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phoeebsbuffay · 6 months

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Imagine you and General Skywalker are roommates. 🤭😏

Warnings: smut & fluff, drama; rom-com vibes—i tried anyways.

Warnings 2: no minors.

Recommendations: “Die For You” (the version with Ariana Grande); “The Love We Had Stays On My Mind” (Joss Stone).

***

• How it started…

You and Anakin first met when both of you were younglings. He wasn’t the kindest in the room, but you were. In this particular case, opposites did attract one another. Thus you soon kindled.

“I can’t believe you are dragging me to this picnic”, the young boy was grumbling as you had this idea of eating outdoors: a suggestion of making it a form to practice the Force was promptly accepted and encouraged by your Master.

“Must you complain all the time?”, you giggle at him.

Anakin’s blue eyes are glued in your y/c hair, tangled in a simple braid; your y/c skin, so smooth and shiny; your y/c eyes…how much fondness he sees in those irises. Why, yes. He knows you care for him, a sentiment he cannot compare yet to what that Lady Angel named Padmé brought to him, but even so.

“Yes, since I cannot refuse you anything”, he blurted out without second thoughts.

Simple as that. But this was how it began: a friendship with different shades, painting a variety of possibilities that would yet be played out.

***

• Twilight of adolescence.

You are so concentrated in your meditation that you don’t realize Anakin’s eyes are stuck in how serene you look. He is mesmerized at how easily you do it, though partially envious because, unlike him, you are calm.

But his thoughts unbalance you. Thus you open your eyes and smirk at him:

“Do you conveniently forget that I can read your thoughts?”

“Maybe”, he smirks back. “I mean how the hell do you do it effortlessly? Frankly, my dear Y/N, there must be a trick.”

You scoff at his wording.

“Please, Ani. You speak as if you don’t regularly overpower me in our trainings.”

He takes a seat next to your side, glancing at you with amusement behind his eyes. He is wearing that Padawan braid you are so familiar with, having one yourself tied in a lock of your hair.

“You underestimate yourself a little too much”, Anakin slightly shoulders you. “Remember when you knocked me down?”

“That was only because you got yourself thinking a little too much about the pretty Senator”, you tease him, shouldering him back.

Both of you giggle at the memory.

“What happened to her anyways?”, you ask him. “I thought you were having a thing?”

Anakin’s smirk is wiped out of his face, but what concerns you is the gloom that eclipses the brightness of his face.

“She is, let’s just say, unreachable.”

“I’m sorry, Ani”, you whisper, aware how he came to love her. “I truly am.”

Uncomfortable with such a topic, but maybe because, unbeknownst to you, he’s been trapped in a confusing web he wove where there had been no space for anyone but Padmé Amiadala until your smiles, gentlenesses and every virtue you’ve been praised for, got him.

Hence why the moody Anakin storms out and leaves you there, guilty and upset for being the one to send away such a gleeful moment.

But such torment soon ends. Anakin comes for you later the same day in order to apologize for being so rude. He is baffled by how easily you forgive him, and when you promptly hold him—tighter than usual—he realizes friendship is not enough.

How long, however, will it take for him to tell you how feels?

Worst, how much longer will you be able to hold your feelings for yourself?

Only time will tell…

***

• Early adulthood.

You have just returned from Aldeeran when master H/N assigns you a mission next to your long time friend Anakin, now known as General Skywalker.

As much as you’ve been pleased to follow his path as a rising star, becoming good friends with the sweet Ahsoka, you have caught a glimpse of something deeper and which concerns you. But you wait before you have the opportunity to discuss this properly.

“Hey Y/Nickname”, he greets you warmly, although something about his eyes gives you chills. “What’s up? It’s been a long time!”

You decide to knock whatever tension there’s been between the two of you with an embrace. But when breathing his scent by burying your head against his neck, your heart skips a beat and your mental defenses are melted.

Anakin, caught off guard by your kind gesture—something he’s barely seen these days—, finds himself slightly emotional… until he has the opportunity to find out at long last that you feel for him what he feels for you.

This is a discovery that mixes his feelings. It fuels his impulsivity at the same time that gives a bittersweet flavor to know the years that have been wasted. Adding to that there is the factor that Anakin has been growing distasted to the Jedi Order.

So much to be felt by the intense Jedi. But nothing gives him more joy than knowing you love him as much as he loves you. However… a question is silently posed in the back of his mind: how can he tell you how he feels?

As one reluctantly untangles from the other, you are quick to break the silence.

“I have some good news! Master H/N wants us to work together at Mandalore! Our first mission, General Skywalker”, you tease him, pleased to see you are still able to make him laugh. “I pray not to disappoint you, sir”, you add a not very graceful curtsy to your speech.

He notices today your y/c hair is loose and messy. It gives him naughty ideas, but Anakin struggles to compose himself. Instead, he places one hand over your shoulder and says:

“When have your ever disappointed me, Y/N? What nonsense you speak of”, he side smirks at you.

But every sweet moment dies when two Masters come along. Windu is followed by Obi-Wan Kenobi and the look on their countenances is not indicating any sign of pleasantness. You also notice the tension in Anakin’s shoulders. To worse, has he started to wear darker robes? A thought that displeases you internally.

“General Skywalker and Jedi Y/LN, the Council greets you well”, he speaks formally and both you and Anakin acknowledge the gesture by nodding your heads. “I’ve come to deliver the follow instructions concerning Mandalore. Be aware that even though you may be roommates for the occasion, you must not…”

And here he starts to scowl. But you haven’t been paying attention after that small word stuck inside your head.

Roommates?

Me and Anakin?

You side eye discreetly to your long time friend in search of anything that could give away whether he felt repulse or something you hope to be the opposite of it, but to your disappointment there is nothing to find.

You must calm your nerves, you decide. Being no longer a teenager, you remind yourself that you must not form any romantic attachment… especially where your best friend is concerned.

***

• Roommates, it is!

“You are too quiet, Y/Nickname”, Anakin says whilst piloting to Mandalore. “This is the moment where you shout at me for almost making you sick.”

You smirk, albeit unwillingly.

“I am often quiet. I usually leave the babbling for you”, so you retort.

He chuckles.

“No, you are nervous because Mace Windu himself told you that we’d be roommates. But I believe you took this a literal meaning, darling. We are piloting together and getting into the room of the thing we are meant to destroy”, Anakin explains with a hint of amusement that brings you to annoyance.

“And you never cared to let this clear?”

“Absolutely not”, Anakin smirks with that characteristically smug look on his face. “It’s so much fun when you are angry with me. But besides I do think we are sharing one room at the Duchess’s palace. Don’t forget you are going disguised.”

You avoid his gaze, face completely red.

“It’s all very confusing.”

By the time you are landing, Anakin smirks again at you before the remark that would get you redder—if possible:

“What’s so confusing? Sharing a bed with me shouldn’t be so bad, should it?”

“I hate you, Anakin Skywalker”, It’s all you manage to respond.

There is a ball going on to welcome some of the Mandalorian’s allies. Whilst Anakin is there to represent the Senate, you are disguised as the lady of Planet Y/C. The moment you show up with your hair y/c hanging loose in your back, dressed in green, Anakin’s eyes go slightly wide.

He is about to make a joke (“Aren’t you showing some cleavage?”), but in truth he drinks from the view. Anakin realizes he’s been delaying so long the moment between you two. He wants to discover every bit of you, wondering what would be like to kiss you, to make you a puddle of a mess…

“Why are you looking at me like that?”, you interrupt him, sounding more nervous than you’d care to admit.

“You look gorgeous, Y/N”, he takes your hand and there presses a soft kiss, taking pleasure in noticing the goosebumps on your skin and the struggle behind your eyes.

He’d definitely kiss you… had you both not been rudely interrupted by no other than C3-P0 informing the feast is ready and you are expected to be met by the duchess soon.

“And here I go”, you say rather awkwardly.

“You’ll be fine. To be honest, you fit more in damsel roles than otherwise”, Anakin says in a teasing tone.

You stick out your tongue.

“If that is your way to compliment me, am I supposed to thank you?”

“You’re welcome”, says he, bringing you out to laughters, which pleases him quite so.

