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Honey Wheeler

@misshoneywheeler / misshoneywheeler.tumblr.com

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Title: The Bigger They Come  Series: The Pleasure Room  Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones  Pairing: Jon Snow/Brienne of Tarth  Rating: M  Words: 1,706  Notes: I’ve had a version of this sitting in my word docs for years at this point but it wasn’t quite working. Randomly inspired to change the approach recently. The series is from the valar_morekinks prompt: Jon/Mary, Amazon AU - they capture young men as they need to continue their line.   This is complete crack and somewhat morally questionable, and yet here we are. If you're worried about the dub-con part, let me assure you that Jon's super into it.  

Warnings: Sex slave AU, captivity, breeding, impregnation (but in a fun way)

Previous chapters: 1) Baiting the Hook - Jon Snow/Jeyne Westerling 2) Pleasure Harder - Jon Snow/Arianne Martell 3) Three’s Company - Jon Snow/Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell

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Jon has heard tell of the nature of his captors. At first he’d thought it was only tales; Jeyne had spoken of fierce warrior women, anointed by the gods, equal in battle to the most skilled of men for all that men were not among their number save men like him, hapless fools captured and used as breeding stock. Jeyne herself had been the farthest thing from a warrior, and anything but ferocious. Small and fey, she’d trembled in his arms like a doe and clung to him as would have a helpless maiden. Arianne may have been made of sterner stuff, and Margaery and Sansa after her, but none of them had struck Jon as the sorts of women made to best men in pitched battle. He’d come to believe that these fearsome women were merely a caution, a way to frighten him out of an escape that, much to his shame, he grew less inclined to attempt with each passing day and each new woman. The woman who lies beside him now, heavy in sleep, makes it clear that what Jon had heard was anything but tales. - **Read on AO3**

#asoiaf fic#got fic#jon snow x brienne of tarth#nsfw#(ish)#amazon au#honey wheeler fic
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WHEREAS on this day in the year Two Thousand Eleven, Christian Era (Sixth of Tishrei, year Five Thousand Seven Hundred Seventy Two, Gregorian) @thefairfleming did comment in friendly manner on one fictive tale written by @misshoneywheeler‘s featuring Jon of Snow and Sansa of Stark; and

WHEREAS @thefairfleming and @misshoneywheeler swiftly found themselves to be Kindred Spirits and Bosom Friends and Meant To Be; and

WHEREAS @thefairfleming and @misshoneywheeler did engage in a prolonged frenzy of wretchedly self-indulgent fan fictions, brainstorming, festive outings, and general merriment; 

NOW, THEREFORE, BE IT RESOLVED THAT today, glorious day that @thefairfleming and @misshoneywheeler knocked on the same door at the same time, is decreed their 11th Friendaversary and much cause for rejoicing.

#OTP: Here's A Thing#the ballad of thefairfleming and misshoneywheeler#A LIFE CHANGING AND LIFE BETTERING DAY#the apple of my eye#the cream in my coffee#the jelly to my peanut butter#sadly Steel is not nearly as good a present as STINGRAYS
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Reblogged dialux
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THE WOMAN KING (2022) - In this sweeping, historical epic inspired by true events, General Nanisca (Viola Davis) of the Agojie, the all-female unit of warriors who protected the 1800s African Kingdom of Dahomey, trains the next generation of recruits and readies them for battle against an enemy determined to destroy their way of life.

Directed by Gina Prince-Bythewood, written by Gina Prince-Bythewood and Dana Stevens, and starring Viola Davis, John Boyega, Thuso Mbedu, Lashana Lynch, Sheila Atim, Hero Fiennes, and Adrienne Warren. 

Releasing exclusively in movie theaters on September 16th, 2022. 

#yeah SIGN ME THE FUCK UP#I'M IN#I'M READY#I'M THERE WITH POPCORN#badass ladies
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Reblogged
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April 29, 2022: Poem to My Child, If Ever You Shall Be, Ross Gay

Poem to My Child, If Ever You Shall Be Ross Gay

                             —after Steve Scafidi

The way the universe sat waiting to become, quietly, in the nether of space and time,

you too remain some cellular snuggle dangling between my legs, curled in the warm

swim of my mostly quietest self. If you come to be— And who knows?—I wonder, little bubble

of unbudded capillaries, little one ever aswirl in my vascular galaxies, what would you think

of this world which turns itself steadily into an oblivion that hurts, and hurts bad?

Would you curse me my careless caressing you into this world or would you rise up

and, mustering all your strength into that tiny throat which one day, no doubt, would grow big and strong,

scream and scream and scream until you break the back of one injustice, or at least get to your knees to kiss back to life

some roadkill? I have so many questions for you, for you are closer to me than anyone

has ever been, tumbling, as you are, this second, through my heart’s every chamber, your teeny mouth

singing along with the half-broke workhorse’s steady boom and gasp. And since we’re talking today I should tell you,

though I know you sneak a peek sometimes through your father’s eyes, it’s a glorious day,

and there are millions of leaves collecting against the curbs, and they’re the most delicate shade of gold

we’ve ever seen and must favor the transparent wings of the angels you’re swimming with, little angel.

And as to your mother—well, I don’t know— but my guess is that lilac bursts from her throat

and she is both honeybee and wasp and some kind of moan to boot and probably she dances in the morning—

but who knows? You’ll swim beneath that bridge if it comes. For now let me tell you about the bush called honeysuckle

that the sad call a weed, and how you could push your little sun-licked face into the throngs and breathe and breathe.

Sweetness would be your name, and you would wonder why four of your teeth are so sharp, and the tiny mountain range

of your knuckles so hard. And you would throw back your head and open your mouth at the cows lowing their human songs

in the field, and the pigs swimming in shit and clover, and everything on this earth, little dreamer, little dreamer

of the new world, holy, every rain drop and sand grain and blade of grass worthy of gasp and joy and love, tiny shaman,

tiny blood thrust, tiny trillion cells trilling and trilling, little dreamer, little hard hat, little heartbeat,

little best of me.

–

Today in: 

2021: Choi Jeong Min, Franny Choi 2020: Earl, Louis Jenkins 2019: Kul, Fatimah Asghar 2018: My Life Was the Size of My Life, Jane Hirshfield 2017: I Would Ask You To Reconsider The Idea That Things Are As Bad As They’ve Ever Been, Hanif Abdurraqib 2016: Tired, Langston Hughes 2015: Democracy, Langston Hughes 2014: Postscript, Seamus Heaney 2013: The Ghost of Frank O’Hara, John Yohe 2012: All Objects Reveal Something About the Body, Catie Rosemurgy 2011: Prayer, Marie Howe 2010: The Talker, Chelsea Rathburn 2009: There Are Many Theories About What Happened, John Gallagher 2008: bon bon il est un pays, Samuel Beckett 2007: Root root root for the home team, Bob Hicok 2006: Fever 103°, Sylvia Plath 2005: King Lear Considers What He’s Wrought, Melissa Kirsch

#poetry
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