you need him to touch you. "please don't tease me please touch me."

"My needy bunny" william finally drags a finger through your slit. "baby you're making a mess" as his other hand wraps around your neck you whine pathetically.

he slips two fingers in and thrusts them in and out hitting that perfect spot every time. the louder he makes you moan and cry his name the harder it makes his dick.

"Daddys ruined you for anyone else two seconds and you're a dumb baby humping my hand." he starts rubbing your clit with his thumb and you can feel your orgasm wash over you almost painful with how good he makes you feel. he talks you through it words condescending, fingers pumping. William doesn't stop until you're crying begging him to give you a second. "I thought you could take it honey, you talk a big game for someone crying over two of my fingers. Now lick them clean"

Your mouth takes in his sticky digits, tongue lapping at them. hallowing your cheeks and sucking like you would on him with your teary eyes.

"Damn princess you make me so hard it hurts, lay back now I'm gonna fuck you so good the only thing you'll know is the word daddy." you're quick to do as he says pulling up the skirt of your dress, spreading your legs open. he unbuckles his belt and pulls out his heavy cock. So pretty long thick and leaking all for you.

He pushes into you, legs thrown over his shoulders and starts a rhythm that has you gripping the sheets.

"Oh my- oh daddy please" he moans, William loves having you like this wrapped around him. Vulnerable and the little broken pieces of your soul in his hands.

You'll never feel more pleasure then you feel right now. The power he feels from it is almost better than your sweet little cunt.

Almost, nothing could feel better than you. Soft gummy slick hole all for him. The way you flutter around him when you're about to fall apart like youre doing now. Addicting he could never get enough of you.

"I can feel that you're close honey, come on daddys dick" you come instantly, crying out as he fucks you through it. "Good girl so fucking good for daddy" He fucks you like an animal, chasing his high and overstimulating you. He finishes inside you , pressed flush against him. You feel him soften and think you are gonna sleep like this plugged by him to make sure he gets what he wants but his voice startles you out of your sleepy daze

"Silly bunny were not done yet, you're gonna suck me clean and then I'm gonna fill you with another load just to make sure you give me a baby"

AHHH I HOPE U LIKED IT!! IVE BEEN HAVING BAD BRAIN ROT SINCE I SAW THE MOVIE! Anyways sunny out 🧚‍♀️

[vxsellie]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ WILD WEST !

— this is just to give u a visual for the world building in ‘tangled bones’. all of the pictures are from pinterest & every town / city / and house depicted is made up, & not at all historically accurate!!!

this will be added to the start & end of each chapter so it's easily accessible. i just wanted to make the little world in my head more tangible for myself while also making my story more digestible for you! if you have any questions or would like certain areas / places added that are mentioned, just ask & i'll be more than happy to indulge you

<< back to masterlist !

UPTOWN

significance. where the strauss family resides

residents. this little town is home to those wealthy enough to sustain living here. rich farmers, business owners, mining rig owner, etc find themselves in uptown due to it being closer to wealthy customers and the railway station that journeys in & out of the town.

desc. uptown is located in the very center of the west, the heart of trade and commerce to all of those involved. thin patches of grass grow here, but it struggles to thrive. brick streets are lined with homes and businesses, the construction maintained and kept nice when compared to any of the neighboring towns. uptown is so large with such a lively population that many consider it a city, seeing as it's on the brink of being deemed one.

STRAUSS RESIDENCE

significance. where our main character, charlotte strauss, grew up ; the house she ran away from.

residents. homes the esteemed strauss family which consists of three members, mother father and daughter. francis strauss, the man of the house, upkeeps the land and provides income to sustain living here. bonnie strauss, francis's third wife, raises her only child within the walls of the home whilst also cooking & cleaning for her little family. charlotte strauss, the only heir to the strauss lineage, was born and raised within this house, birthed in the very bathtub upstairs. this home is all she's known for her entire life. no wonder she had to get out.

desc. the exterior of the strauss residence is depicted in the last image of the 'uptown' section. the home is built of pale blue wood and large white columns, vines and dust tracing the corners of the building. the interior is decorated small and homey, white walls and mahogany flooring and hanging chandeliers.