It occurs you, albeit a little too late, to finally unburden your heart by venting your thoughts.

“Ani, I must…”, you are about to tell him when, once again, you are interrupted.

To your dismay, and Anakin’s consternation, the moment where every wall is about to be knocked down is delayed. Again.

He watches as you get the attention of every being there present at the feast. And Anakin grows possessive at each gaze that follows your moves.

Maybe there is a risk of ruining this mission, but the General cares little about it. He must have you, he must tell you how ardently he loves you, how…

“Lady Y/N”, he gets to you discreetly, in a nonchalant posture when he’s burning inside. “May I have a word with you?”

You cast him a suspicious look at him: didn’t you two agree the time to speak would occur later?

But regally you smile and, playing your role, grant him your hand.

“Of course, General. What’s it?”

“I am not feeling very well”, Anakin’s anxiety breaks in.

“Oh”, you promptly leave your disguise off. “Let us go back to the quarters then. I may have something.”

Perhaps in private this will come out better, Anakin hopes in silence. He agrees, watching as you forget discretion when taking his hand, locking fingers with you, as you lead the way.

It appears that no one notices your absence—or maybe you and Anakin used the Jedi trick to make it seem so. Regardless, once you and him are back to your quarters, you finally realize he’s about to explode.

“Ani…”

“You must allow me to express how I feel”, he rushes to you, cupping your face with both hands. “I love you, Y/N Y/LN. I have loved you for a long time and I cannot waste my days and night away thinking about the possibilities of being more than your friend and Jedi mate. I must know… Please tell me how you feel, for I shall not nurture if…”

You smile in relief and seeing the confusion stamped in his face, you make all clear by locking your lips against his in a soft kiss.

Little by little, however, the kiss deepens, but because there is some uncertainty in what direction should it go, you and Anakin part it—albeit reluctantly.

“Well, roomie, looks like we are finally free of this weight”, he muses it, eyeing you with such devotion that your knees go weak.

You giggle softly, watching with the same sentiment as he rests his cheek against your cheek. Your heart races at this moment.

“It’s too late to go back now”, you smile at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to return to Senator Amidala’s arms?”

Anakin rolls his eyes at your provocation.

“Really now, Y/N?”

“I just had to be sure”, you say it playfully, but Anakin can see through your jest the shadow of old insecurities.

Resting his forehead against yours, he snakes his arms around your waist.

“There is only one woman in my life. I lament it took me years to see it, but the only woman I truly and passionately love is you, Y/N Y/LN. There is no space whatsoever for anybody else.”

To reassure you, the General kisses you passionately this time to prove his point.

***

• ‘The Love We Have…’

You are restless this evening. Although you had claimed earlier that a fatigue led you to an unbearable migraine, your body is protesting against the absence of your lover.

Anakin has been occupied at Mandalore’s Moon, there dealing with a group of people that are perceived by many as terrorists, all the whilst you’ve been carried to other parts of Mandalore on behalf of Duchess Satine herself.

Now you are back and you are aching for him. A desperation that burns your legs and rises in further protestation within your heart, there causing a riot you cannot shut.

Well, there might be a solution for this problem… and the idea makes you blush. You cannot divert from it, as much as it gives you embarrassment. But it’s been too much to handle. Besides, you could always use the Force…

Unaware Anakin is coming, he too possessed by the same urge, you toss away the blankets and let the moonlight come through the partially open curtain. You’ve always felt like you belonged to the nights anyway…

You close your eyes, ready to meditate. Your mind anxiously begins to trace his features, his blue eyes, his muscles… his physique, his smile. Oh how he smiles at you like that often made you wet in between your legs, as it’s doing now.

You are short breath, never having experience to touch yourself. You always had second thoughts about it, besides Anakin usually did a great job. But he’s not there and the mere reminder fuels your frustration.

However, concentrated you are in such a struggle you barely hear the door opening. You don’t see that Anakin comes from the shadows with the look of a hunter: he’s been sensing you, every thought, every sentiment that runs within, from afar.

A sly smirk pops in the corner of the Jedi’s lips as he steps silently so he doesn’t ruin your moment. Anakin is already rigid in his pants just by hearing your unspoken thoughts. He removes his shirt in a synchronized gesture with you, as you do the same.

Completely bare, he, however, refuses to release the pressure on himself. He wants you, he wants to be the one to lead you there—yes, Anakin knows he’s possessive and egoistic towards you, but he’s also been aware that these traits you not only accept, but enjoy secretively.

“My love”, he whispers as soon as he locates himself behind you, arms around your waist; a smirk twists to a smile when seeing the effect he still has on you. “Have you missed me?”

You freeze upon his words. Your stunned silence is a positive indication of your distrust that this is the real him. Anakin further smiles, his hands running up and down your arms.

“You haven’t forgotten me, have you?”, he mumbles against your ear, bitting your earlobe gently. “Have you, my darling?”

Hungry for his touch, you lean back and pursuit his lips. As he corresponds you passionately, Anakin wraps one hand around your neck all the whilst he uses the other to cup your right breast.

“Hmmm”, he gently groans under his breath when feeling how easily he makes your nipple hardening under his touch. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

“Ani!”, you gasp in full pleasure, your body already giving in to his sweet, skillful hands. “I beg you!”

“Is my princess begging now?”, his husky voice makes you wet and he pompously watches as you rub one leg to the other. “Have I turned such a powerful Jedi in a beggar?”

You enjoy being easily overpowered by him, how he uses that dark side you know so well to your favour. But your mind stops retracing your thoughts for you go absolutely insane as he kisses your neck and now releases the hand around your neck to play with your left breast.

“I-I am, yes! I am, Master!”, you cry out, already unbearably soaked. “Don’t tease further, you know I’ve missed you…”

You arch your back the moment his fingers twirl your nipples, caressing each slowly, yes, but passionately too. His eyes are glued in your reactions: aware of how to tease you, how to make you come undone to him, Anakin is aroused at the idea of your submission. You promptly submit to him and he realizes he loves when you beg.

But more than that, he loves you.

“Let me sooth your needs, darling”, so the General says when slipping his right hand into your feminine core. And finally, he slides one finger into you. “Fuck! So damn wet for me?”

You cast him a lustful gaze, transmitting every indecent thought that he seeded with his departure. Anakin laughs quietly as he captures it, kissing you slowly as he teases you.

“My angel, you and I shall not be merely roomies. No, no”, he vows, watching as you smirk under his pleasantries. “Oh you like that, don’t you?”

Anakin gives small bites against your skin as he now inserts another finger. He takes his time there and when sensing your climax, the Jedi then carefully moves on top of you after lying you down gently—without stopping pleasing you.

“Yes, my love. Come to me”, the Jedi encourages you softly, smiling down at you as you arch your back and enlace him with your legs, all the whilst leaning to kiss his lips fervently.

But this is only the beginning.

As much as you enjoying riding him, you prefer when he’s on top of you, being the bossy man he is. Your lips curl on a sly smirk when there is no need to speak it out as one understands the other perfectly well.

“You play the difficult one outside, but damn here you submit easily, uh?”, Anakin teases you, slowly moving inside you, locking hands with you above your head.

“I hate how you know me so damn well”, you growl under your breath.

“Darling, hate is not the Jedi way”, Anakin smirks, getting yourself a smile before he kisses you passionately.

Leaving lust aside, this is the moment where one soul intimately links the other as the bodies connect. Anakin is careful with you, watchful at every reaction he evokes on you.

And you as well. You want him desperately so, every part of him, you don’t want to let go of him. To feel his manhood right where you want him to is just…

So…

Damn…

Good.

Perfection, indeed.

“Ani”, you moan loudly, already feeling the waves of pleasure you gladly prepare to drown into.

“Yes, Y/Nickname?”, he groans softly at each thrust, him too not far from you.

“I love you”, you gasp.

“I love you too”, he whispers back, before going down to your skin with his tongue, taking his time in every bit of you.

Soon, the whispers turn into screams and every intensity rests ashore.

***

• New Beginnings.

When the mission in Mandalore is complete, you and Anakin are expected to go back to Coruscant. However, before doing that, Anakin leads you to planet Y/C, where you and him are secretly married.

