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apomaro-mellow · 10 months

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Part B

I just wanted a bit of Eddie losing control while protecting Steve and their unborn child and this word vomit came out.

“He’s making FOOLS of us Juliana!”

Alric Harrington ripped up the invitation that had been sent. His wife sat in a corner, rubbing her round belly worriedly.

“He gets himself kidnapped, then fornicates with this beast, IS CARRYING HIS SEED, and now...” He breathed in deep. After his outburst his next words were deceivingly quiet. “Now he is planning to parade under the legitimacy of marriage.”

“You don’t really think that he could be...that he could be carrying, do you?”, Juliana’s eyes were glistening. “It’s not possible. It’s-”

“Blasphemy. He has been a stain on the royal family for too long. And I have neglected my duties as a father.”

“My love-”

“I will do what needs to be done! For the sake of our name. So our next child can come into a pure world.”

-----------------------

The castle had been buzzing with activity. The kind that Steve would love to oversee. If only his groom-to-be could find it in him to let him go.

“I would like to get out of bed sometime today”, Steve said.

Eddie growled against his ear, hands pressed protectively around his torso. Most of their mornings for the past month had been like this. Ever since they realized their coupling had taken and Steve was pregnant. With him only being a few weeks along, there wasn’t an official announcement but everyone in the castle knew which meant the rumor was probably flying outside the walls of their home as well.

The day they confirmed it, Eddie immediately went to the balcony and shouted it to the heavens for all to hear. He had been ecstatic, elated. And then horny. And then fiercely protective.

Usually, they were slow to get out of bed for more romantic reasons. Now, Steve couldn’t get Eddie to let him go until his baser instincts were satisfied and knew he and his child wouldn’t meet their end the moment they left the bedroom.

When he was finally able to leave, he was able to look on the wedding preparations. Steve couldn’t help but think about how he had started in this place. Stolen from his kingdom and sulking in a cold dungeon. Now he was a king in all but name.

Preparations went on and just a few weeks into them, Steve received a message from his parents. It was an official announcement. The birth of the new crown prince, Tristan Harrington. When Steve read through it, his hands shook. Eddie held them to ground him.

“They don’t deserve you, love. You don’t need to involve yourself with them anymore.”

“Eddie, it’s not about me.” He put a hand to his belly, thinking of their own future child. “They’re going to ruin him. That’s my brother, I can’t ignore that.”

Eddie kissed his knuckles. “What do you want to do?”

Steve separated the announcement from another letter. “This came with it. My father wants to meet with you.”

Eddie growled. The last time that man called on Steve, his carriage just happened to be accosted by bandits. Eddie still wasn’t convinced that wasn’t somehow his father’s doing.

“I think he wants to negotiate. Maybe, in his own self delusion, he’s seeing this as a political marriage. Which means opportunity for him.”

“He doesn’t get to use you like a pawn after he threw you away”, Eddie said, wishing he’d used softer words when he saw how Steve flinched. “I don’t have to meet with him. I am a king, he does not order me.”

“Eddie...if we play our cards right maybe...”, Steve sighed. What he was hoping for seemed so lofty but he just had to believe it. “Maybe they’ll let me be in my brother’s life.”

Steve knew what would probably happen if they didn’t try. His name would be wiped from the royal record, his brother would be left completely in the dark about him and grow up under the same oppressive hand as he did. Or things could be worse to keep him from going down the same road as Steve.

Any anger Eddie had dissipated when he looked into his love’s eyes. He’d do anything for this man. Eddie leaned over, putting their heads together.

“I’ll talk to him. But you owe me~”, he grinned, starting to kiss at the side of Steve’s face.

“Oh? Pledging myself eternally to you and bearing your heirs isn’t enough”, Steve teased.

“Heirssssss?”

“It appears I’ve bedded a snake.”

“Steve, my light, are you...?”

“I’m barely showing. But Jeff is predicting twins.”

And then Eddie purred and Steve knew he’d lost him. He kept going anyway.

“Robin is saying it’s gonna be a whole litter but I know she’s just teasing like she does-”

Eddie pushed him to the bed and all conversation stopped right there.

--------------------------

Unusual for a royal procession, they kept their party small. Eddie didn’t trust the people they were going to. He kept their most loyal back at the castle. Both to keep up with the wedding preparations and to make sure nothing happened while they were gone. Robin had protested but she was the only one Steve trusted with his vision for his wedding day and he needed someone who wouldn’t rile Eddie up the whole time. He loved Robin, but she could be an instigator, which was why they brought Jeff.

When the castle gates were in sight, Steve held Eddie’s hand and looked to him.

“Now when we get there, you have to promise me-”

“Anything, sweetness.”

“No theatrics.”

“Hm, almost anything.”

“Eddie.”

“Steve, I can’t not make an entrance, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“They’ll be less flexible if they see you as the literal incarnation of darkness. Just try and tone it down a little?”

Toning it down ended up meaning sending a very large horde of crows ahead of them to perch on the walls and rooftops of the castle. When Steve exited the carriage, he gave Eddie a very controlled look before seeing his parents awaiting them. It was the first time he’d seen them in months. Steve had hoped Tristan would be there, cradled in his mother’s arms so that he could meet him right away. But he wasn’t. If Steve had to guess, he was away in the nursery.

“The kingdom welcomes you”, Alric said, with a very obvious undercurrent of ‘but I do not’. His father didn’t even spare him a glance. “I’m sure you must be tired after your long journey-”

“I’d actually like to get right to business”, Eddie interrupted. “But I would like Steve to rest. Wouldn’t want to put any stress on your grandchild.”

Somehow they managed to keep from grimacing, but neither of his parents’ expressions could be called pleasant. Eddie was taken to discuss things with his father, while Steve followed behind his mother. Eddie had ordered Jeff not to leave Steve’s side, so he came along as well.

Walking down the halls that had housed him until recently, Steve felt very much like a child again, under his parents’ thumb. It didn’t matter that he had grown and changed and was even about to be a father himself. One stern look from his mother and all he wanted was to please her.

They came to one of the sitting rooms. Steve remembered spending plenty of nights here when he was very young and still loved in the king and queen’s eyes. Jeff stood at attention at the door while they were served tea.

“Congratulations on bringing my brother into the world.”

“It was an easy birth”, his mother said tersely.

Steve bit his lip. He knew the situation and the events leading up to it were unorthodox, but typically mothers were happy when their children were having children of their own. Couldn’t she look at him and smile a little? Offer up some motherly wisdom? Anything?

“Do you have any advice? For when it happens?”, he asked, putting a hand to his belly.

Her eyes narrowed at the movement but she was saved from answering when a nursemaid came in, holding who could only be his brother.

“We need to talk”, his mother said.

------------------------------

“You’ve written quite the essay here”, Eddie said, fingers brushing against the parchment Alric had presented. They sat across from each other. There were royal guards standing sentry all around, which was normal. But Eddie clocked how tense they were. “How about you just give me the broad strokes.”

“Your reputation for eschewing formality precedes you”, Alric glared.

“I find that people use decorum as armor. It means they’re trying to hide something unsightly. Just say to my face that you want to use your own son as a bargaining chip.”

“Are you not a king?”, Alric challenged. “You know as well as I do that we do not live for ourselves, but for our people. We are all bargaining chips from the day we’re born. Steven is no different. Neither are you.”

“And I suppose your newborn is just as expendable?” In fact, Eddie was willing to bet the queen was using the infant to get Steve to fall in line.

“He is the future of this kingdom. And I won’t let anything get in the way of it.”

Eddie laughed. “It’s funny. Had you done this months ago, we could have been over and done.” Having a sit down with this man had been all Eddie wanted. Kidnapping Steve to coerce him had been a last resort and not even that had worked.

“I’d say things ended up in your favor. You got a plaything in the form a crown prince.”

“Your son is more than a plaything. He’s more than a pawn! If you don’t have the decency to respect him now, when he’s the only thing holding me back, then we have nothing to discuss.” Eddie stood and more guards mobilized around them.

Alric crossed his arms. “That boy hasn’t done a damn thing to earn my respect. And neither have you. I could have declared war on you long ago. I didn’t. But playtime is over.”

Three guards tried to tackle Eddie but only managed to get him down for a second before he was shoving them off. But one had gotten a noose around his neck and tightened it. Others began to tie down his limbs.

“Get him to the dungeons for now. We’ll have a public execution in the morning. Juliana should be done with Steven by now.”

Eddie’s struggling paused and all he saw was red.

--------------------

Steve and his mother stood over a crib that had been brought to the room. There, Tristan laid, napping peacefully.

“Can I hold him?”, Steve asked.

“Steven...this baby will be king one day”, his mother said in response.

“....I’m aware”, Steve said, a little confused.

“I intend to do right with this one. I don’t know where exactly I went wrong with you, but I did.” Her eyes began to wet as if she were truly heartbroken by what her firstborn had become.

“Mother, I-”, he stopped when she held up a hand. It upset him that the move still worked on him.

“I am not your mother anymore. I just can’t be. If any child of mine cavorted with a beast like that I would...” She shook her head and swallowed.

Steve’s own grief was starting to be tempered with anger. “You would what? Say it.”

Juliana moved away from the crib, turning her back to him as she took a deep breath. “I would take my own life, as penance. And if I thought, for just one second that you would turn out this way...”

Steve waited for her to finish. When she didn’t he walked briskly to her side. “You would what? Send me away? Disown me? You’ve already done that.”

“I would have slit your throat”, she glared.

She rendered him speechless. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jeff tensing.

“Better to start over than allow a stain to spread. Steven, know that I say this with love. As my final act as your mother, to save your soul.”

“What are you talking about?!”

Steve got distracted when one of the royal guards attacked Jeff. Juliana got the jump on him and tied a cloth around his neck, pushing him down onto one of the many couches in the room. As his air was cut off, he thought about how easy he normally escaped something like this. But just because this woman had held the title ‘mother’ over his head, he hesitated.

