Jun 27
no pride month without a little danbecca 🏳️🌈
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no pride month without a little danbecca 🏳️🌈
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Found these silly doodles of Rebecca (1940) while cleaning out my phone gallery and....wanted to repost it on this account...🥺👉👈
Warm welcome at Manderley
i want an older woman to be so obsessed with me she commits arson
In Daphne du Maurier's novel, Mrs. Danvers is totally in love with Rebecca. She is not just devoted, but obsessed in a way that feels deeply erotic. When she shows the narrator Rebecca’s bedroom, it’s like she’s inviting her into a sacred, sexual space. She doesn’t just talk about Rebecca’s nightgown — she fetishizes it. The way she caresses the fabric, urges the narrator to feel it, almost like she’s imagining touching Rebecca’s actual skin. It’s like the objects — the brush, the slippers, the scent still in the room — become stand-ins for Rebecca’s body. It doesn't look like maternal or fraternal love at all, but very sexual. Danvers has preserved the room like a shrine, but more than that, like a lover who can’t let go. Her language is intimate, physical, almost like she wants to consume Rebecca, possess her completely. She doesn’t just miss her; she longs for her. The narrator being in that space is almost a violation for Danvers, like someone walking in on her fantasies. It’s not just grief. It’s desire, unspoken, repressed.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Drawing inspired by the fic of @aliesafenlock "Her Heart is Fit for Home"!!
I love this fic so much and who doesn't need a bit of Susan!Danny in their life? And here's a close up because I'm kinda proud of their expressions:
The snippet that got me:
“Do you dance, Mrs. Danvers?”
Her reverie broken, the housekeeper scoffed at the unexpected question. “Who would want to dance with a withered-up old woman like me?”
“First of all, you are neither old nor withered,” Mrs. de Winter countered. “And secondly, I would! Very much,” she added with a smile.
“Madam.” Mrs. Danvers was taken aback. “Surely you’ve got better things to do with your time.”
“If my memory serves, I did not get to dance at the ball,” the young woman pointed out reasonably, “so you owe me at least one dance, Mrs. Danvers.”
I can't be seriously considering this, the housekeeper thought as she prepared a polite refusal, but her voice caught in her throat as she took in Mrs. de Winter looking at her expectantly. Her eyes were sparkling with hope, her hand extended in a silent invitation, and Mrs. Danvers felt her resolve evaporate. Suddenly, she couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Mrs. de Winter today as she had done in the past.
“All right then,” she allowed softly. “Perhaps just this once.”
Mrs. Danvers took the young woman’s outstretched hand with some trepidation, expecting it to feel awkward and ungainly. She became acutely aware of how comfortably their bodies fit together as her free hand rested on Mrs. de Winter’s waist. Mrs. Danvers led instinctively and was relieved to find she still knew her way around a slow dance. Her initial reluctance gave way to a quiet joy as she watched her companion’s eyes gleam with delight. With every step they held each other a little closer, and the housekeeper began feeling light-headed.
The record wound down and their movements slowed, then finally stopped. They stood quietly in a gentle embrace, neither of them willing to break the spell and lose their closeness. In the silence, the air between them became charged with expectation. Mrs. de Winter lifted her eyes to study her companion’s face, finding it transformed from its rigid, severe beauty to looking achingly vulnerable. The young woman was suddenly overcome with a wave of affection so intense, she had to reach out and place her palm against Mrs. Danvers’ cheek.
“I crept and touched the foam with fevered hand,
And cried to Love, from whom the sea is sweet,
From whom the sea is bitterer than death.”