“We are husband and wife now”, you remark blissfully. “Who’d ever thought we came this far?!”

“I would”, so says Anakin, side smirking at you.

“There was a Senator that could have taken my place, though…”, you tease, earning him an eye roll.

“Come here, silly head.”

He pulls you close, mesmerized by how shiny your eyes are, transmitting every bit of happiness when you look at him.

“I love you”, says your husband, smiling when seeing you blush. “There has only been you, Mrs Skywalker. As it will be.”

“It better be. I love you too, Mr Skywalker.”

Between giggles, you two share a kiss, spotting a very bright future ahead of you…

#star wars #star wars imagine #anakin skywalker #imagine star wars #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker x you #Anakin Skywalker x female reader #Anakin Skywalker smut

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jkesstuff · 5 months

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Over 18 Wrestling Team #2

Two days after the intense wrestling session that left Jay physically sore and emotionally bewildered, the ache in his body was a constant reminder of the unexpected turn his life had taken. Yet, curiosity and a lingering desire drew him back to the wrestling gym, despite the whirlwind of emotions from his previous encounter.

A week later, the wrestling gym beckoned again, and Jay, caught in the tangled web of curiosity and uncertainty, returned. Jennifer, blissfully unaware of the tempest within Jay, suggested another visit, unwittingly setting the stage for a continuation of Jay's intense wrestling encounters and more.

Walking into the gym, Jay observed the familiar members, their toned bodies and tight singlets triggering memories of his previous experiences. Among the sea of familiar faces, Connor stood out. Spotting Jay from across the hall, he grinned eagerly as he waved and shouted, "Glad to see you back for round 2!" Standing next to him however was an unfamiliar figure—Will. Standing at 5'9", with a jacked physique and a presence that exuded confidence, Will brought a fresh dynamic to the wrestling mat. His eyes bore a promise of a different kind of challenge, and Jay couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation mingled with nerves.

In the locker room, Jay adorned himself with yet another snug-fitting wrestling suit, the garment seemingly eager to mold itself to the contours of his body. The hum of conversations among the team members created an atmosphere charged with unspoken anticipation, an undercurrent of desires that lingered beneath the surface.

Stepping onto a discrete corner of the mat, Jay waited for someone to join him. He had expected it to be Connor, but instead, Will showed up. His encounter with Will unfolded like a dance of strength and submission. The sequence of moves echoed his previous encounter with Connor, albeit in a different order, as Will deployed moves differently. Will's voice, a low, husky murmur, punctuated the struggle. "Thought you'd come back for more, Jay?" he remarked, locking eyes with Jay in a way that conveyed a silent understanding.

"I... I needed to see how I'd fare," Jay replied, his words strained as Will increased the pressure. The familiarity of submission holds and the intensity of their physical proximity wove a tapestry of sensations that Jay grappled with.

During the exchange of power on the mat, Will's hands, strong and assertive, traced a deliberate path along Jay's inner thigh. The touch was not a mere accident but a calculated exploration of boundaries that sent shivers through Jay's body. The directness of Will's actions left little room for interpretation, and Jay found himself entangled not just in the physical struggle but in the intricate dance of desires. It wasn't long before Jay and Will's bulges started to strain within their singlets.

Like clockwork, the coach blew his whistle to indicate it was time to pack up. We put the mats away and the coach went home. The rest of the team made their way to the shower room.

In the steamy shower room, mist hung in the air like a veil of secrecy, creating an almost surreal ambiance. Connor, with a sly grin, greeted Jay, "Back for another round, eh?" Jay's head bowed in submission, knowing what awaited him as he walked into the shower room. This time, he shed his singlet more immediately, a mixture of anticipation and resignation filling the air. The echoes of water cascading off smooth, toned bodies, interspersed with the sound of scattered moans.

It wasn't Connor waiting for his "reward" but Will. Walking up to the locker room bench where Jay was seated, he commanded, "Down on your knees". Looking up, Jay saw a fully-naked Will pointing to his throbbing member. The steamy air seemed to amplify the intensity of the moment as Will, standing tall, observed Jay with a sense of authority. Jay, acutely aware of the implications, complied hesitantly, and excitedly.

Replaying in his mind what happened between him and Connor, he began to take hold of Will's erect member, and started stroking it. As Will's penis twitched in Jay's hand, it became increasingly lubricated with precum.

"Let's head to the showers", Will said authoritatively, adding, "you'll get a surprise". Picking Jay up, he led him over to the shower by grabbing onto Jay's own erect member.

As the water started running, Will's hands explored boundaries, leaving little space for Jay to pause. Again, he assertively pushed Jay down onto his knees, and began slapping his cock round Jay's face in triumph. "Open your mouth," he demanded, gripping the back of Jay's head and thrusting his member into Jay's mouth.

A sexy scene unfolded, a complex mix of sensations, resistance, and acquiescence. Jay gagged at times, even as he worked hard to give Will a good (and sloppy) blowjob. If Will's moans and frantic thrusting were any indicator, it must have at least been decent, Jay thought to himself.

"Oh fuck, Connor was right, there's no way you're 100% straight" Will said.

"I'm gonna cum". As he said that his cock erupted, shooting a huge warm load down Jay's throat. Jay had wanted to pull away, but Will's strong hands kept Jay's mouth tightly around his pulsating member.

Will, now seemingly satisfied, grabbed Jay up from the ground. Patting his cheeks, he casually remarked, "Thanks for the relief, see you next week!"

The nonchalant farewell carried the weight of an unspoken understanding, leaving Jay standing amidst the mist, wrestling not just with his body but with the complex emotions that clung to him like the tight-fitting wrestling suit.

He looked down, and realised that he too had shot his load.

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allxthatxisxlost · 7 years

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[ @oftheothcrworld { Talharin } continued from here ]

“What are those words…? Where do they come from?” Talharin’s voice was a wondering murmur as he stood at the Citadel window, staring out at the cold night and the city below, lights gleaming from within the mountain’s ancient crater. “I cannot place them, but it feels as though I may know them.” High Loft, below them, was sleeping peacefully, no one still about in the streets save those Guardsmen unfortunate enough to have the night shift, and the occasional drunkard stumbling out of one of the cities many pubs at the sound of the closing bell. Talharin thought that the city was at its most beautiful in the middle-night, long before the morning chorus of the birds. THIS IS WHAT I DEFEND, he thought, THIS IS WHAT I FIGHT FOR. PEOPLE AT REST, WITHOUT A CAUSE FOR WORRY. Talharin would RESISTfor this reason, no matter what they did to him. He would resist, if he could save but one person from ever having to be afraid. @ALLXTHATXISXLOST

Where once there had been uncertainty and reluctance, even perhaps the smallest amount of fear, there are no such deterrents now, and Talharin would soon find himself with her arms loosely snaked around his waist and her body snug against his back.

“I think I heard it once in a song, and I suppose I never forgot it,” she answers, lips barely brushing feather-light against the small amount of skin near the base of his neck, exposed by his current attire, before pressing a gentle kiss there.

For a moment, she simply allows that to suffice, for the stillness of the night to reign… at last, however, she speaks again, her voice quiet.

“… It helps. Sometimes… When you’re away. When I want you here.”

When the nightmares of her own past get the better of her and she wants him there to reassure her that she is safe.

When she wakes up screaming and has to focus to feel that ever-present connection between the two of them. To feel his heartbeat in time with hers. To know that he is alive.

When she starts awake in the middle of the night feeling his pain and wants nothing more than to hold him close and keep him safe.

When nothing that she wants matters because he might as well be a world away again and to go to him might risk far more than she would ever be willing to gamble.