Had he really been that spectacular of a failure? Was he so wrong for wanting to do right by them? If he just let her kill him, would that fix everything? Would they finally be happy?

Then the skies outside got dark. A screech rumbled through the castle as all warmth seeped out and was replaced by a chill. Steve pushed his mother off and while he was gasping for breath, Jeff came from behind and cracked a serving tray against her head. She fell limp onto the floor.

The air around them crackled and the shadows in the room got bigger. Something was clawing up the walls and Steve ran to the window right before Eddie burst through it. He was a mass of pitch black. Like he couldn’t decide what form to take. The only discernable parts of him were wild eyes, claws, and a maw of sharp teeth which had Alric’s body, slack and covered in blood.

Eddie dropped him at Steve’s feet, presenting. He gave a low groan, the only sign he was still alive. Steve heard his brother crying but had to tend to Eddie first.

“Jeff the, the baby”, he said.

Jeff went right over to soothe the infant while Steve reached for the darkness that was his love. Steve let it surround him, whispering things soft and sweet so that his king knew that he and their child were safe; that he’d done his duty and protected them.

-----------------------

Calling the royal council with such short notice was rare. But today was just the day for that sort of thing. They waited in the throne room to know the reason they had been summoned when two figures entered.

Eddie held Steve’s hand as they walked to the two thrones, meant for the king and queen. Eddie led his lover to the throne that was always meant to be his, and sat him in the king’s place. He bowed his head and kissed his hand, then sat next to him.

The council was stunned to silence.

“Alric and Juliana have committed a terrible crime against us, and are awaiting their punishment in the dungeons”, Steve announced.

That got the men out of their shocked stupor and talking. Eddie wanted to rip out all their throats, but he let Steve control the conversation. Steve held a hand, prompting them to silence. It was as Eddie said, they were relying on decorum and rules to make sense of the madness before them. It honestly was the only thing keep Eddie from painting the walls with their blood.

“They attempted to assassinate King Edward and made an attempt on my life as well. For that, they have been stripped of their titles and any claims to the land.”

“Don’t tell me you propose to take their place”, one of the councilmen chortled. “You have no rights to the throne!”

Eddie growled and Steve rubbed his knuckles to soothe him.

“Fortunately, that won’t be necessary, as the kingdom does have an heir. I have no intention of stealing my brother’s birthright. But he is just a child.”

“Then the law dictates we should induct a regent until he is of age”, another said. “So if you will leave us to that-”

“The law dictates that we are well within our rights to march our armies and take you for all you have”, Steve said. “Do not mistake the grace I give for fragility. I know you all had a hand in that assassination attempt. I only keep you alive because appointing an entirely new council is not worth the hassle. That being said, you will see a decrease in your reach as the merge happens.”

“The merge?”

Eddie grinned, then looked to Steve like an angel of justice.

“Appointing a regent will only encourage infighting and problems down the road. Tristan will be king one day, if he so chooses. And will receive all the education he needs to do so under my wing. Until that day, these lands, which will one day be his, shall fall under King Edward’s rule.”

They were stunned into silence again and Eddie just couldn’t help himself. He was smiling so hard he thought his face might split.

“Welcome to hell bitches!”

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #this is not an official series #i just get brainworms for it sometimes and dump em on tumblr

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year

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Hello everything is fine? you could write Aemond engaged to Y/n wanting to take her virginity before marriage

EVERYTHING IS GROOVY, DUDE, THANKS FOR ASKING.

I've taken kind of a diary entry approach to this. There is basically no plot. Y'all know the drill.

Warnings: Smut, duh. Word count: ~1000

Before the betrothal

Aemond nods solemnly when his mother breaks the news that he is to be betrothed. He had known this day would come and accepted it as his duty to House Targaryen. He was to be wed to a noble girl from a noble house in order to strengthen Aegon’s claim to the throne. He has no thoughts of his future bride beyond doing what he must for the good of his family.

First meeting

Her hair that falls in soft, loose waves almost to her waist. She is small and slight. Her gown hugs her figure like a second skin. Aemond’s mouth runs dry as he takes in her bright eyes and rose petal lips. He clears his throat, remembering to introduce himself when his mother nudges him in the ribs. He had not expected her to be so beautiful. “Is she really going to be mine?!”

Nine months before the wedding

While Aemond knew she was beautiful, he had not anticipated being captivated by more than her looks. He is delighted to find that she is quick witted, intelligent and fierce - most importantly she is unafraid of him. His breath catches when she touches his arm when he makes her laugh. She does not leave his mind from that point onwards.

Six months before the wedding

They are finding more and more excuses to spend time alone together. Aemond cannot keep her out of his thoughts. Shameful as it is, he finds himself with his fist around his hardened cock each evening while he thinks about the softness of her skin, the way her lips part and the glint she gets in her eye when she looks at him. He cannot help but wonder how it would feel to be buried inside of her. Six turns of the moon feels like an agonisingly long time to wait to find out.

He is taken aback one day when she presses a soft kiss to his cheek. He surprises her in return by turning his face and capturing her lips. It quickly turns heated and his eye goes wide when he feels her tongue slide against his, no one has ever kissed him like that before. Hands from both sides grope where they ought not to, and Aemond has to quickly excuse himself as his erection presses painfully against the lacings of his breeches.

Three months before the wedding

Aemond has discreetly read every book that the Red Keep’s library has to offer on the act of physical love. Underneath his stoic demeanour he is giddy with anticipation at all of the things he and his betrothed will get to try when they are wed. Yet, it is still months away, and he is losing patience. His interest is piqued when he discovers a tome on the art of pleasures of the flesh that do not involve fornication.

A few days later, Aemond and his lady find themselves cinched in another passionate embrace. What Aemond has read springs to mind and desperation and curiosity get the better of him.

She gasps a quiet “what are you doing?!” as he crouches down and pushes at her skirts.

“Trust me” he whispers back, before pressing his face between her legs and licking a hot, wet line along her cunny.

He groans at the squeak she elicits, hand finding its way to his cock and fisting it as he feasts upon her soaking centre. Hot ropes of pearly spend coat his fingers as he climaxes with a grunt when she finally comes undone around his tongue. He has never tasted anything more divine.

The night before the wedding

Having spent every available opportunity exploring each other’s bodies and pleasuring each other without breaching her virtue, Aemond can hardly wait for them to finally become one, his body aches with the need to be inside of her. He knows they mustn't see each other the night before the wedding and yet he cannot stay away.

He steals away into her bedchamber and, before he knows it, they are naked and tangled together in her sheets. He is stunned when she straddles him. He hisses as he feels the wet heat of her cunt press against his hardened length.

“We are supposed to wait.” He says, voice thick with lust, offering no real objection.

She giggles. “We are. I am not going to take you inside. My handmaiden told me how to do this and I’ve been dying to try it.”

“Well, who am I to deny my lady?” He asks with a sly smirk.

His jaw goes slack, his eye fluttering closed as she slides herself up and down his erection, rolling her hips against his without him ever breaching her entrance. The tip catches her there a few times, but she is quick to pull away, placing him back at her pearl and applying pressure where she needs it most.

His mind is foggy with pleasure. If this is what it feels like just to have her rub against him, what must it feel like to be inside? His stomach muscles tense and his stones tighten as he feels the first licks of his climax tease at his lower back. He can tell from how her pace has begun to falter and how her moans have turned to breathy pants that she is close too.

Her arousal soaks his lap as she falls apart above him and he finally allows himself release, gripping her hips and splattering his stomach as he bucks up at her.

After taking a moment to come back to reality, they stare at each other, both huffing a small laugh as they try to catch their breath.

Aemond swipes two fingers across his abdomen, collecting his milky spend and pressing it to her lips. She wraps her lips around the digits, sucking them clean with a contented hum and he grins at her.

“Just think.” He purrs at her. “Tomorrow I will finally spill my seed inside of you.”

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond stannies #pro aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #aemond #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #hotd smut #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanficton

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cursed-40k-thoughts · 11 months

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I’ve never really heard a definitive answer, and I remember weird pseudo-attraction in some books, but are space marines capable of romance or sexual desire in canon? Do they have the jewels and such? What about sororitas? Are they all neutered and spayed

Space Marines aren't neutered, but generally have no sexual use for their genitals. Not necessarily because they don't work, but because a combination of cultural elements and indoctrination techniques render them unable to adequately parse the concept of sex, or even physical pleasure, in a way that is standard.

The only real exception to that seems to be, from all canon allusions, the Space Wolves, whose particular culture and indoctrination methods allow for an alleged capacity to still want to drink and fornicate and make bawdy jokes. They are considered to have an extremely non-standard geneseed and general culture for loyalists, though, so this is actually one of the less weird things about them.

But, by and large, no. Space Marines can have feelings for people, they can get jealous over people, and they can desire pleasure, but their minds have extreme difficulty recognising and articulating these things, let alone processing them into a particularly coherent physical or social response.

Argel Tal, for example, very much had romantic inclinations and a protective adoration for Cyrene Valantion, but he was never able to express it much more than being gentle around her and wanting to keep her safe. Some of the Emperor's Children took part in an orgy, and their way of expressing physical elation and taking enjoyment was by using their strength to crush and brutalise humans present. The grey knight Hyperion is very sullenly jealous of the Inquisitor Annika Jarlsdottyr's relationship with one of her underlings, but rationalises it as a professional distaste for the man's former crimes that he can't quite wrap his head around. Marines can even have strong and fairly complex feelings for each other, but it tends to come out in ritualised and relatively innocent fraternal expressions of affection, because that's the lens they've been subjugated into seeing reality through.

So yeah. They feel things, but it's all out of whack and muddled up. Could a marine experience a sense of arousal from combat or something? With the way they're wired, it's likely, but they wouldn't necessarily recognise it.