GOLDENEDGE

significance. where both ellie and joel currently live.

residents. very few people live in goldenedge, the land do vast and far apart that it doesn't exactly have an exact population number. mostly farmers inhabit this land, using its size for crops

desc. deep orange desert sand coats the land, dirt roads and cattle the only sign of life. houses are hundreds of acres apart, neighbors never seeing one another unless meeting is priorly planned. cows and sheep are free to roam the land, so desolate that there's nobody around enough to complain. farmers love this land, fields and hay bales dotting the horizon.

ELLIE'S HOUSE

significance. where the love interest, ellie williams, currently resides.

residents. ellie lives alone in her tiny house, happy in her own company as long as she has the consolation of knowing that nobody will come knocking on her door asking for sugar. she's considered adopting a cat or dog, but sees no point in it due to her rarely being home & always elsewhere ⎯ whether that be out bounty hunting or out drinking with her boss, joel miller.

desc. located in goldenedge ; her house built literally in the middle of nowhere. joel is her closest neighbor and he's about fifteen miles away. ellie prefers it this way, though. the house is white, the paint beginning to chip on the outside. she has a small wrap-around porch where she sits and drinks with joel, overlooking her horse stables and swishing grass. her kitchen has a tiny circular table, only needing two seats ⎯ one in case of joel randomly visiting her (which he does quite frequently). it's decorated lazily, tools and random pictures nailed into the wall haphazardly and without much thought. somehow, though, over the years it's turned into an actually well-decorated space. it's messy at times, but it's cozy and lived in. it's home.

RUBY RIDGE

significance. where most fugitives (including charlotte) are found by bounty hunters.

residents. home to those too poor to afford living in uptown, but wealthy enough to not end up in deadwood. people who live here mostly consist of drunken old men here to gamble and drink, or outlaws running from ellie & joel while trying to sell illegal products to the drunken men. brothels and bootlegging shacks thrive here.

desc. the streets are made of dirt, the buildings on either side made of rotting wood and cheep nails that fall apart weekly. most buildings here struggle to survive the tiniest gust of wind. but, frankly, this is ellie's favorite place in the world. everyone here is so social. kids can be seen running up and down the streets, women luring men into the brothels, men drunk and spending all their money. the atmosphere is so personable despite its slight uneasiness. nobody in ruby ridge has good intentions, but that's what makes the town so lovable.

DEADWOOD

significance. where ellie grew up. until she was fifteen.

residents. people who live in deadwood have a very short life expectancy, to put it bluntly. the townspeople are rude and irritable, but they have good reason ⎯ they're in the act of starving to death. kids here have to steal in order for their families to have enough food to make it through winter. parents pray and hope they don't have kids for fear of needing to provide for another human under their roof.

desc. the slums of the west. buildings are made of stone, jagged and uneven. the streets are nonexistent as nobody here has enough money to afford any form of transportation, even a horse. beggars line the town, ribs poking through their skin as they cough and hack from an incurable illness.

THICKET FOREST

significance. you'll see

residents. seeing as naught but nature exists out here, it's rare to see anybody in thicket forest. sometimes, travelers or traders can be seen on horseback but they rarely stay long, knowing that being out here for too long leads only to death. tons of wildlife is here though!

desc. outside of all the towns and away from civilization, a forest is located in the center of the desert. the trees are lush and green, watering holes thriving in their beauty. but the trip here is two days each way, meaning most sane people would be wise enough to avoid ending up out in thicket forest. after leaving town ⎯ any town ⎯ you're engulfed by desert and sand and cacti. but after a seven hour trip into the distance, shrubs and bushes begin to dot the land, soon fading into trees and a thick foliage. but by then, you're likely too late unless you turn back as soon as you enter the forest. lots and lots of sustenance is required in order to survive a trip to thicket and back. best of luck to anyone who strays out here.

[slackville-records]

John William Coltrane, also known as "Trane"

(September 23, 1926 – July 17, 1967), was an American jazz saxophonist and composer. Working in the bebop and hard bop idioms early in his career, Coltrane helped pioneer the use of modes in jazz and was later at the forefront of free jazz. He organized at least fifty recording sessions as a leader during his career, and appeared as a sideman on many other albums, notably with trumpeter Miles Davis and pianist Thelonious Monk.