Unbidden, tears spring to her eyes, a few silently slipping down her face, and she presses herself just a little closer and holds him just a little tighter, as though by that alone, she could protect him from all those who would harm him and from all of the harms he would take upon himself to protect others…

#oftheothcrworld #|| a changéd heart ||#|| caught in the tangled webs we wove ||#|| the arrow & the song ||

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thran-duils · 4 years

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Performance Art

Title: Performance Art Summary: Fem!Reader x Ransom Drysdale. The reader is married to Ransom; a picture of their life and flashback to when they met. If she had been here by her own choice and her own choice alone, things may be better for her. Ransom is devious though and is able to tangle her into his web. Words: 4,482 Author’s Note: I would tag it dark!Ransom, but tbh, he is the perfect character to be writing for this type of thing. Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Dub-con, dub-con smut, body shaming, coercion, emotional abuse, loveless relationship

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You caught a reflection of yourself in the window. A tight deep blue dress – Ransom’s favorite color of course – practically painted on your curves. It was the first time you had worn heels this high in almost a year -- the pregnancy causing too much swelling in your feet. The silver straps of them wove around your foot, a band around your ankle. You had thought humorlessly to yourself earlier it was like you were willingly putting on shackles –

“Y/N?”

You blinked, your attention zoning back into the dining table.

Ransom’s aunt Joni was looking at you across the table, a wide smile on her face. She smiled even wider if that was possible, “There you are. Looks like you were on, like, Mars or something.” A few light laughs shared at your expense echoed around hers. “I said, you look amazing. How did you do it?”

You snuck a quick look down at yourself. Right. Your weight. Post pregnancy. Of course that was an appropriate topic of conversation at the Drysdale dinner table. Everything was about appearance.

“Well—”

“Luckily, Y/N has got great genes,” Ransom cut in from beside you. You closed your mouth, gaze turned towards him. You had taken too long to respond for his liking, once again. “Plus, she is really motivated in the gym. Not to mention, a tuck does a lot of wonders.”

You almost visibly blanched. Almost. You were good at hiding your emotions now.

Joni let out a sharp, shrill laugh. Waving her hand at you, she said, “I knew you weren’t perfect! There was no way. Aw, Y/N, nothing to be ashamed of. I had it done too. Couldn’t stand to look at myself after Meg. She wreaked ab-so-lute havoc. Still does. Luckily not on my body though now, so it’s easier to deal with.”

“Thanks, mom,” Meg muttered, throwing her a disdainful look.

“I didn’t wait long either. They told me to wait six months,” Joni said, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “I just couldn’t.”

“Same,” Donna chimed in from down the table. Joni gave her a nod of solidarity.

“Doctor said if she was having the surgery, it should wait until after breastfeeding,” Ransom said for you. “Well, that’s why the baby is on formula.”

He tossed you a quick smirk, cutting into his steak. You watched the red seep from the flesh of it onto the plate, trying to disassociate from him divulging things that should be secret.

“And that’s perfectly fine,” Joni said firmly. “You know, I don’t care what some people say, formula is just as good for the baby as breastmilk. People should trust science more.” You heard a small snort from down the table and did not even have to look to know who it emanated from.

“Of course you would disagree with something regarding science,” Meg quipped at Jacob.

“When it’s filled with mass media lies –”

“Alright,” Donna said cutting into the conversation uncomfortably. Luckily, Walt had left the room to go to the bathroom; he no doubt would have encouraged Jacob’s tirade. Tenseness quickly melted away to charm, “Anyway, Y/N. You do look lovely. And the baby is just beautiful.”

The baby. Yes. The baby being cradled by Fran in another room currently instead of you. Away from the table in case he cried and disrupted dinner. He was beautiful for the aesthetic but when it came to dinner – or any other event Ransom deemed took precedence to your child’s presence -- his preciousness only extended into the collective patience so far.

“Yes, he is sure is a little bundle of joy,” Richard announced, looking proud. Proud of his new grandson and continuing his family line.

A perfectly crafted, artificial smile. “Yes. He is.”

<> <> <>

…TWO AND A HALF YEARS EARLIER

“What the absolute SHIT!”

A shout rang over the water of your shower. You stalled, straining to hear if there was anything else, trying to figure out what was going on.

“What the hell! Who the hell set my alarm to basically blow my goddamn fucking eardrums?”

Shit.

You rinsed your hair quickly, cursing the fact your refreshing shower was being cut short. You had over indulged on the vodka last night and the cool water was like heaven. And now you were going to have to deal with this.

Wrapping your towel around yourself, you continued to hear a loud conversation continuing about who had decided to try to blow someone’s eardrum and not to mention, wake them at an ungodly hour.

It was nine in the morning.

You left the bathroom quickly, walking over to the railing to look down the staircase to the ground-floor landing. You leaned against the oak, peering down at the looming figure over your roommate, Malcolm.

“Look, Ransom, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. We were all drinking. Just go back to bed, man.”

The other guy, Ransom, scoffed loudly. “Go back to bed? Malcolm, my ear is still ringing like a motherfucker!”

Malcolm threw his hands out, “Then do you want breakfast? Alyssa has it cooking.”

Ransom exhaled loudly, annoyance still evident. “Whatever,” he muttered, rubbing his ear, and turned away from Malcolm.

Malcolm all but rolled his eyes before saying, “Well, when you are hungry, it’s in the kitchen. I bet it would really help with the hangover.”

He turned and walked off.

Ransom looked after him before shaking his head and making to go back down the hall to the guest room where he had been sleeping.

Something was bubbling in your chest to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted.

Ransom’s eyes were on you in a moment a floor above him, leaning over the railing in only your towel. Now that he was looking at you and you had drawn attention to yourself, you were quickly losing whatever resolve had forced its way out of you.

“I… I think it was me?” you said uncertainly. “I mean, with your alarm. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I had turned it up that loudly.”

He was burning a hole through you with the way he was staring at you. The seconds stretched into miles, just waiting for him to say something.

“You should keep your hands off my shit.”

The words stung. You were not sure what you had expected but maybe with an apology, you thought you would quell his frustration even a little bit. Apparently, that was not the case.

Ransom tore his gaze away from you and stormed off down the hallway leaving you gripping the bannister nervously.

<> <> <>

You would have gotten over the exchange if only you had not run into him a few days later. You were attending a business convention, trying to get a leg up in the industry; you were close to graduating. There were a lot of big names there and you had been drawn to Linda Drysdale, who had taken an immediate liking, you believed, to you. She was all charm and compliments, but they were constructive compliments, not merely for flattery. She claimed to be self-made -- you noted to yourself to investigate that later – and that was encouraging for you.

“Ah, did not expect to see you here,” She said over your shoulder.

You turned your head and your heart dropped into your stomach recognizing him. Ransom. He was dressed nicer now; hair slicked back, donning a dark grey cashmere sweater and cream trousers.

Turning away quickly, heart beginning to pound, you hoped he had not recognized you.

“Seems I can’t get away from you.”

No such luck.

Linda looked at you and then back at Ransom. “You two know each other?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘know’. I don’t even know her name. She just lives with my friend.”

“Oh. Hmm. That is an odd coincidence then,” Linda said. “Well, her name is Y/N and she is about to graduate – with honors as her esteemed mentor happened to mention to me and she had neglected to herself,” she gave you a slight wink. She had already teased you about being too modest about your accomplishments earlier in your conversation. It was only because Dr. Ewiler – and old friend of hers – had walked by and joined the conversation briefly and spoke you up that she knew about your grades. “With majors in Entrepreneurship and Accounting.”

Ransom peered down his nose at you, still not sitting down in one of the chairs. “Fascinating,” he said flatly.

Red came to your cheeks at his impertinent demeanor and Linda noticed.

Linda scoffed, looking embarrassed for a moment before recovering. She scolded, “Hugh Ransom, Jesus. Be polite.” To you, she said, “Please excuse, my son. I thought I raised him better.”

Son? You almost groaned. You did not miss him rolling his eyes at his mother’s comment.

“Sorry,” he told you in a tone of voice that relayed no remorse at all. “Y/N. Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” you said in an even tone, feigning some level of sincerity despite wanting him to just leave. But if he was her son… “I hope your hearing is back to normal despite my clumsy behavior. I am still apologetic about that.”

You were trying to mend that bridge with him; you did not want it to possibly ruin whatever relationship you were currently starting with his mother. You wanted – no, you needed – to have her as a connection.

Yet, you could not quite pinpoint the emotion – miffed? Amused? – that was behind his small, closed lipped smile at your apology. His smile did not reach his eyes, that was clear enough.

“It’s fine,” he responded.

“Your hearing…?” Linda asked.

Turning back to look at her, you gave a little nervous laugh, thinking of a cutesy way you could tell the story. You began to explain but Ransom cut you off.