As for the Sorortias, they can, by and large, bone if they want. They do bone, if they want. The people they bone feel very lucky to have the experience. Some of them might abstain for cultural or religious reasons, but there's not an inherent obligation to. They're duty driven, but in a more standard religiously nutty way, not the "needles in the brain" way Astartes are subjected to.

Good question!

#ask #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #Space Marines #Adeptus Astartes #Sisters of Battle #Adepta Sororitas

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akixxsstuff · 6 days

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Masters Who Serve (Black Butler Smut Part 1)

Sebastian Michaelis x female reader

Slight NSFW content // Part one

Summary: You discover that you're little brother Ciel sold his soul for ultimate care and protection to his demon butler, Sebastian. But when you offer the same exchange to Sebastian he declines since he...

already had another proposition in mind.

"The queen is hosting a charity ball tonight so please dispose of any intruders to ensure her safety".

"Please bring me another cup of tea once you've finished with the laundry".

"Cancel my appointment with the seamstress this afternoon".

Every request of yours was immediately met by your demon butler, Sebastian.

"On your knees now mistress, my cock isn't very patient".

"Moan louder for me lass, I want everyone to hear you".

"Strip. I want to see every inch of your naked body right here and right now".

And every request of his was immediately met by you.

Protection and care in exchange for sex was the deal between you two until death did you part. With how rentless you both were with your demands the question always remained: who was really the master in this contract?

Was it you for having Sebastian constantly sacrifice himself for your safety? Or was it Sebsation for having you abandon any task in order to satisfy his lust? Was it you for working him to the bone with every kind of duty imaginable? Or was it him for not allowing you to ever marry or sleep with another person?

As you ponder on all of this your mind takes you back to the very day you made your exachange...which was also the same day you lost your virginity.

"Sebastian! Take my soul too! I want you to protect and care for me just as you do to Ciel" you cried.

"Doesn't that seem a little unnecessary since my services also already benefit you? You are his sister after all my lady" Sebastian queried.

"Yes but once Ciel has his revenge you'll both be gone forever and I can't uphold the family name by myself. Together or alone me and Ciel can't do anything without you so just take my soul!".

"To be quite frank with you mistress I do not wish to go the same troubles once again for just another meal" Sebastian groaned.

"There must be something else that want" you whimpered.

Sebastian chuckled, "Because of your brother's contract I can not say that there isn't".

"Please Sebastien tell me" you begged.

"A human as beautiful as you would do perfectly in satisfying my carnal desires, you ought to receive some training of course but within time I know you'll be the perfect plaything" Sebastian smirked.

"Y-you're asking for my purity? We're not betrothed S-sebastian" you stammered while flushed.

Butterflies filled your stomach as you felt the silk of Sebastian's glove caress your cheek. "You're as sweet and sensitive as a fresh bouquet of orchids mistress, and I know you'll flourish immensely from some much-needed attention".

He gazed adoringly into your eyes and brushed your lip with his thumb, he was so close that you could smell the vanilla he was baking with earlier.

"I suppose you're right...what are your conditions?" you whispered in a daze. "To fornicate with me in any way and anytime I desire as well as to never betroth nor fornicate with anyone but me" Sebastian devilishly smiled.

"You'll truly never allow me to fall in love? To be betrothed?" you whimpered as your heart sank. Sebastian leaned in even closer, "No husband will be able to protect you like me, isn't that the entire reason for this discussion? Y/N?".

#black butler #part 1 #fanfic #x reader #black butler x reader #female reader #back story #smut #sebastian michaelis #sebastian stan #sebastian x reader

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chaifootsteps · 5 months

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can't remember where I saw it but someone pointed out that even without the context of Blitzo getting shot at pretty much everything Stolas says on the phone in S1E1 is manipulative

when isn't it a bad time, Blitzy? -> doesn't ask why it's a bad time, doesn't care

immediately brings topic to the grimoire, underscores how important it is and how he's allowed Blitz to use it to do his job -> implies Blitz is in his debt, mentions how his entire business hinges on it, total condescending tone

mentions Blitz's access to the mortal realm is illegal, mentions he needs the book back to do his duties -> turns up the pressure around how his allowing Blitz to use the book compromises him personally even though he could have just forbidden Blitz to use the book to begin with if he needs it on the day to day; has already created a situation where Blitz is trapped because of Stolas' own bad choice to keep lending him the book (also the totally casual 'anyhoo' right after a gunshot fired)

favors for favors -> doesn't spell out what he wants plainly, despite Blitz again insisting that he doesn't have time to talk, even acts like it's a seductive offer by asking if it sounds enticing

then let me keep it simple -> finally explains what he wants is monthly sex right after another gunshot goes off, and even then buries the 'passionate fornication' bit at the end of the sentence, still wasting Blitz's time when he's had to have heard at least two gunshots over the phone at this point (plus absolutely no sign of concern for Blitz in either expression or dialogue. Just, stone cold. The whole time)

you get to keep [the grimoire] all the rest of the time -> frames the deal like Blitz is getting more of the benefits out of it than he is when it seems more like he doesn't need the book outside of the occasional ceremony or is so lazy he's fine neglecting his duties & his own priceless spellbook that his own daughter does not even know how to use and cannot adequately defend herself with magic (at least Insta Stolas gave her at least one magic lesson, though I vaguely recall that was at the point in the show's 'hiatus' between ep7 and s2 where Blitz and Stolas had momentarily paused the full moon deal, so even that was the result of his not having Blitz available to bone him for a couple of months)

and then to top it all off he goes into an X-rated rant as soon as he gets what he wants, totally misses Blitz no longer responding and Martha's voice over the phone to the extent that he's still going when Moxxie runs past the phone several minutes later

This was an excellent breakdown, Anon. An excellent point-by-point of why, if Vivzie wants this ship to be healthy or soft, nothing shy of reconning that first episode will do. There's just no defending this or making it right.

I can't express enough how much Murder Family Stolas gives me the genuine fucking chills. He's a shark circling around in the water, an absolute monster.

#anonymous #stolitz critical #helluva boss #actual blog post

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squadxx4392 · 4 months

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Analyzing "Just Look My Way - Stolas' Lament" - Incomplete Version

So we all know that Stolas from Helluva Boss is very, very much in love with Blitzo(The 'o' is silent, so pronounced as 'Blitz').

However, throughout the series, Blitzo seems to be oblivious. An example of this is stated in the Helluva Boss series, "Hey! Stolas only cares about having a rugged peasant raw-dog him into his mattress, it's nothing.. y'know.. it's nothing else(Season Two, Episode Six, 10:12-10:20)."

Now, shortly after another episode of the series came out, season two episode seven, to be exact, a music video came out. It was a song for Stolas which, in the first minute, everyone could tell it was indefinitely about Blitzo.

The beginning of the music video starts with Stolas receiving an Asmodean Crystal from Asmodeous, the Sin of Lust, which Stolas had asked for in the sixth episode of season two, "...he needs to access the mortal realm to carry out his work. I know your demons are some of the only ones who can traverse freely and legally. I was wondering if you could help me find a way he could, too?(Season Two, Episode Six, 7:33-7:46)."

Throughout the music video, Blitzo is being compared to the full moon, which, as per an agreement the two made in the very first episode of the series, is a reference to their full moon contract.

Basically, their 'unspoken contract', as Stolas put it, is Blitzo gets to use Stolas' grimoire for his work, and because Stolas requires it to finish his duties with the Goetia family, they have a once monthly meeting on the full moon, where Stolas collects the grimoire and they have a night of 'passionate fornication'.

This is what makes Blitzo think of Stolas as a prick who doesn't want anything more than sex from him. This was stated in season one episode seven of the show, "Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to f**k you, okay? You make that really clear all the time(Season One, Episode Seven, 14:36-14:43)." And this was what Stolas has realized what Blitzo thought of their relationship.

And so, in an effort to prove Stolas truly loves him and truly cares about more than sex, he is going to attempt to give Blitzo the crystal so he isn't made to associate with Stolas as he wouldn't require the grimoire to travel to Earth.

Now, back to the music video, which is what this analysis is truly about. We are going to be analyzing the lyrics of the song, and the meanings behind them.

After Stolas starts singing, he sings, "I am a guardian/a watcher of these ancient rites/yet I find myself drawn from that path/on those dazzling moonlit nights(Just Look My Way - Stolas' Lament, 0:30-0:46)." This is a reference to the full moon escapades he and Blitzo have.

"I can give you everything you need/Or do you want to hear me plead/Just look my way/Just look my way/Is there something more that I don't know/That you won't say 'til we've both grown cold/Just say 'please stay'/Look my way(Just Look My Way - Stolas' Lament, 0:47-1:33)." Through these lyrics, Stolas shows how much he truly cares about Blitzo. He is willing to plead with the Imp to show him how much he cares about him.

#lgbtq #gay #stolitz #stolas #blitzø #helluva boss #media analysis #helluva boss analysis #just look my way #stolas' lament #Just Look My Way - Stolas' Lament

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jordan-the-pious · 4 months

Note

jordan im sorry i squirted on one of the pews in the back of the temple. I swear ill pay whatever i have to to get it cleaned it was an accident

Oh was that what I stepped in earlier? I did think it smelled surprisingly like bodily fluids, but I had hoped it was just my senses playing tricks on me.

Now that the truth has come to light I must say I am mortified. Not as mortified as you might think, or want me to be, but mortified nonetheless.

Deviants like yourself are always breaking into the temple and defiling it in such a way. Last week I caught two individuals fornicating on one of the pews even. Truly disgusting.

Still at least you apologized and offered to pay. So have you pay I shall. 10 lashings and cleaning duty for a month ought to do.

What? You expected I would make you pay with money? Do not be ridiculous. Monetary lose is temporary, I want this experience to last your lifetime.

#asks #unholy asks #repentance: undecided

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bananadrinkxxx · 9 months

Text

THE BLOOD CROWN

AEMOND TARGARYEN FIC.

"𝗜𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗲, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗤𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹."

PART 8

A metallic taste spread through her mouth as the septa slapped her face.