As his career progressed, Coltrane and his music took on an increasingly spiritual dimension. His second wife was pianist Alice Coltrane and their son Ravi Coltrane is also a saxophonist. Coltrane influenced innumerable musicians, and remains one of the most significant saxophonists in music history. He received many posthumous awards and recognitions, including canonization by the African Orthodox Church as Saint John William Coltrane and a special Pulitzer Prize in 2007.

John Coltrane at his "Blue Train" session of September 15. 1957 at the Van Gelder Studio, Hackensack, New Jersey.

Photo by © Francis Wolff

A cropped version of the photograph was used on the original album cover.

https://www.facebook.com/TheWorldOfJazz

[teecupangel]

https://youtu.be/ifCWN5pJGIE?si=MvBHr36xNbHdsjYH

This kinda fits Desmonds mom in some way. Thoughts?

Here’s the embed video version for those who don’t wanna copy and paste the link:

I’m just imagining her hearing for the first time that her son, the son she hadn’t seen for nine years, could not even seen or talk to for one last time for the sake of both of their safety, was now dead.

Sacrificing his life to save the world.

Savior?

Messiah?

What used were those moniker to her dead son.

She wouldn’t be able to see him ever again.

She wouldn’t be able to touch his cheeks and take a good look of the man he had become in person.

She wouldn’t be able to smile and say “You’ve grown so much.”

She wouldn’t be able to ask…

“Were you happy these past years?”

“Was letting you go to be free worth the pain of not being by your side for nine long years?”

“It should have been you.”

She felt him freeze, the hands on her shoulders trembling ever so slightly.

“You should have died instead of our son!” She screamed as tears fell from her eyes.

He opened his mouth, most likely to call her name but stopped, letting out a gasp as her hands curled around his throat, squeezing him with the strength of an Assassin that have been in the field since she had been a teenager.

“You share the same blood as him! You’re a descendant of that cursed Auditore-Kenway line these beings haunt!” She shouted.

She could break his neck.

Snap it.

She’d done it before.

She’d kill so many people in the name of the Brotherhood before.

She was raised to be an Assassin.

She could just as easily-

She let out a frustrated scream as she threw him away, covering her eyes as bitter tears fell from her eyes.

He called out her name, his voice hoarse.

Was he grieving as well?

Did he loved their child as much as she did?

Who knows?

Who cares.

“Get out.” She lowered her hands as she ordered, the decades of forcing her emotions to shut down coming to the forefront, “Don’t ever show your face to me again, William Miles.”

Her expression turned to one of frigid nothingness.

It reminded William Miles of a recording of a memory of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

The face the legendary mentor had made when his desire to kill the man who killed his youngest son triumphed over his desire for peace and truth.

“The next time I see you, I will claw open your chest and rip your heart out.” She promised in an emotionless tone.

She watched him leave.

The man she loved and loathed in equal measure.

It should have been him.

No.

It should have been them.

They should have been the one to die in their son’s place.

They both failed him as parents.

And now…

All she had left was a Brotherhood barely afloat and the useless legacy of her blood.

After all…

Those who have the blood of the Ibn-La'Ahad were meant to lose their beloved child.

[whencyclopedia]

The Wreck of the HMS Gloucester

The HMS Gloucester was wrecked in the North Sea, about 30 miles off the shore of Norfolk, England, shortly after dawn on 6 May 1682. It was a warship in the navy of Charles II of England (r. 1660-1685), and at the time of its loss, it was the flagship of a small fleet of ten ships on their way to Scotland to fetch Mary of Modena, the pregnant wife of James, Duke of York, the brother of Charles and the future James II of England (r. 1685-1688).

James Recalled from Exile

James and his wife had been in virtual exile for the best part of three years because they were Catholics, and a vitriolic anti-Catholic mood had spread through the nation in the late 1670s. But Charles, aware of his own failing health and his lack of a legitimate child, was becoming increasingly anxious to rehabilitate James, as his heir, at the center of government.