“I had a little too much to drink and passed out. Y/N tried to help me out by making sure I got up at a decent hour but somehow turned the volume of my alarm up to full blast. Right next to my head.”

Linda snorted, “Oh. Well. That does sound like you.” There was something underneath her tone. As if there was a jab at Ransom. He was stone faced though. “Well, Y/N. At least you tried. That’s all we can say sometimes.”

You nodded, exhaling. Your heart was still beating rapidly.

“So, what brought you to a business convention at a college, Ransom? Surely it wasn’t to see me?” Linda asked, looking at him expectantly.

Ransom told her, “Actually. It was. I was hoping we could catch lunch. I wanted to talk to you about something. When’s this thing over?”

Linda checked her watch and said, “I can really leave any time now.”

You fought to hide your disappointment.

Her attention was on you now. “How about I give you my number, Y/N? I would like to continue this conversation about your business model proposal; it is promising.”

You sat up straighter, heart beginning to race again. She liked your idea? Truly?

“I could use some fresh minds at my disposal. That is if you are interested in my company.”

“Oh. Yes,” you said quickly.

Linda smirked at you amused at your quick response. She pulled out a small card from her purse and flipped it over, scribbling a number on the back. Holding it out to you, she said, “Personal cell phone. Now, don’t abuse it.”

“Of course not,” you reassured her, taking it from her. “That would be disrespectful.”

“Yes, it would,” Linda agreed. She stood up from her chair, straightening out her dress. She held out her purse to Ransom, “Here.”

He took it reluctantly as she gathered herself. You stood to meet her, realizing in your excited state you had neglected to do when she rose. You wanted to kick yourself.

When she looked at you again, you stuck your hand out. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me. It was enlightening and beneficial for me to have a respected self-made businesswoman’s opinion.”

Linda shook your hand strongly. “You’re welcome, Y/N. I hope to hear from you soon.”

She walked past you and you pivoted, following her movement.

Ransom was staring you down and you averted your eyes from him to the ground momentarily before looking up at him again. He smirked when you met his gaze again. There was something malicious about it and you did not like it one bit.

<> <> <>

A knock on your bedroom door drew you from your bed. You put your bookmark in place and tossed the book onto the comforter next to you before getting up.

Swinging the door open, you startled seeing Ransom standing there, his large hand planted on the doorframe, leaning in towards you. His cologne was strong, wafting in around you.

“Can I come in?” he asked you without waiting for an answer, pushing past you.

“I…” you started to say, stumbling your words. “Yes?”

Ransom was taking your room in and you shifted uncomfortably. He walked over to your desk, flipping through the pages of your latest pieces of your latest thesis; the one you had been speaking to his mother about.

Eyes ran over the pictures hung of you and your friends, over your bookcase, your movie collection, fingers tracing your jewelry hung on display…

He was invading your space.

“Um, can I help you with something? Is Malcolm supposed to be here?”

“He is here,” Ransom answered, dismissively, coming to rest in front of your collection of rocks you had collected from different parts of the world you had traveled to. You could tell him where each one was from with ease, memory tied deeply to them. He was touching them, examining them, and tossing them carelessly back into the bowl.

Moving quickly over to him, you asked, “Can I help you with something then?”

He dropped the rock he was looking at and turned to you, “Yes, actually. I came up here to ask you out on a date.”

Taken aback, you leaned away, brows furrowed in confusion. “Ah. What?”

“Are you the one with a hearing problem, then?” Ransom quipped.

“I heard you just fine,” you responded, still trying to catch up with what was happening.

“Then it’s settled. I have a reservation at Ocean Prime at 7pm tonight. I’ll come back by to pick you up at 6:30pm.” He moved past you back towards your door.

Your mouth was open like a fish, blinking. You snapped back to reality and turned quickly. “Wait—”

“Wear something nice!” Ransom ordered over his shoulder, not bothering to close the door behind him.

Deflating, you stared at the empty doorway behind him. He had not even given you time to respond – to decline if you so chose to. But could you really decline? He was Linda Drysdale’s son. And you wanted so desperately a break into that business world that she moved in; Ransom – despite his boorish behavior – could be a key to that if you played your cards right.

Turning towards your closet, you bit your lip. What could you wear?

<> <> <>

Holding your clutch close in front of you, you walked next to Ransom after the valet took your car. He had a long stride and guided you to keep up with him. Throughout dinner he surprisingly asked you questions about yourself, allowing you to answer. You kept it short and courteous, mindful about not overindulging. He genuinely seemed interested and you were caught off guard; you had expected him to go off about himself. It is what his persona had indicated he would be like in all your encounters with him. Maybe he had simply been in a bad mood?

At least that was the case with you. He was less than courteous with the wait staff and you found yourself forcing yourself to thank them more profusely and smile wider to try to make up for him.

He picked up the entire bill although you had offered to go Dutch. He had seemed momentarily vexed by the offer but recovered quickly, holding out his card to the waitress between his fingers, not even acknowledging her presence past that.

On the ride home, it was quiet, the windows down in his beamer as the two of you raced through the city. He was a fast driver and it made you nervous, but you tried to focus on the city lights, taking in the night life.

Ransom insisted on walking you back inside and having another drink. He helped himself to a smidge of Malcolm’s scotch and handed you your own glass. You sipped and made a face even though you tried not to.

“Right. It’s not a woman’s drink,” he said, taking the glass back from you and emptying it into his own. “Let’s get you something fruity. Ah, perfect. Let me guess: this orange vodka is yours?”

“Yes,” you affirmed, playing with the top ruffle of your dress.

Ransom made you a drink of the vodka, orange juice, a splash of sprite, and ice.

“You know your way around a drink,” you commented lightly, taking a sip.

“I had the pleasure of being able to experiment with my mother and father’s extensive alcohol cabinet since I was a teen,” Ransom responded, taking a drink of the scotch. He walked around you to the living room. “I’ve always loved Malcolm’s style of decorating. He is good at keeping the Victorian look of the house while touching it up with modern.”

You followed him, listening.

He tossed you a look and said, “You haven’t put your touch on anything out here.”

“It’s not really my house. I just rent my room.”

“I know,” Ransom chuckled. “That’s why I wanted to see your room.” Another drink. “Want to show me it again?”

The way he so flippantly mentioned it…

“You don’t want to stay down here?”

Ransom turned back to you, chuckling. He pushed your glass, guiding it up to your lips. “Drink up.” You did as he asked and almost choked when he made you finish the entire thing. “Now, let me ask you again… want to show me again?”

No. He had not simply been in a bad mood the last couple of times. He was still the same inconsiderate, entitled jerk.

You did not answer him, at loss for words.

“Fine. Thought you would feel more at ease in your bedroom, but I guess here is just as well.” You made to protest but he interrupted, “Malcolm isn’t coming home tonight. I asked because I invited them to do dinner too, but he declined since they are going up north to see Alyssa’s parents. Fortuitous for me.”

Finishing his drink in a quick gulp, he grabbed both your glasses and placed them on the mantel above the fireplace. Before you could react, he tugged you to him, his mouth crashing into yours. You tried to recoil but he held tight, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. He turned you, forcing you up against the wall to further prevent you from escaping.

His hands slipped up underneath your dress, gripping at your thighs.

“Hey!” you finally were able to exclaim when he came up for air. You tried to push him away. “Ransom!”

“Yes?” he asked condescendingly, forcing you back against the wall erasing the small amount of space you had carved out for yourself with the shove. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes! Stop!” you told him, trying to escape underneath his arm but he blocked your attempt, pressing his body weight against you. “Please!”

“What? You don’t like me?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t even know you!”

“Oh, but you want to know me. And you want to know my family. That is clear as day,” Ransom stated, leaning in close, his nose almost brushing yours. “A girl from a modest family trying to get a leg up in the world…” He smirked. “Truth be told, I would love to get your leg up. But first…”

He forced you to your knees, your face close to his crotch. You tried to push yourself up and away, but he grasped your hair and you stilled, gasping at the tug he administered when you had tried to move again.