"Confess," the septa said. She held out a goblet of water to her.

Her dry throat and chapped lips craved it.

"Confess," she demanded again.

Rose did not even know what to confess.

The septa said nothing to her from the same word over and over: 'Confess'.

What was she supposed to confess?

She had no idea what she was talking about.

Rose didn't know how long she had been held here, but she felt herself growing weaker with each breath.

She would confess if she knew what to confess.

Thirst, that incomprehensible aching thirst, scratched in her throat.

Her eyes turned wearily upward.

The septa looked down at her hard, but the sparkle in her eyes had remained.

She enjoyed the power. She enjoyed seeing Rose on the ground.

She would let Rose die. She was sure of that. This woman feasted on her suffering.

"Confess," she heard again. She closed her eyes. The burning eyes. Everything hurt.

It was so unfair. She knew the septa wouldn't let her go until she confessed.

Whatever she was supposed to confess.

̶T̶H̶E̶ ̶B̶L̶O̶O̶D̶ ̶C̶R̶O̶W̶N̶

Aemond landed at King's Landing after an absence of four days.

He had returned successfully.

His mother received him. She looked tired. Otto carried pride in his gaze. Helaena seemed absent, which did not surprise him much, and Criston Cole's eyes sparkled with respect.

But no matter how many times Aemond let his gaze glide through the ranks, it how long Aemond looked for her.... He couldn't find her.

Where was she?

She should have been hers. It was her duty.

Did she think she could do what she wanted?

Anger gripped him.

He tried to suppress it.

Ser Criston Cole bowed as Aemond joined them. "Prince Aemond. You have returned." He surveyed Aemond. "Was your journey successful?"

Next to him stood Dyana, the girl he had often seen with Rose. Not far away also stood Tayla, his mother's servant. Rose should have been standing there, too.

"I have already received word of your success, grandson," Otto began, but Aemond turned away and looked at Ser Criston.

Ser Criston made a straight back.

"You must have-"

"Where is my servant?" he asked suddenly, interrupting the conversation the knight was about to begin.

Aemon's brow furrowed. He looked at Dyana, who was looking at him with wide eyes.

"Where is Rose?"

He had been here for half a day now and no sign of the girl anywhere? Had she fled from him?

"My prince, the septa-," she began, but stopped and looked around fearfully.

It made him angry.

"Speak and do not waste my time!," Aemond nagged, and Dyana winced. She looked to Ser Criston as if he could help her.

"The septa has had herself arrested," she whispered, almost so softly that Aemond almost didn't catch on. He stepped closer.

"What's wrong with her?"

Dyana was shaking all over. "Had her arrested two days ago. The Septa throws her," she looked at Ser Cole. Again. "The Septa accuses her of fornication and other sins, my prince."

He heard his mother draw in her breath sharply. She was a godly woman. The Septa had often been with her to pray together. That cunt.

That worthless cunt who thought she could do whatever she wanted in the name of faith.

Rose belonged to him.

How dare he have Rose arrested without his consent?

"Where is she?"

Dyana's fading face was all Aemond needed.

"Fucking worthless fools," the Valyrian prince hissed, ignoring Ser Cristion's attempt to stop him. Fuck faith, Aemond thought. He'd break the septa's neck.

̶T̶H̶E̶ ̶B̶L̶O̶O̶D̶ ̶C̶R̶O̶W̶N̶

The man drew his dagger and showed Rose the blade.

The septa stood beside him, surveying the spectacle.

"Look, girl. Sharp, ain't it? But you're a brave little cunt, aren't you? You don't scream, you don't shake, but I'd like you to scream. I love it when they scream."

Rose could well imagine that.

She looked to Septa.

"Confess," she uttered again. Rose would like to spit in her face.

"I told you. I don't know what to confess."

"Confess, girl, or I'll have to scare you," the man next to her said, grinning dirtily.

Rose looked at him for a moment and spat at his feet. She had had enough. She would never confess to something she didn't even know about. There was nothing to confess.

She was innocent.

Disgust spread through her.

"Then scare me, you son of a bitch."

The man quickly complied with her request and punched Rose in the face. It was a strong, brutal blow that knocked her over. If she had been standing, she would have fallen over like a wet sack. Now she was just lying lower to the ground. In the dirt.

She bit her lips.

Tears burned in her eyes.

Would she die here?

Why didn't anyone come to save her? Was she so worthless in the eyes of the others?

Rose had never felt so alone.

She felt the man grab her and pull her back up.

So abandoned.

Couldn't he let her die in peace?

"Who dares touch a servant of the prince?" inquired a polite voice from the door.

Had she imagined it?

She drew her eyebrows together.

The hands let go of her.

"That was a brave and honorable act, Septa. I'm impressed."

"The girl is a sinner."

She was not a sinner.

Lie.

Or was she, after all?

"A sinner?"

"My prince, she was seen with a man. Kissing. Embraced. In the library. We do not tolerate such behavior. Giving herself over to sin."

She heard a laugh. Scornful. Arrogant.

"Have you arrested the man, too?"

"We will, my prince. He will be taken to task for his lechery, since-"

"She was with me."

Suddenly there was silence.

Deafening silence.

She heard the septa draw in her air sharply. She wanted to open her eyes, to see her face, but she was too tired. Too exhausted. Too weak.

"What did you say?" Her voice sounded sibilant. Angry. Full of venom. Like a viper. "What did you do?"

"You forget yourself, woman!," he thundered in a cold voice. She could feel his anger. She heard his footsteps. "You dare to question my decisions? What I do in my own home?"

"My prince, forgive me, but this is a sin, your revered mother-"

"You are dismissed from the service of the crown, Septa."

She heard the septa draw in her breath, startled. Outraged.

Rose's lips twisted into a smile.

"You could not do that, I serve the Crown, the Faith, I am-"

"You are no one!," thundered Aemond. "I am the crown. I am the prince. I am the Dragon, and you are just an insignificant woman who takes her faith as an excuse for everything. We don't want someone like you here."

The septa had a whining undertone. "Please, my prince, I acted only in the best will, the will of faith. This girl is a sinner, a lost one, and I am only protecting you and the house from-"

"Septa, you know, the ability to speak does not make you smart." She heard someone approaching her. Aemond. "You can pack your things."

With these words he silenced the septa. She heard someone lean down to her and then she felt a hand in her hair, gently.

She whimpered.

"It will be all right," his voice promised. "Release her at once."

"But my prince," the other person present didn't seem as smart as the septa, who understood she was fighting a losing battle.

Rose heard a growl.

"I hate to repeat myself. Don't put me in that position where I have to break your arm, bastard."

She heard footsteps again.

Then she felt the shackles around her wrists loosen.

Aemond lifted her up. It felt like floating. He pressed her to his chest and carried her up the cell where the septa had locked her.

He carried her all the way in his arms, pressed tightly against his chest.

Only then did Rose dare to cry.

He had saved her.

Aemond had come to save her.

She clung to him. She didn't care who he was or who saw her.

"Calm down, Rose," Aemond whispered. "Calm down or you'll faint, little fool."

But she couldn't breathe! Couldn't they understand? Her body betrayed her. Giving a heart that couldn't bear to speed up just a little more without sending her to the grave.

Heat gripped Rose's face and shook her head. Shadows melted away from the figure before her, revealing a singular and piercing eye of blue crimson that refused to leave hers. Where once another rested safely in his skull, only a patch of leather remained, covering a scar that stretched up and down this side of his face. Aemon's palms burned with Rose's face lying between them, and her tears stung his skin, but he wiped them away with his thumbs without hesitation. Anything to keep her from crying.

But Rose could only cry more. Tears burned her eyes. They carved rivers down her cheeks. They dripped from her jaw and onto her dress, staining it. She clung to Aemond, clung to him, and let her tears run free. She clung desperately to his chest, his strong chest.

"You need to breathe," he commanded slowly. "You need to open your mouth and take a deep breath."

She could hear him. She could see his lips moving. She knew he was talking to her, telling her how to fix this. But she just couldn't!

Rose hated her life. She hated it. She hated it. Every single second of it.

Aemond stood there then, his boots running out of sight as he waited for her to recover.

She felt him put her to bed, wrap her, provide her with warmth.

It was so soft. Since when had she had such a soft bed?

Running a hand through her greasy hair, Rose closed her eyes.

Why was Rose the girl she was born to be?

Without a family. Without love. Pathetic in her loneliness.

She had no one.

She was alone.

A hand reached out to her.

"Sleep," came Aemond's soft voice. He stroked her cheek.

She opened her eyes.

His gaze, though only one eye strong, was too intense for her. Too penetrating. She feared he might produce a crossbow bolt and impale her skull with such a gaze. It was much safer to look at anything but him.

His hand was still on her cheek.

She wondered why he didn't let go.

"Get a maester," he said suddenly, and Rose thought at first he was speaking to her, but then she heard another voice answer.

"But the maesters on the spot are only for high lords, let me send a lad to town so that-"

"Either you bring me a maester, or I'll have your head instead."

Hmm, Rose never thought she would like to hear those words come out of his mouth one day.

̶T̶H̶E̶ ̶B̶L̶O̶O̶D̶ ̶C̶R̶O̶W̶N̶

Aemond was sitting next to her when Rose woke up.

At first she seemed confused, looking lost, before she looked at him.

Her gaze slid to the side and she together as she saw Aemond sitting next to the bed, wide-legged on a chair, his gaze fixed on her.

Quick looked to the side again, her gaze fixed on the ceiling.

He watched her stiffen. How she lay in his bed.

She continued to avoid his gaze.

Aemon's nose flared and he bit the inside of his cheek as he slowly leaned forward.

"How are you?"

He tried to speak as softly as possible. She was pale, exhausted, looked ill.

She had no wounds, but the days without drink or water had weakened her greatly.

Rose's eyes turned to him in surprise.

She had beautiful eyes. Even when they were so tired.