James, for his part, now that he was being allowed back into London was anxious to make a great show of his return to center stage. So, instead of a low-key voyage in a single royal yacht, which would have been his more usual style of transport, he decided to travel in a third-rate warship, accompanied by five other warships and four royal yachts. The third-rates were the favored ships for longer voyages, faster and more nimble than their larger consorts, and more comfortable and capacious than the smaller ones. The disaster, however, that ensued, and which resulted in the loss of over 150 lives, caused a great furore at the time, and has been a subject of much conjecture and controversy ever since.

On its final voyage, the Gloucester was carrying not just James, but a large coterie of his most loyal friends and supporters, aristocrats like the Earl of Roxburgh, merchants such as Sir James Dick who was Lord Provost of Edinburgh, the slave trader William Freeman, the famous scientist and physician Sir Charles Scarborough, and military men like John Churchill, who was later to become the Duke of Marlborough. As well as these notables, a large number of James' royal household were on board, together with a handpicked selection of royal musicians for entertainment on route, and his own huntsmen for his amusement when he arrived. In addition to all these passengers, there were nearly 200 seamen on the ship.

Book Excerpt

Continue reading...

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

You know how in Spare Harry talked about a false rumour that Charles and Camilla made up about William? Well, everyone seems to agree it was the one about Catherine and Rose that later originated the affair rumor.

My question is, why wouldn't Harry tell exactly what rumour he was talking about? It is not like he had any problem woth giving details about other stories. If the affair is false, than why wouldn't he say it explicit? Doenst he want to clear William image and protect the brother and family he "loves"? Seems strange... I wonder what his tought process is

Harry couldn’t do more because he doesn’t actually know what happened:

I couldn’t get the whole story, he was talking too fast, and was way too upset. He was seething actually. I gathered that Pa and Camilla’s people had planted a story or stories about him and Kate, and the kids, and he wasn’t going to take it anymore. Give Pa and Camilla an inch, he said, they take a mile. They’ve done this to me for the last time.

I got it. They’d done the same to me and Meg as well.

(recap of a previous situation with Charles and Camilla)

I was glad that Willy felt he could still come to me about Pa and Camilla, even after all we’d been through recently. Seeing an opportunity to address our recent tensions, I tried to connect “what Pa and Camilla had done to him with what the press had done to Meg.

Willy snapped: I’ve got different issues with you two! In a blink he shifted all his rage onto me. I can’t recall his exact words, because I was beyond tired from all our fighting, to say nothing of the recent move into Frogmore, and into new offices—and I was focused on the imminent birth of our first child. But I recall every physical detail of the scene. The daffodils out, the new grass sprouting, a jet taking off from Heathrow, heading west, unusually low, its engines making my chest vibrate. I remember thinking how remarkable that I could still hear Willy above that jet. I couldn’t imagine how he had that much anger left after the confrontation in Nott Cott.

He was going on and on and I lost the thread. I couldn’t understand and I stopped trying. I fell silent, waiting for him to subside.

So in other words, Harry - who claims to be his brother’s best friend and confidante - didn’t care enough about what his brother was going through to pay attention to what he was actually saying, but cares enough to note the scenery and justified it as being tired of fighting.

Yeah, that’s not a reliable narrator. That’s an asshole who probably took an edible and is trying to cover it up.

Anyway, the devil is in the details. Either Harry didn’t know what William was talking about or Harry is trying to hide his (and Meghan’s complicity) in whatever happened. Probably both, since Harry’s vivid description of the scenery is classic “smoke and shadows” deception.

My theory: William called Harry to vent about something Charles and Camilla had leaked to the press totally unrelated to the affair rumor, Harry made it about him and Meghan, and then William popped off about Harry and Meghan leaking to the press and Harry can’t have that because Harry is the valiant hero fighting to slay the press dragon and no one can know that he and/or his wife are the ones talking to the press.