Ransom’s free hand came down to your cheek, caressing gently. His thumb brushed over your lips as you shakily made eye contact with him. His pupils were beginning to dilate, desire glaring as his tongue ran across his lip. He hand cupped your jaw and he murmured, “You keep saying you’re sorry. I want you to show me how sorry you are.”

You gaped and he grinned, “That’s the spirit, keep it open.”

Gasping when he shoved your cheek up against him again, you felt his hardening dick through his pants. “Come on, Y/N. Be a good girl. I know you know how to do this. A girl like you? From a modest family not in the area? You didn’t get through school just on brains alone. Had to make connections somehow.”

Anger coursed through you at his words and you tried to push away from him once more, but he just wound his hand tighter in your hair causing you to wince. Tears pricked at your eyes as your anger melted to humiliation as he grinded his length up and down your cheek.

Yanking you away, he stared down at you, tickled at the expression on your face.

“You want to use my mother to get into the business world with a bang. It’s understandable, she’s great at what she does. And she has those connections in her hand to give you. All you gotta do is charm her and give her results.”

“But I want you to have to work a little harder for it. You know I can say one thing to my mother, and she won’t have anything to do with you ever again.” He ran his fingers across your lips forcibly. “So, you’re going to open that pretty little mouth of yours and you’re going to show me one, how sorry you are and two, how badly you want to break out of your situation.”

When you did not answer he gave your head a little shake, “Right, Y/N?”

You licked your lips, a tear escaping. Horsley, you answered, “Right.”

He unzipped his trousers, his cock springing free from the confines of his boxer briefs. You stared at the length in front of you, trying to compose yourself. You could do this. You had to do this. You were backed into a corner, literally and figuratively.

Ransom tasted salty as you took him into your mouth. He groaned the further you took him in, increasing your speed the wetter you made him. His fingers at the back of your head were digging in, forcibly pushing you further to take him even deeper. Tongue swirling, you drew low moans of pleasure from him.

Suddenly, both his hands grasped the sides of your head, holding you in place. He thrusted, using you and you struggled to stay steady on your knees with his violent jolts. Loud grunts left his lips, animalistic and savage. You gagged, a few tears running down your cheeks. He was hitting the back of your throat so roughly you thought you were going to get sick.

Fortunately, he pushed you away. Gasping for air, you rubbed at your throat, trying to ease the discomfort.

He grasped your arms and yanked you from the floor. In a fluid motion, he spun the two of you around to face the back of the couch. His hand pressed to the small of your back and your face came to contact with the couch cushions.

Ransom forced himself between your legs, kicking one out to the side to give himself more room.

“A-a condom?” you choked out.

“You’re on birth control, aren’t you?” he asked, hiking your dress up.

“Y-y-yes.”

He chortled and said to himself more than anything, “Well, we will have to fix that for next time.”

You bucked forward when you felt his fingers slipping inside you, rubbing at your clit. You whimpered feeling yourself get wetter with each stroke. You were getting close; he was skilled at pushing you towards falling over the edge.

But he wanted to be inside you for that; his fingers left and his head replaced them.

When he pushed himself inside, you cried out adjusting to his girth. He moaned loudly, bottoming out. He let out a little laugh before pulling out and slamming back in. Your hands gripped the cushions trying to give yourself some sense of balance as he rammed into you repeatedly.

Ransom was holding tight at your hips, his own snapping off your ass hard enough that it was going to bruise. Each stroke of his cock against your clit sent a flow of pleasure through you until it was like a wave breaking. Broken whimpers echoed as you convulsed around him. When he came with a loud shout, you felt him fill you, his cock twitching inside.

His grip went lax at your hips and he reached underneath, and you squeaked when he pinched at your oversensitive clit.

“That was cute,” he husked, his hands slowly running up your sides. One of his hands snaked around your neck and he pulled you back up to his chest, still fully seated inside you.

“Mhm, yeah,” Ransom breathed against your ear, his fingers flexing in and out on your neck. “I think if you keep this up, you will be the epitome of the type of girl I want to bring home to my parents.”

<> <> <>

…PRESENT

Ransom never let you out from underneath his thumb, not that he needed to try too hard. You knew that if you divorced him, you had nothing. You had signed a prenup and even if you thought you could make it without money, there would be bad blood with the Drysdales and with how much influence they had on the area, you would have a huge obstacle to overcome.

Yes, you got to work with Linda, and you had influence with her. But it was still her business, not yours.

You had gotten what you wanted mostly though.

A family. Money. A place in the business world.

It just came with a price.

Ransom’s hand gripped your leg underneath the table, sliding past the hem to the inside of your thigh.

“Now I have two precious things in this world to me,” he said in response to his father.

Another perfectly crafted smile from you.

And he still had that malicious glint in his eye, even as he leaned in and planted a kiss on your cheek.

“Good girl,” he breathed so only you could hear.

#ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom x reader #ransom drysdale smut #knives out fic #my shit

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thisguyatthemovies · 4 years

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Austen done right

Title: “Emma”

Release date: In theaters Feb. 21, 2020; on disc/streaming March 20, 2020

Starring: Anya Taylor-Joy, Johnny Flynn, Bill Nighy, Mia Goth, Miranda Hart, Josh O’Connor, Callum Turner, Rupert Graves, Gemma Whalen, Amber Anderson, Tanya Reynolds, Connor Swindells, Chloe Pirrie, Oliver Chris

Directed by: Autumn de Wilde

Run time: 2 hours, 2 minutes

Rated: PG

What it’s about: Based on the 1815 novel of the same name by Jane Austen, a young, well-to-do woman in early 19th century England meddles in the romantic lives of her friends but, saying she is not interested in marrying, can’t see love right in front of her.

How I saw it: “Emma” is short on originality in the story department but long on just about everything else that matters. Director Autumn de Wilde and screenwriter Eleanor Catton mine familiar source material. Jane Austen’s 1815 novel of the same name has been adapted into more than a dozen movie, TV and stage versions, including the hit 1995 cinematic teen comedy “Clueless.” Catton and de Wilde don’t stray far from Austen’s snappy, humorous, multi-layered satirical take on love, manners and the class system in early 19th century England. They breathe new life into it, however, through glowing cinematography, gorgeous period piece costumes and, most of all, perfect casting and spot-on performances from actors who seem like they are having the time of their lives. “Emma” must have been fun to make because it’s so much fun to watch.

In case you haven’t read the book or caught any of the previous adaptations: “Emma” centers on Emma Woodhouse (Anya Taylor-Joy, “Split,” “The VVitch”), a young woman who is “handsome, clever and rich.” She is the lady of the house at Hartfield, an estate in the fictional small country village of Highbury, where she lives with her widowed father, Mr. Woodhouse (Bill Nighy). Emma, because she introduced her governess, Miss Taylor (Gemma Whelan), to the man she is marrying (Mr. Weston, played by Rupert Graves), fancies herself a matchmaker. She is not as good as it as she thinks, however, and her meddling and the nature of romance cause much chaos among the townspeople. Emma has proclaimed herself not ready to get married, though she has a brief flirtation with a wealthy young man who has returned to the village for a visit (Callum Turner as Frank Churchill) and though an older neighbor and estate owner (Johnny Flynn as George Knightley) clearly has a thing for Emma even as he is critical of her.

Austen wove a tangled web of love, and it’s fascinating to watch the story take so many twists and turns that you might need a chart to keep track. Just as an example, take Philip Elton (Josh O’Connor), a young, good-looking vicar who is unmarried early in the story. He seems to be interested in Harriet Smith (Mia Goth), an unsophisticated teenage girl Emma has befriended who has an offer of marriage from Robert Martin (Connor Swindells), a well-to-do 24-year-old farmer. But it is Emma who Mr. Elton wants (he also wants her money), and when he makes a pass at her and is rejected, he goes away and comes back with a bride, Augusta Elton (Tanya Reynolds), a pretentious woman short on manners.

There’s much more where that came from, but the romance bubbling under it all is the one that Emma is too stubborn to see. In the novel, Mr. Knightley is nearly old enough to be Emma’s father, which makes it understandable why he does a lot of what we now call “mansplaining.” Here, Emma and Mr. Knightley seem closer in age (though Flynn is 11 years the senior of Taylor-Joy), and even when Mr. Knightley is being critical of Emma, it is clear that he feels a sense of remorse afterward and is more drawn to her each time.