Brown eyes, but if you looked closer, something blue sparkled in them. A strange combination.

"Good, my prince," she lied. Obviously.

"Don't lie to me," he instructed her. She winced.

Anger surrounded his heart. Anger at himself. Anger at the Septa, and anger at every isolated idiot who had assisted in their capture. Or had looked the other way.

"I am better," she corrected, trying to sit up. "Forgive me, my prince. I will send for new bedding at once."

So she had registered that she was in his bed.

"You stay here," he ordered, pushing her down. He was being rough. He didn't want to be rough. Not with her.

She bit her lip. He felt an irritating sensation coursing through his body.

"I can't stay here, I have duties. I-"

"The only duties you have are the duties I give you. You stay here lying down."

"What exactly do you want, my prince?" She did not address him respectfully. Her tone was unruly.

He saw anger flashing in her eyes.

Why was she angry? He was doing her a favor.

Rebellious brat.

He didn't know why, but he liked it.

Her rebellious nature.

His eye met hers as he smiled. If she wanted to play, fine. She could have that. He felt the arousal in his body.

He leaned forward a little, closer to her, watching as she pressed herself into the pillow. Into his pillow. "I think we both know what I want."

Before Rose could say anything, he rushed forward, pressing her further into the pillow and pressing his lips to hers.

She tasted sweet.

He had thought at first she would resist, push him away, but her momentary stiffness gave way to the same passion Aemond felt.

Aemond felt her hands buried in his hair.

Goose bumps ran all over his body.

His tongue plundered her mouth as his hands came to her side, tracing the curves of her body.

She gasped into his mouth as she felt a hardness against her thigh.

His teeth cut at her dry lip. Traced the cracks her thirst had left. His tongue licked at the wound, the taste of metal filling both their mouths.

And then it softened.

Where his touch had once been hard, now it was gentle. His hands came to cover her face, caressing the flesh of her cheeks. It was almost sweet.

Aemond loosened his grip.

Desire was in his body. Between his legs and he saw the same desire in her eyes.

Why was his heart racing and why did sweat break out over his neck? It was not his fault. The Seven had sent him exactly what he needed to avoid. If he had done it out of desire, he would have failed the test. Every man would be, by the gods, every man would be tempted! He had to stop before it could go any further.

He would protect her.

What Rose had been through would never happen to her again.

That, he vowed.

Amond's eye trailed down her pretty face, her long neck and exposed collarbone, and slid to the straight neck of her robe where he could see.... he swallowed and forced his eye back to her face. Back to her open lips. Aemond realized how close he was to her. Her warmth. He wanted her warmth.

Without saying anything, he tore away from her.

She had come to test him.

He had failed again.

Had come closer to her again.

He would not sin again.

That night, Aemond could not find peace in his sleep.

He let Rose sleep in his chambers, he himself requisitioned an unused chamber for himself.

The gods saw fit to torture him. For almost falling prey to his baser instincts in that alcove. For lusting after Rose. For imagining her lips on his, her gentle hands in his hair, tugging him as close as he could get.

He thought of her soft skin. His thoughts slid to her naked body and he wondered how she would make them feel. What it would feel like to have her wrapped around him. How it would feel to have her the way a man could have his wife. Aemond's hand slid down his. He told himself it was all right to surrender to sin. To do what he was doing.

He had not wanted to be like Aegon. He hadn't wanted to get a thrill from a subordinate, to take advantage of his position, but no matter what he thought about, his thoughts kept returning to Rose, lying there, in her nightgown, in his bed, waiting for him to lie down with her and bury himself in her.

___________________

What did you think? :)

Should I continue?

Tell me what you think. I would love some opinions about this story.

#aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #house of dragons #aemond the kinslayer #prince aemond #house targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #game of thrones #aemond x oc

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haggishlyhagging · 10 months

Text

Now that birth control is more or less routine, infanticide seems an unrelated and horrifying event; but to colonial women, who had no alternative and whose offspring were very likely to die in infancy anyway, infanticide might be a desperate kind of birth control after the fact. Various means of contraception were known at the time, and coitus interruptus was widely practiced. Sarah Smith, who had two husbands and several lovers, may have known about such things, but no means of birth control was foolproof. Young unmarried motherless women like Mary Martin, on the other hand, probably knew nothing of birth control. And in some cases birth-control information wouldn't have helped. Alice Clifton, the sixteen-year-old slave, was "debauched" in an alley by a white man known as "fat Shaffer." Women in desperate circumstances then turned to infanticide. But in killing their infants they not only committed murder; they also asserted, symbolically at least, that a woman should not be punished for her sexuality, that she is entitled to some measure of control of her own body. Such statements challenge civil and divine authority most of all. In a patriarchal society, they are revolutionary.

In Chester, Massachusetts, a week after Abiel Converse was arrested for murdering her bastard child, a Mrs. Tyler, several years a widow and several months pregnant, ate rat poison for breakfast. She spent the day "in great agony" and, about sunset, she died. The editor of the county newspaper took a dim view of this "inconsiderate conduct," and the Reverend Mr. Bascom denounced her at the Converse execution as "an unclean and whorish woman [who] was led on by this abominable wickedness, to murder herself: deliberately, designedly, without hope of any mercy; and without desiring the good wishes or prayers of any friend whatever." Not even the Reverend Mr. Bascom.

It is hard to read the old sermons today without suspecting that men like the Reverend Mr. Bascom were more concerned with their own authority than with God's. Always they warned women to be docile and obedient. At the executions of women convicted of infanticide, the ministers harangued women about "uncleanness"; but they also warned them against the sins of lying, secrecy, anger, disobedience, hypocrisy, sullen discontent, idleness, and "gadding about" with other women. In a political context, these "sins" amount to resistance, rebellion, subversion, sabotage, coalition, and conspiracy. No wonder the preachers thundered: "The Apostle wou'd have the young women taught to be sober, discreet, Chast, Keepers at home, that the word of God be not blasphemed. . . ."

But women apparently were not keepers at home, for during the eighteenth century bastardy became such a common offense that penalties against it had to be reduced. In 1747 Benjamin Franklin's marvelous fictitious creation, Miss Polly Baker, prosecuted for bearing a fifth bastard, argued that she had done her civic duty in adding "to the king's subjects" and should have a statue erected in her honor. Franklin's satiric essay is a serious argument for distinguishing "sin" from "crime." By 1780 the Marquis de Chastellux could relate straightforwardly the story of a "deceived" Miss Dorrance in Voluntown, Connecticut, being well cared for by her family. And George Grieve, Chastellux's translator, who also had met the family, advised English readers that in America such a young woman was "pitied rather than blamed" and could "still retain all her rights in society and become a legitimate spouse and mother, though her adventure be neither unknown nor even dissimulated."

Court dockets were crowded with bastardy cases. At the Court of General Sessions of the Peace held at Springfield, Massachusetts, in May 1785, Mary Howard, a "singlewoman," appeared and "voluntarily confesse[d] herself to have been guilty of the Crime of Fornication, and that she . . . had a Female Bastard Child born of her Body on the twentieth day of January last past. . . ." Mary Howard was followed by six other women. Each made a similar confession. Each was fined six shillings and charged three shillings for costs—a little more than a week's wages for a skilled spinster. A woman who accepted her child and her shame could be rehabilitated, but a woman who took matters into her own hands could not. In the same month, the Superior Court meeting nearby at Northampton sentenced Hannah Piggin to die for concealing the death of her bastard child. It was almost as though women who committed infanticide were punished not so much for killing but for trying to put one over on the authorities.

-Ann Jones, Women Who Kill

#ann jones #american history #infanticide #patriarchy #bastardy #female oppression #womens history

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

Text

Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in...

Summary: It's Feyre's first year as an elligible maiden for the village reaping. In order to escape the chance of being chosen, Feyre rushes into a marriage with Lord Tamlin. She is terrified on her wedding night, but foruntately she is spared from consumating her marriage when she is pulled into a strange, erotic dream with an enchanting creature.

CW: Dubious Consent, Dark Fantasy, Rough Sex, Breeding Kink, Overstimulation, Monster/Demon Sex, forced marriages, sacrificial ceremonies. Just complete and utterly depraved filth, please proceed at your own discretion.

Word Count: 6,356

Read on AO3

⟡⟡⟡

The annual reaping was coming.

It was a day that plagued the women of their village. Each year, a virginal woman was sacrificed in an effort to appease the demon that prowled their lands. At least, he was believed to be a demon. No one had ever seen the creature that was said to walk their nightmares, and no woman who had ever been tied to the altar in the woods had survived to tell the tale. They were always gone the next morning, no sign that they had ever been there to begin with.

Demon, or god, or anywhere in between, he haunted the women of the village all the same. Mothers typically spent the month fretting over their weddable daughters, desperate to see them married before they were offered up to never be seen again.

And the human men—they were hardly any better than the demon they claimed to protect against. They were fully aware of the control it offered them in the month of the reaping. How young girls became desperate to wed and some of them, desperate enough to fornicate with the first man who promised to marry them down the line. Only for those same women to be scorned by society when the men failed to fulfill their end of the bargain, as if it were the fault of women for being backed into the corner of marriage or monster. Sometimes they were one and the same.

It was why on the eve of the reaping, Feyre stood in a monstrosity of layered tulle, staring at her sisters through the lace of her veil, swallowing back tears. She had not wanted to marry Lord Tamlin. But it was her first year as a maiden eligible for the reaping, and he had only proposed a week before. They’d both known that no one else would offer their hand, not after Nesta had refused to marry and taken matters into her own hands the year she’d turned eighteen.

With Elain, it hadn’t been an issue. Her poise and beauty encouraged suitors to overlook her eldest sisters’ scorned status. But Feyre was too much of a wildcard. She was not kind, or gentle, like Elain, and would not make an obedient wife. Tamlin seemed to have an interest in challenging that notion, and Feyre had been terrified enough to say yes.