[the-empress-7]

My completely made-up tin-hat theory about the aquamarine ring is this -

Meghan was lent that aquamarine ring for her reception as something of Harry's mum (Diana) to wear for the big day, and also a sweet nod to something blue. I think William may have had a hand in this decision and it was mainly something nice he did for his brother. Meghan and her PR then ran with it and said she inherited the ring as Harry's wife. The products cycle around that was massive and may have put William and the BRF on high alert with the way Meghan was claiming to now own that ring. There may have been some difficulties getting that ring back from Meghan after that.

I've thought this because very soon after this, during the aus tour, there was an article (in the Times maybe?) that said William had banned Meghan from ever borrowing any BRF jewels. At the time I thought what was this decision based on? Apart from the wedding tiara Meghan had not been lent any other BRF jewels, except for Diana's aquamarine ring. So was there maybe some problem in getting that back from her?

Then she wore the blood diamond earings and made a big deal about how she owns them. And she wore them twice just to make a statement. So who was she making this statement for? The public didn't know the full story then. The staff didn't even know she was going to wear these, so why would she have travelled with those earings all the way to Australia? My guess was that she was showing the middle finger to whoever had said no to loaning her BRF or Diana jewels.

My guess is that because of Williams' position and him being the eldest son all her estate was inherited by William and not infact divided 50/50. When he turned 30, his sisters and brother (who had probably been the caretakers and keeping it at althorp) gave it to him.

Sometimes last year, karen Spencer said as much in her comments section on insta on a Diana related post.

Because of the provenance of her jewellery, it may have gone in bulkto William as part of the estate (ie , inheritance). Harry may have just inherited the money and trust fund. And some smaller keepsakes for sentimental reasons. He likely did not mind this earlier, but Meghan, once she got to know, took offence. But neither of them would say anything against the Spencers and what is likely a perfectly legally binding inheritance situation. .

Talk about stories that are a blast from the past! I think your aquamarine ring theory is pretty solid. If we know anything about Meghan, it's that if you give her an inch she will take a mile.

I do think William banning her from borrowing royal jewelry had to do with Tiara Gate and the appalling way she and Harry treated everyone as a result of it. Also remember that things went south very quickly after the wedding. By the time the Sucks left for ANZ, William had already started the process of kicking them out of the Royal Foundation. The stuff that we the public know, is just the tip of the iceberg.

If Meghan really did still have some of Diana's jewelry in her possession there is no way in hell that she wouldn't be wearing it all the damn time. Instead she is left cosplaying her outfits.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1935 Duesenberg

Clark Gable and his 1935 Duesenberg

His wife, Carole Lombard, had one too, which is now in a museum in NZ.

HOLLYWOOD, Calif.

Its 420-cubic-inch straight-8 pulled like a train; it was reputed to have a 115-m.p.h. top speed – “right off the showroom floor,” It could exceed 100 m.p.h. in the second of its three gears, boasted E. L. Cord, the company’s president at the time. Its wheelbase of nearly 12 feet gives the car a poised, unflappable ride. And its massive steering wheel guides the wheels straight and true – although its vacuum assisted drum brakes provide the car somewhat uncertain stopping power.

Today, the car’s odometer shows 13,416 miles.

It was January 25, 1936 and Clark Gable had a new car to show off – to a new object of his affections. She was actress Carole Lombard, and the hostess of the lavish White Mayfair Ball, a formal Hollywood soiree, to which Gable drove his 1935 Duesenberg Model JN convertible that night.

The suave actor eventually convinced Miss Lombard to “take a spin around town” with him; when he invited her to his suite a few miles away at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, she famously replied, “Who do you think you are? Clark Gable?”

They weren’t exactly strangers; they had already co-starred together in “No Man of Her Own”. After filming wrapped Miss Lombard presented Mr. Gable with a ham – with his picture on it! But their professional relationship went no further at that point; Miss Lombard was then married to William Powell (she divorced him a couple of years later).

Nevertheless, after they re-connected at the White Mayfair Ball, a scandalous affair ensued; Mr. Gable, still married, was often spotted traveling in the Duesenberg with Miss Lombard from her bungalow on Hollywood Blvd. to night spots, restaurants and hotels all over town. One of those places, The Georgian Hotel in nearby Santa Monica, now advertises the couple had trysts there often.