Their romance blossoms after the centerpiece scene, when most of the main characters go on a picnic. A bored Frank Churchill urges those in attendance to play a game to amuse Emma, who uses the opportunity to insult Miss Bates (Miranda Hart), a talkative, busybody of a woman who came from money but is now living in poverty. Everyone becomes angry with Emma, and Mr. Knightley lectures Emma on her lack of decorum. Emma, perhaps seeing her own shortcomings for the first time, visits Miss Bates to apologize, and that impresses Mr. Knightley. They end up together – as we all knew they would -- and they live happily ever after.

The cast is dazzling from top to bottom. They deliver a witty script with impeccable comedic timing. “Emma” is dialogue heavy (especially, of course, with Miss Bates, and Hart is a hoot playing her), but even when it isn’t, so much of the tone is set through the expressions and body movements of the actors. Little glances, a quick tilt of the head and smirks mean a lot. We also start to get a sense of what is about to happen between Emma and Mr. Knightley during a beautifully filmed and acted dance scene. When the two are wrapping up a dance, the camera moves in on the couple holding hands rested against Emma’s hip. When Mr. Knightley starts to pull away, Emma’s hand reaches for his for just a second, as if she is not ready to let go. It’s a special moment in a film full of them if you pay attention to the details.

“Emma,” because of its engaging story and depth of character across numerous major players, is the type of film that will become only more rewarding with repeated views. And no doubt you’ll want to view it more than once.

My score: 93 out of 100

Should you watch it? Yes. You will enjoy this film even if you aren’t into period pieces and romantic comedies.

#movies #movie reviews #movie recommendation #emma #emma woodhouse #jane austen #anya taylor joy #autumn de wilde #comedy #satire #period piece

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fleecal · 5 years

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EgoArtWeek: Jackieboy Man

It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s a superhero story! I’m really proud of this one. Building the world and characters is a lot of fun. @therealjacksepticeye

Also, I imply at the end that this is to be continued. That was more supposed to be in keeping with the comic book feel. I don’t plan to continue this story unless you are very interested.

“-ie! Jackieboy! Wake up!” Jackieboy Man could faintly hear someone yelling his name but it was mostly drowned out by the shrill ringing in his ears. Where am I? What’s going on? Why am I on the ground? He couldn’t think. His brain was fuzzy. His body hurt. “Jackie! Move!” Without thinking, the hero instinctively rolled to his left, just barely missing getting his skull caved in by an enormous fist.

That’s right. He was fighting Oxendale, his arch-nemesis Professor Rewind’s loyal and brutish monster. Meanwhile, Jackie’s ally, Steel Sparrow was yelling at him to get up while she fired arrows at Oxendale’s head. Jackie got to his feet quickly.

“Right. Right. I’m up!” He shouted as he avoided another of Oxendale’s attacks. “What’s wrong, big guy? Can’t even hit me if I stop moving? That won’t look very good on your employee review.” He chuckled as Oxendale grunted and lunged at him.

“Less quipping, more ending the fight, Jackieboy! I’m low on arrows!”

“Right. Okay. Distract him for a minute, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Make the archer fight close combat.” Sparrow groaned as she fired an explosive arrow directly into the back of Oxendale’s head. The brute turned to face her and Jackieboy lept into action. He quickly dug his grappling hook into the ground between two nearby streetlights, wrapping the durable cord around the top of both lights. Then using the three attachment points he wove the cord up and down, left and right, weaving it through like a messy web with only small gaps. Just as he finished, Jackie heard Sparrow yell “I’m out of arrows. Whatever you have planned, it better be ready!”

“I am! HEY UGLY! OVER HERE!” Jackie yelled, standing in front of his web. That certainly got Oxendale’s attention as now he was barreling toward Jackie. He would only have a small window to avoid the brutish construct, three, two, one! Jackie jumped straight up, out of the brute’s path. Oxendale, unable to react, ran straight into the web with such force that it caused the hook and cord to come loose from where Jackie attached them and Oxendale became tangled in the messy web, unable to escape. Jackie landed lightly on the ground, just as Sparrow walked over to them. "Haha. Like a bull in a pen. Get it? Because he's an ox."

"Yeah, I get it, Jackie. Nice work. Hey, can you call the police? I have to get to work." Jackie's expression dropped, just for a second.

"Uh, yeah. You go. I'll be fine." He said, giving her a thumbs up which she returned as she got on her motorcycle and drove off. "Shit. I forgot about work. Kelly is going to kill me."

Fifteen minutes later, Parker Griffiths stumbled into the office, camera hanging around his neck, glasses falling off his face, bundles of papers falling out of his bag. Kelly, his supervisor, was leaning against his desk, frowning. "I know. I'm late. I'm sorry. My train got delayed and there was a lot of foot traffic and-" Kelly held up her hand for Parker to stop talking and sighed tiredly.

"I'm honestly not surprised you're late again, and I know it'll probably happen in the future, but try to at least show up for the meetings. You are the lead photographer and you need to be here when we are discussing layout. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." He nodded pushing his glasses up with his thumb. Kelly walked away and Jackie collapsed unceremoniously into his chair and rubbed his eyes. His friend, Jessica Steele leaned over to him.

“Rough morning?” She asked. Parker just nodded, still rubbing his eyes. “Hey, why don’t I buy you a coffee later?” He nodded again then adjusted his glasses. “Cool. Then it’s a date.” They both chuckled. Being a superhero is hard. But, having friends helps a lot. Parker didn’t know what he would do if Jessica got caught up in all his heroics. But he would soon find out.

#Jackieboy Man #Septic Egos #egoartweek #Bee Writes #if you are reading this #Yes; Jessica is Steel Sparrow #Neither know the other is a hero

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fuckyeahhistory · 5 years

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OK I know what you’re thinking. Why is the 1533 Buggery Act such a big deal! After all, it’s a piece of Tudor law:

A) that sounds dry AF

B) has nothing to do with me!

Well, if you care about LGBTQ+ rights (or let’s be blunt, basic human rights) than this is a piece of Tudor law that you have to know about!

The 1533 Buggery Act wove a tangled web that stretches throughout history. Beyond those who were caught up in its immediate wake, It’s threads lead us to Oscar Wilde’s imprisonment, Alan Turing’s conviction and the abysmal pit where fundamental rights should be, that the LGBTQ+ community and their allies are still fighting against.

So if that still sounds dry AF, then strap in Donald, because you’re about to get your mind blown.

Seriously we’re getting into world view changing stuff!

The Buggery Act was the brainchild of Henry VIII who had a fun habit of lumbering the UK with laws that came out of him wanting to make a point during a hissy fit…yet inexplicably stuck around for hundreds of years at a major human cost (e.g that time he made it legal to execute someone with severe mental health issues) The 1533 Buggery Act was no exception!

But lets take it back to pre-Henry for a second. Prior to 1533 there were no set laws to persecute homosexuality in England. That’s not to say it wasn’t. In the 13th century two legal codes called for men caught having same sex relationships to be buried alive or burnt, which is horrific!

However, these were suggestions, not actual laws and there is no evidence that these punishments were ever carried out. For the most part, the then frowned upon act was dealt with in the ecclesiastic courts (so basically it was left with god and his earthly servants to deal with either after death or in the realm of the church)

As such, the sudden decision to make homosexuality criminal was a big deal. In fact it was such a big deal that this sharp turn to criminalisation actually had to be addressed in the original statues outlining the 1533 act. Which says that the law was in part created to make homosexuality clearly punishable, saying:

“For as moche as there is not yet sufficient & condigne punishment appointed & limitted by the due course of the lawes of this realme for the detestable & abominable vice of buggeri committed with mankind or beest.”

It goes on to explain the possible punishments for those caught committing ‘buggery’:

“And that the offenders being herof convict by verdicte, confession, or outlaurie, shall suffer suche peynes of dethe, and losses, and penalties of their goodes, cattals, dettes, londes, tenements, and heredytamentes, as felons benne accustomed to do accordynge to the order of the common lawes of this realme. And that no person offendynge in any suche offence, shalbe admitted to his clergye”

Obviously the clear biggy here is ‘pain of death’, but right at the bottom of this portion of transcript there’s the sentence:

‘And that no person offending in such offence shall be admitted to his clergy’ – that right there is the crux of this whole piece of legislation.