“Try not to cry,” Nesta whispered, squeezing her hand. “If he loves you as he claims—” they all knew he didn’t—”he will make sure you enjoy it… But if you do not, try to close your eyes and think of somewhere pleasant.”

It was a moment that every woman in their village simultaneously longed for and dreaded. To be free of the demon, but given to a man. If a lady was lucky, her husband was kind and would make the experience pleasant.

Feyre had heard enough stories to know that very few ladies had ever been so lucky. And how could they be? When husbands acted as though they were doing their wives a favor by taking their maidenheads. Even if they were cruel, at least they weren’t a demon.

Sometimes she wondered if the demon wasn’t preferable.

“Come visit,” she begged through her tears, certain she would be miserable at her new husband's manor.

They bid each other farewell with tight, sniffling hugs. Nesta had to practically pry Feyre’s arms away. Which was not a difficult task, shaking as she was. Fear and duty alone placed one foot in front of the other to meet her new, frowning husband at the carriage.

Silence screamed into the space between them for the entire ride to the inn, only exacerbating Feyre’s nerves. She bounced her leg, entirely unladylike, as she stared out the carriage window at the passing houses.

She wondered what her new life would look like. Was this silence merely the result of two people who were not familiar with each other, or would it be a characteristic of their marriage? A husband who was uninterested in his wife until she was in his bed… she shuddered at just the thought of it.

But perhaps… perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have an apathetic husband. It was better than a controlling or domineering one. He might give her the freedom to paint and visit her sisters. It was not exactly the life she imagined, but she could make the most of it so long as he wasn’t cruel.

The carriage lurched to a stop outside the inn, and her stomach jolted right with it. The color must have drained from her face, by the way Tamlin pressed his lips together disapprovingly. It was either that, or her shaking hand as she stepped out of the carriage, that gave her away. She felt more as though she were walking to the gallows than her marital bed.

Try not to cry, Nesta had instructed.

It should have been an easy task, given how infrequently Feyre had cried in her life. She’d hardly shed a tear at her own mother’s funeral, when she and her sisters had been too poor to even afford a grave digger. The three of them had been made to dig the hole themselves, as their father watched with hollow eyes from their cottage. Theirs had been a circumstantial marriage to avoid the reaping, too.

Feyre tried not to cry when Tamlin carried her into the bedroom and lowered her onto the bed. But her lip did begin to wobble as he removed her stockings and pushed her wedding dress up her hips and over her head.

And when he stood up to untie the laces of his trousers, a tear spilled down her cheek at the sight of the erection that sprang free. He had not prepared her in any way, and he was large enough that she was certain it was going to be painful.

Still, she laid back as her husband crawled over her splayed body, ducking his face into her neck to lay kisses over her trembling skin. It was all Feyre could do to turn her head into the pillow, away from the sight of him. She whimpered as she felt his swollen head prod her inner thigh, and Tamlin growled as though it were encouragement.

Somewhere pleasant, Nesta had instructed.

She thought of the night sky.

For just a moment, she swore a moon-kissed breeze brushed against her cheek. And a voice whispered in the back of her mind, soft as velvet, Do you want me to take this away?

Yes, she had thought. Must have said it out loud, by the way Tamlin grunted in response. Please.

All at once, the bedroom, the mattress, the tear-stained pillow, and the man panting above her dissolved into the calm and weightless night. Feyre was floating, hovering among the endless expanse of stars as though she were one, too. There was nothing here, save for the ivory moonlight and aimless clouds.

Feyre took a gasping breath, letting the fresh air rush into her lungs. The cold was a silken blanket as it pressed into her splotched face, quelling her tears and the flush on her chest.

That same honeyed voice tutted softly, flooded with affection as it crooned to her, Mortal men are terrible creatures.

I’m his wife, Feyre found herself saying, though she could not see who she was speaking to. He is consummating our marriage.

A wife should not be made to suffer her husband’s pleasure, glided his response. Feyre searched for the source of that voice, but it was nestled somewhere in the lucent mist. It sounded as if it came from both everywhere and nowhere, intimately settling into the quiet of her mind.

Should I show you?

If Feyre shut her eyes, she thought she could almost feel someone at her back, whispering into her skin.

That pleasure that you are missing in your husband’s touch?

No, Feyre said, and yet she tipped her head back into that strange phantom presence, swearing she could feel the night itself caress her from behind. I have saved myself for my husband. I am a faithful wife.

He has not saved himself for you, the darkness reasoned, folding itself around her. Feyre shivered as satin night brushed along her collarbone. And I am not truly here. Does adultery extend to your dreams?

A dream. Of course that’s what this was. A soothing machination of her subconscious, to comfort her as her husband did what was necessary to save her from the reaping. And it was comforting, the tender caress that glided over her skin.

A gasp tore, unbidden, from her lips as that touch moved, slow like dripping syrup, through the valley of her exposed breasts, past her naval, and down toward her hips.

How do I know it won’t hurt? She whispered, remembering that Tamlin had promised her the same.

Because I seek nothing more than your pleasure, he answered. Those were fingers, light and soft as they were, that brushed reverently through the patch of curls between her thighs. Feyre had wanted to die when her husband had touched her there, before urgently parting her legs. This was gentle, coaxing, and she fell into it with a soft sigh.

Petal-soft lips brushed over her neck. That voice hummed low in approval, There you are. Give in to it, sweet thing. Let me touch you the way you deserve.

His fingers dipped lower and Feyre tensed, waiting for that intrusion, but they didn’t go any further than the delicate bud that her husband had altogether ignored.

Yes. The word slipped out before her rational mind could protest it, and as his fingers began moving in persuasive, wonderful circles, Feyre found her sensibilities slip away all together.

Look at the way you open for me, he whispered, delight clear in his voice. Feyre.

Something hot and wet slithered over her neck. A tongue, she realized, turning her head to catch a glimpse of the mouth it belonged to.

Dark, raven blue hair fell into the face of what could have been a man, if not for the whorls of glittering night that merged with and drifted from his golden brown skin like it were smoke, blending seamlessly into the sky surrounding them. Large, dark wings—so dark they had escaped her notice entirely until she caught the glint of their horned peaks—draped lazily behind his shoulders. And his eyes, the stars that lived inside that pair of glittering amethysts, there was no mortal man who would ever have eyes like that.

Beautiful. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

What are you? She asked, with none of the disgust that would have been appropriate from a virginal woman being seduced by a creature of the night.

Yours, he answered, his other hand sliding up to gently grip her chin. He pulled her mouth towards his, ducking so she may taste his lips. Tonight, I am only yours.

Kissing him was nothing like kissing Tamlin. Feyre could not fathom why, for they were equally strangers, and yet she felt drunk on his lips. There was something about him that her body welcomed, that she could not get enough of, an enchantment of some kind that had her twisting in his arms, so she could drape herself over him.

Facing him allowed her the glimpse of his bare chest—taut, golden skin marbled with star-swept onyx. His was a chiseled form that sculptors would spend their lifespans trying to create, and Feyre was certain he was the sort of being that could exist only in art. The ethereal glow to him spoke of something angelic. Or demonic.

He smiled, sinful enough to confirm which dominion he hailed.

She should have been afraid as his wings swept around them, cocooning her in the comfort of darkness. Feyre only regretted it was too dark to admire his smile, charming despite its wickedness.

As her hands traveled over his warm, rigid skin, she suspected he’d obscured her vision intentionally. Her eyes had not yet crept below his waist, but as she pressed her naked body closer, she could feel the large cock that pressed into her stomach. Feyre did not need her eyes to sense it was far more intimidating in size than Tamlin’s.

The creature sought her lips once more—intending to distract her, she was certain. And it worked, for the way she twined an arm around his neck and opened her mouth to his seeking tongue.

What do I call you? It was more of a plea than she would like to admit, finding herself desperate to shape his name on her tongue.

Yours, he said again, mouth turning feverish. As though he wished to devour her. That is all I am.

Feyre found she didn’t care enough to press the issue, not as her other hand slid down the slant of his hips and came to a patch of coarse hair, long enough to curl her fingers into. She dared to go lower, until she found the thick base of his cock.

He had gone stiff. From the shadow of his wings, it was too dark for her human eyes to see, but Feyre knew he was watching her intently as she wrapped her hands around his thick base. It was silken to the touch, much like Tamlin’s, but not smooth. As her hand stroked curiously up the lightly curved shaft, she noted ridges lay along the veined underside. When she brushed her thumb along them, a low sound rumbled through his chest.

Sweet creature, he chided, reaching to grasp her wrist, tonight is not about my pleasure.

But there was a promise to his voice that such a night would come. She shivered, and not from fear.

Something cold slinked around her ankles and coiled up her legs. Feyre glanced down, lips parting open. Even in the darkness, the inky tendrils of night were stark against her creamy thighs as they slithered up, up, up.

A firm, onyx hand pried her face back towards him, something like jealousy sparking in his violet eyes, as though he couldn’t stand to have her attention diverted from him for even a second. Plush lips crashed against hers, his tongue as demanding as the tendrils that snaked along her inner thigh.

He swallowed each of her shallow, panting breaths. It was an effort to reign in her focus, lost between the heat of his mouth and the velvet night that curled ever-closer to her aching center. The want that speared through her was a glowing iron against her chest. She knew if there were any light, it would fall over a deep, rosy flush on her skin. But she found she did not mind the dark that concealed it. It felt safe, intimate.

A shadow lapped teasingly at the seam of her thigh and the creature raised his head, blowing out a breath that she interpreted as surprise. It was followed by a dark, sensuous laugh that pooled in her stomach like warm whiskey.

Are you enjoying yourself? He asked, chasing the tendril with his hand so that it was his warm fingers skimming along her thighs. His smile was pure, predatory delight at the slickness he found there.

She clenched her thighs on reflex, a final attempt of her rational mind to remind Feyre she should be rejecting his touch. He tutted disapprovingly and the darkness tightened its hold to keep her thighs parted for him as slowly, torturously, he glided his fingers upwards. Straight through her drenched center.

Air rushed through her teeth as her body seemed to sing in relief at finally being touched where she needed him.

So wet, he said, taking a deep inhale. His bare chest rose against her own. Where was all this when it was your husband touching you, hmm?

Shame. It should have been shame that colored her cheeks as he ducked to taste her throat, instead of the moan that tumbled past her lips. She could feel her pulse fluttering beneath his tongue, almost in tandem to the thumb that he flicked playfully against her clit.

Perhaps I should take his place? He crooned. You could be my lovely little wife.

I am already married, she protested. As if it were the only thing stopping her. It was some kind of sorcery he was using, to subdue her inhibitions. Feyre could think of no other reason she would be sliding her hands into his inky hair.

Oh, she gasped, startled to find twin pairs of horns, so dark they had blended right in with his hair.

The white of his teeth flashed in their enclosed space. Something for you to hold onto.

Feyre’s brows merged. Why would I need to—

The shadows that were twined around her legs hoisted her up with such abruptness that she shrieked, scrambling to grasp at his horns for balance. He laughed beneath her, his breath a warm puff against her breasts where they now fell level with his face.

Just as well that she was holding on, for the way she arched her back when his hot mouth descended on her peaked nipple. Her knuckles turned white where she gripped his horns, and she wondered if he had any sensation in them. From the way his mouth continued to ravish her breast, she doubted he was in any pain.

More, she found herself thinking, pulling on his horns in an attempt to tug him closer—as if there was any space left for him to go. She felt frenzied as his tongue laid a path along her chest, up towards her collarbone, his hands coming up to replace his lips at her breasts. The rough scrape of calluses, or something else—scales, perhaps—against her sensitive flesh elicited a broken groan. Pain and pleasure mingled into an intoxicating mixture of sensation that had her grinding against his hard stomach.

Again, he gave that scraping laugh, this time into her neck as he dragged his teeth along her skin. She shivered, goosebumps sprouting all the way down to her toes.

A sudden, whispered touch snaked up towards the apex of her thighs. Feyre started and the creature hissed as Feyre yanked his horns hard, ripping his mouth away from her throat. She hadn’t expected to be touched down there, not with his hands still covering her breasts.

You asked for more, he said impatiently, returning his teeth to her pulsepoint. I happen to have many means of pleasing you, wife. Not an inch of you should be neglected.

The darkness that had curled towards her glistening cunt was firmer now, applying a gentle pressure to her clit that had Feyre relaxing into his hold, throwing her head back as she focused on the building friction.

That’s it, he purred. Let me worship you.

And she was content to let him, melting into his every touch as he explored her with mouth and hands and shadow. The hot sweep of his tongue made her wonder what it would feel like between her legs, if it would feel entirely different to the lazy tendril of night that stroked just slow enough to drive her crazy. She knew he was doing it intentionally, by the way she felt him smile against her shoulder when she started bucking her hips, her silent way of pleading.

More, she begged. Please.

What do you want? He crooned with a tone that implied he was being generous for even asking. But Feyre… Feyre didn’t know. She just knew it wasn’t enough. That she was aching, and the darkness didn’t offer the relief her body craved.

Sweet wife. Do you want me to show you what you need?

If she reminded him that she was not his wife, she was certain he wouldn’t show her at all. And Feyre was certain if he stopped now, this feverish desire would consume her until she was driven mad. So she only nodded her head obediently.

He rewarded her with shades of night that dipped lower, prodding curiously at her entrance. It was obscene, the way she could hear how wet she was as the darkness pushed through her folds. She held her breath as one of them slid inside, eased in by the way she reflexively clenched around it. Feyre had never had anything inside her, and she was so surprised by the pleasure that scraped against her walls that she could do nothing to stop the lewd moan that clawed out of her throat.

The shadow inside her seemed to expand at the sound, growing until she felt so full she was certain her vision began to blur. The other tendrils circled back up towards her clit, working in tandem with each other so that Feyre was overcome with sensation, blinded by indiscriminate ecstasy that came from both inside and outside of her body.

Feyre, the creature whispered, an admiration to his voice that made her feel powerful, drunk on indulgence.

She yielded to him fully, beginning to move against the thick shadow—crying out each time it entered and exited her body. His hands resumed their attention to her breasts, tweaking her nipples so that he could catch her whimpers with his own lips. As if he could devour the sound.

Pleasure was building in her spine, uncontrollable. Something coiled in her chest, so tight it hurt. Her breathing turned ragged, fingers slipping past his horns to claw at strands of his hair, just so that he could feel an inkling of the sharp sensation ratcheting through her spine with each slow, deep stroke. Her muscles were shaking, and though his lips smothered her gasps they still seeped out of her in broken, short-winded whimpers.

She felt her muscles spasm, her body already arching into the release, when the shadow was abruptly yanked out of her and her cunt clenched around agonizing emptiness.

W-Wha? She cried, digging her nails into his scalp. She bucked her hips towards him, grinding into the air. Begging him to continue. No! Please, please don’t stop.

You want to come? He asked with a mocking smile, licking into her mouth. My sweet, pure wife wants me to defile her? Ask me nicely, and I’ll give you something to come on.

Feyre grit her teeth, defiance rearing to the surface. She’d begged him enough, given her body willingly. If he was going to be smug about it, then she refused to give him the satisfaction. She’d just take what she wanted, for a change.

The shadows twined around her legs restricted a fair amount of motion, but she was still able to grind her hips against the shadows there were tormenting her clit.

A growl rumbled through his chest as Feyre’s mouth fell open in pleasure. His hands dropped from her breasts, but otherwise he didn’t stop her from working herself against his dark tendrils, letting that delicious pressure build and build.

The beginnings of a moan crested in her throat, just like the tension that was climbing to its peak. And just as she was about to reach that final release, the touch was once again yanked away.

Feyre screamed—a mix of surprise and pain and mind-numbing pleasure as the shadow was pulled away and in its place she was sheathed onto the creature’s massive cock in a single thrust. Her cunt clenched painfully around him as her vision turned white. Every muscle in her body tensed, before releasing in a tremor of euphoria that wrecked through her body, sending her shuddering against him as every thought eddied into static fuzz.

There you are, he cooed. Such a good wife, coming on my cock. Exactly where you belong.

Feyre didn’t think she was capable of speaking. She was pulled closer, laid against his broad chest as she struggled to regain her senses. Her pulse was roaring, so loud she could have been convinced she was truly hearing battle drums.

Breathe, he instructed, a gentle hand stroking back her hair.

She couldn’t—couldn’t think, couldn’t breath around this strange sense of fullness. So much more intrusive than the shadows. Everytime she tried to ground herself, to connect with any of her five senses, she was only led back to him. Taste, touch, smell, he consumed it all.

Stretched so nicely for me, he praised, leaning down to press a kiss to her damp forehead. Does it feel good, being this full?

Yes, she thought. But there was no room to accommodate him. Every time she breathed it felt like she was tightening around him, and she dreaded to think of him thrusting into her like his shadows had.

Shh, he said, though Feyre was certain she had been silent. Speaking would require an effort she didn’t think she could manage. Don’t worry, sweet one. All you have to do is keep me warm while I give you something to come on.

The way he held her, arms bundled tightly around her shoulders, seemed so at odds to the way she was speared on his cock. But he made no indication that he planned to move, content to let her rest against his bare chest and pant into his skin. He even hummed as he stroked his fingers soothingly through her hair, like she was a child being rocked to sleep. This razor-tipped bliss—she could have been lost forever to it. Days could have passed and she wouldn’t have known.

Until the shadows returned, creeping up her thighs. She whimpered as they reached her clit, still sensitive from his earlier ministrations. The feather-light touches were knives of pleasure, stabbing through her with every teasing touch. And every movement, no matter how subtle, caused her to clench hard around him, sending her breath sputtering in her lungs.

One more, pretty thing, he insisted as his shadows became more ruthless in playing with her swollen nub. Just give me one more.

Feyre shook her head, but the shadows continued, far more insistent than they’d been before. Before he had been dragging out her release, taunting her. Now he pushed her towards it, cooing and shushing her cries all the while.

One more, and then this sweet cunt will be ready for me, he whispered, pressing kisses to the crown of her head.

She was sobbing against him—pain and pleasure coalescing, blurring just as much as her vision as tears welled in her eyes. It was too much, and every effort to squirm away had her moving with delicious agony against his cock.

So close, he cooed. Just hold on a little longer for me, wife.

Please, she cried, pressing her teary face into his chest. Please.

I know, sweet thing, I know, he said, voice bathed with pity even as his tendrils increased their pace. Sing for me.

And she did. If the broken shriek that fled her lips could be described as singing. Even he grunted at the vice grip her body created around him.

Before Feyre had a chance to come down from her merciless high, his cock slipped out of her. And rammed back in with a force that had her choking on air.

My pretty wife, he grunted, with another brutal thrust. Your cunt fits me perfectly.

She didn’t necessarily agree. No one could fit him perfectly—no human, at least. And still as her nails scrambled against his granite chest, and all the air in her lungs escaped in the form of desperate, pleading wails, some depraved part of herself was still begging for more.

A stray shadow chased away one of her tears. You’re doing so good. Taking me so well.

Regardless of how wet she was, how it flooded down her thighs and continued to still, she felt each drag of his cock as its ridges scraped along every excruciatingly sensitive nerve. She gasped as his savage thrusts punched the air out of her lungs. Yet, she felt the pleasure building, felt it overriding the pain until she was meeting him thrust for thrust.

Let me fill you up, he gasped. Let me take you as my wife. Keep you bred full with my children.

Suddenly his mouth was on hers, hardly a kiss by the way each ragged breath of air was ripped from their lungs, colliding in the space between their lips.

Say yes, he begged.

Feyre shut her eyes, clinging to him like her life depended on it. Yes.