Because why create The Buggery Act and criminalise same sex relationships at this particular moment in time?

To persecute the Catholic Church of course!

If you’re thinking , ‘that makes little to no sense’, gold star! It doesn’t… well at least until you break down what was going down in 1533.

You see, until the 1530’s England had been part of the Catholic Church. But, Henry VIII was desperate to break away from the church as it wouldn’t grant him a divorce so he could marry his side chick, Anne Boleyn. So Henry decided to create a new church for England, one that he’d be the head of (and wouldn’t you know it, the head of this new church just happened to be A-ok with divorce).

Sadly creating your own church doesn’t magically erase your countries already existing, centuries old religion overnight. So Henry worked with his right hand man, Thomas Cromwell, to loosen the tight hold Catholicism had on England and for a double win, also siphon it’s money to Henry.

The 1533 Buggery Act was just part of this plan. It was solely designed to take away a little bit of the power away from The Catholic Church, not to actually persecute homosexuality.

And yet this law was about to take its first victim.

By 1540 the Buggery Act had done its job. The Catholic Churches hold on England had been loosened, Henry had married Anne Boleyn (and then had her executed), married again (this time she’d died in childbirth) and was onto marriage number four. Thomas Cromwell had played Cupid for these nuptials, hooking Henry up with his new wife, Anne of Cleves. Sadly Henry wasn’t a fan of his new bride and this was such a big no no that it led to Thomas Cromwell’s death.

But as is probably clear by now, Henry was a petty bitch, and so he made sure that when Thomas went down, he wasn’t going alone.

On the 29 June 1540 Thomas Cromwell was beheaded for treason and his mate, Walter Hungerford, became the first person to be executed under The Buggery Act (among other allegations).

A bloody punishment, with the Buggery Act added as an extra dollop of humiliation for Hungerford and as an additional middle finger to Cromwell who’d helped create the act.*

*side note: before we start feeling really sorry for Walter Hungerford, he was an abusive man who imprisoned his wife to the extent she had to drink her own urine to survive. So you know. Maybe hold the sympathy cards.

Henry VIII

Thomas Cromwell

Ok, that was A LOT to take in. So let’s pause and take a quick moment to look at where we are:

We have a law that was created to criminalise homosexuality BUT was actually used to screw over the Catholic Church

We have a first victim of the law…BUT he was most likely executed not because of the law itself but as an F U to his mate who created the law.

So, we can all agree that thus far, The Buggery Act is a very bloody farce. But that does that mean it’s done?

OF COURSE NOT!

Though the law was repealed by Henry VIII’s daughter, Queen Mary I in 1553 (who wanted power over this to go back to the Catholic Church and it’s ecclesiastic courts), once she died, her successor and sister, Queen Elizabeth I made the Buggery Act law once more.

And from there it started to truly transform into a law for persecution.

Using a Latrice Royale gif to cut the tension, but just a warning: It’s about to get really dark for a bit.

For much of the 15th and 16th centuries arrests and executions under the Buggery Act were few and far between. However, that didn’t happen stop this horrifying law from spreading.

One of the huge issues of The Buggery Act being a law, was that Britons leaving the country took it with them. Take for example those plucky puritans who set sail for the brave new world of America – alongside terrible hats and a smattering of racism, they made sure to also pack legal persecution!

And so the legal execution of people for homosexuality began in a new country. In 1624, Virginia hung Richard Cornish, a ships captain, for ‘forcible sodomy’ of his ships 29 year old cabin boy.

Two years later, Massachusetts hung William Plain on allegations of sodomy that took place in England (so before he even moved to America!).

That same year, the countries New Netherlands colony successfully managed to achieve the discrimination trifecta when they used the Buggery Act to strangle and ‘burn to ashes’, Jan Creoli, a poor black gay man.

If you thought things were bad, they are about to get even worse.

Back in Britain, a more vocal queer community was starting to appear, thanks to the underground popularity of Molly Houses (places where queer men could be free to openly show their sexuality, kind of the great great great grandfather of the small town gay bar). But this emerging light in the dark attracted the worst kind of people and they dedicated themselves to eradicating what they saw as the gay scourge.

One such group was the catchily named, The Society For The Reformation of Manners. Determined to rid London of its LGBT subculture, they worked undercover to infiltrate Molly Houses, gather evidence against its users and then together with the police, raid them.

One such raid was that of Mother Claps house in 1726. Dozens of men were rounded up and arrested, with several fined and pilloried. But that’s not the worst of it.

The Society For The Reformation of Manners successfully helped to leverage the Buggery Act to hang three of the arrested men for the crime of having sex, or as one witness spat out during the trial:

‘Making love to one another as they call’d it’

Example of an execution, like that of the Mother Clap House victims. from the era

During the 1800’s the executions continued. Trials for men accused under The Buggery Act sprung up across England. Some of those found guilty had the relative luck (though the chance of survival still wasn’t great) at instead being transported to Australia, but others weren’t so lucky.

The last men executed under The Buggery Act were James Pratt and John Smith, in 1835.

A husband and father, James Pratt, met with John Smith in August 1935, at an ale house in London for a drink. The pair then got chatting with an older man, William Bonill and went back to his rooms.

William Bonill soon left to get another drink at the pub, leaving James and John alone. It was after this that Bonill’s landlord reported finding the pair having sex.

Neither James Pratt or John Smith stood a chance in court. If you are in any doubt on that front, just read the opening transcript from John Smith’s prosecutor.

‘feloniously, wickedly, diabolically, and against the order of nature, had a venereal affair with one James Pratt, and did then and there, feloniously, wickedly, diabolically, and agains the order of nature, carnally know the said James Pratt, and with him the said James Pratt did then and there feloniously, wickedly, diabolically, and against the order of nature, commit and perpetrate the detestale, horrid, and abominable crime (among Christians not to be named) called buggery, to the great displeasure of Almighty God, to the great scandal of all human kind’

Charles Dickens actually attended Newgate jail, when the men were awaiting sentencing and recalled:

‘Their doom was sealed; no plea could be urged in extenuation of their crime, and they well knew that for them there was no hope in this world.’

He was, of course, right. Of seventeen others sentenced to death at the same time as John and James (for crimes including attempted murder) all had their sentences commuted to transportation to Australia. All expect John Smith and James Pratt.

A huge crowd gathered outside Newgate Jail to watch their deaths.

Watching his (possible) partner, John Smith, being blindfolded and his noose put on, caused James Pratt an understandable level of anguish. He reportedly went physically weak, needing help just to stand and calling out:

‘Oh God, this is horrible. This is indeed horrible.’

Though we don’t have clean cut evidence that the two were in a relationship, it’s hard to read this as anything other than love and the devastation of James knowing what his partner was about to go through.

Which I think summarises the pointlessness and brutality the Buggery Act had on all those who feel under its wake. Of it’s last two victims; two men who just wanted a private moment to be together and died because of that.

Newspaper from the hanging of James Pratt and John Smith

The Buggery Act remained in place in one form or another until 1861 when the Offences Against The Person Act replaced it.

The new law abolished the death sentence for ‘buggery’, instead punishing those convicted with a prison sentence of up to life. In 1967 the laws around homosexuality as an illegal act were dropped.

All of this, because in 1533 a pissed of King set up a law that he hoped would bring down a religion – the persecution of thousands if not millions, was just secondary.

If you want to read up more on this and other areas of LGBT+ history (and please do!) some great sources are below:

Rictor Norton, for a treasure trove of articles and essays on the history of LGBTQ+ history in England dating back to the medieval era.

The Peter Tatchall Foundation, a human rights charity with an amazing section of history of laws that sought to persecute

The British Library, where you can look at so many of the original documents I mention in this, digitally wherever you are in the world!

Why you have to know about the 1533 Buggery Act OK I know what you’re thinking. Why is the 1533 Buggery Act such a big deal! After all, it’s a piece of Tudor law:

#featured #LGBT #LGBTQ #tudor

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