Then he was roaring, loud enough to shake mountains, to rouse every person in the waking realm. A sharp, unfamiliar tang twisted in the air, and the strange tingling sensation on her arm was lost entirely to the wave upon wave of rapture that crashed over them both.

Something spilled into her, so much that it seeped out of where they joined and dripped down her legs.

He gave her a sweet, gentle kiss. Until we meet again, my wife.

She woke to a pair of jade eyes, hovering over hers as a warm hand pressed into her dampened forehead.

The tension in Tamlin’s brow relaxed when he saw that she was awake. “I was truly beginning to worry,” he admitted, loosing a heavy breath. “I have heard that the first night can be overwhelming, but I did not realize it was to such an extent that a wife could faint upon seeing her husband naked.”

He was not naked anymore, she noticed. A loose tunic had been thrown over his chest, and there were trousers covering the muscular legs that perched on the edge of the bed.

“It is my fault,” he said charitably, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “My innocent Feyre, I should have prepared you better for what you would see.

Questions swam through her mind. She had… fainted? It must have been a fever dream, brought on by her terror, then. And did that mean that she and her husband, they hadn’t…?

“You needn’t worry,” he went on. “Now that we are married, your name will be removed from the reaping on the assumption that we have consummated. And we can wait to take that step until you feel more comfortable.”

She nodded numbly, still struggling to come to terms with the images that had come to her in sleep. A manifestation of her fears, surely. And the violet-eyed creature some warped configuration of her husband—who seemed kind, afterall.

Tamlin pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I have rented an additional room, to give you space to rest,” he said, standing up from the bed. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow is always a harrowing day.”

Her husband departed, taking the candlelight at her bedside with him. And Feyre was left to the dark, feeling a strange sense of comfort as it pressed in closer. She turned onto her side, mind reeling to think that her virginity had been maintained on her wedding night, and still she would not be eligible for the reaping.

Except…

Feyre felt something wet between her thighs, and when she sent a curious hand to inspect it, her fingers came away with a sticky, white substance that she was certain hadn’t come from her. Had Tamlin lied, and took advantage of her unconscious state?

Or…

No. The creature had been nothing but a figment of her own mind. Perhaps it had been her body’s own awareness of what her husband had been truly doing while she slept. Somehow, that was less alarming a thing to accept.

But when the morning sun washed through the inn’s large window, it brought with it the truth. For when Feyre sat up and moved her arm to push a lock of hair out of her face, she was met with black, inked skin. Whorls of darkness, crawling from her elbow to fingertip.

On the morning of the reaping, a maiden was usually chosen by drawing from the names of those eligible. On rare occasions—so rare Feyre had only ever heard the whispered story of when it last happened—the demon would choose the maiden himself. Mark her, with the very ink that stained her hand.

Her stomach sunk in time with the realization that her nighttime visitor had been more than a dream. That when he spoke of marriage and children and stealing her away, they had not been empty promises. A consequence of her dull, unfaithful heart.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Feyre’s heart raced as she thought of how to hide the markings. If no one else saw them, the reaping would simply proceed as normal, she reationalized, rushing to the wardrobe to shrug on a long-sleeved dressing gown, just as the door clicked open.

“Goodmorning, Feyre,” Tamlin said, a gravity to his expression that was only ever preserved for this day. He frowned at the sight of her, still in her night clothes. “We’ll be leaving soon for the reaping. You should hurry and get dressed.”

Feyre swallowed, silently nodding her head.

“What’s that?” Tamlin asked with a frown, pointing to the sleeve of her dressing gown.

She followed his gaze, dread curling in her stomach when she saw that the ink had begun to shimmer—a dark glow that seeped straight through the thin fabric. Words clogged in her throat, and she looked to her husband pleadingly as she sought explanation. There was none.

Tamlin covered the distance between them in two single strides, reaching urgently for the arm that marked her as belonging not just to another man, but a creature of unequaled cruelty. His face went ashen as he rolled up her sleeve, studying the blue-black markings.

Those jade eyes turned a dull color, and she watched a lump glide through his throat as he swallowed thickly.

“Forgive me,” he said, sounding grief stricken. “I made a foolish decision to not continue last night. My sweet virgin wife—” his voice broke on the final word. “He must have seen how… how it startled you, and decided to take you for himself.”

“We could run,” she found herself saying. “We would be pardoned from attending the reaping for our honeymoon, no one would have to know.”

Tamlin stayed silent, enough for Feyre’s heart to sink with the heavy truth he did not speak. He would not risk incurring the wrath of the creature who sought her, not for a wife he’d only known for a day.

She swallowed back her tears. “You would let him take me?”

“There is no stopping him,” he said, a coward’s response. “It would only be delaying the inevitable. And I hate to think of the way he would punish you, were you to elude him.”

A lie. A filthy, hateful lie. Feyre knew he only feared the way he would be punished for stealing the creature's property away.

Tamlin watched her blink back tears, the pity on his face intolerable. If she had been with her sisters, they would have run away with her. She was certain of it.

“Come,” he said gravely. “If we move now, we can meet with the Lords and convince them to finish the proceedings in private.”

It was his peace offering, she knew. He could not protect her, but he could at least protect her sisters from the shame that was always brought to the chosen maiden’s family. As though the maiden had any say at all in the manner.

Feyre was incapable of speech, struck by a sorrow that knocked her to her knees as she thought of her sisters, and the grief they would bear in her absence. Tamlin gave a long suffering sigh, as though this were all terribly inconvenient to him, and lifted Feyre into his arms.

The cold of the stone crept straight through her thin nightgown, seeping into her bones where it pressed into her stomach, thighs, and cheek. Tamlin hadn’t seen fit to allow her to change into something better suited for the crisp autumn weather. She supposed there was no point, when she would not survive to see night fall.

Feyre wasn’t sure if it was customary to tie the women down on their stomachs, or if her husband had done it out of shame, so he would not have to look at her tear-stained face while he secured her to the cool slab in the middle of the woods and left her for dead.

She supposed it had been a kindness that it was Tamlin who tied her into such a compromising position, and not one of the cruel Lords. A kindness, as well, that they indulged Tamlin’s request to hold the ceremony in private. There would be no reaping this year, for the maiden had already been chosen.

Tamlin would continue to their estate and would eventually claim she died in childbirth to save everyone from the shame. Of course, there would be people who suspected the truth, her sisters especially, but a small part of Feyre hoped they believed the lies. Not out of pride, or shame, but from the fear that they would come looking for her. And what they might find, if they did.

“My pretty wife,” a familiar voice said from behind. It settled over her skin like she was standing before a hearth, warming her against the cold stone.

Feyre knew immediately who he was. There would be no one else in these woods today. And now she had a name for that beautiful face she had seen in her sleep. A name the people of her village were too afraid to speak out loud, lest they summon him. But he was already here, trailing his hand down her spine.

She could not see hi where she was held against the stone, but she knew from the way her body shivered in response to his touch that it was the very same creature she had met the night prior.

“Rhysand,” she whispered.

The heat of his body fell over her. His breath tickled her neck as he leaned in close. “I told you we would meet again.”

#I can't in good conscience use my taglist for this 😂#Feysand #feysand fic #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #feyre x rhysand #Feysand smut #feysand fanfiction #feysand fanfic #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction

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whocookedthelastsupper · 3 months

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“Yet by a bizarre and limiting paradox, the emphasis on women's duty of procreation carries no connotations of female sexuality. As women were denied any full part in the process of reproduction, so they were likewise denied any pleasure of participation in the act. In fact, the less they knew about sex, the better, decreed their fathers and keepers; and thus in another reversal of the old mother-centered ways of thought, the highest value shifted from adult womanhood and the pride of fecundity to maiden ignorance. Now the child-bride, the unspoiled female, not-yet-woman, became the finest type; and a small film of atavistic membrane, the hymen, casually deposited by evolution in the recess of every woman's body, was discovered to be her prize possession. Virginity came in with a vengeance as every budding patriarch suddenly realized his divine right to a vacuum-sealed, factory-fresh vagina with built-in hymenal gift-wrapping and purity guarantee.

So powerful was this fetish of virginity that a new ideal gathered momentum, that of preserving it in perpetuity. One early Christian father, St. Jerome, was active in persuading fathers to dedicate their daughters to nunneries at birth, while another, st. Martin of Tours, constantly compared the "pure ungrazed field of virginity" to "the field of marriage torn up by the pigs and cattle of fornication." As this shows, the Christian church had from its origins a particular problem with women's sexuality: "to embrace a woman" wrote Odo of Cluny in the twelfth century, "is to embrace a sack of manure." The "sack of manure" metaphor for women's bodies was an obsession with the early Christians: "If a woman's bowels were cut open," pronounced the monk Roger de Caen, "you would see what filth is covered by her white skin. If a fine crimson cloth covered a pile of foul dung, would anyone be foolish enough to love the dung because of it?"

Yet Christ was born of woman. The solution to this embarrassment was found only after protracted doctrinal councils, when the gruesome hilarity of debating how the divine seed could penetrate the Virgin's hymen, or how Christ could have emerged from her uterus without rupturing the said hymen with his sacred infant head, appears to have gone unnoticed. But one thing was clear. Our Lord, the Son of God, the Redeemer of Man, could not have been born from a sack of shit. The Christian fathers had to protect Mary's purity in order e protect his. The Blessed Virgin Mary, it was decreed, remained a virgin not only before the birth of Christ, but afterward as well. She was unravaged by the bloody mess and pain of childbirth; He was hermetically sealed off from any contact with her filthy and disgusting innards. Nor was this merely a Christian perversion. The compulsive drive of the patriarch not simply to occupy and possess a pure and unspotted vagina but also to emerge from one may be demonstrated from the fact that in addition to Jesus, Buddha, Plato, Quetzalcoatl, Montezuma and Ghenghis Khan all claimed to be virgin-born.

With womanhood reduced to its most immature aspect, man therefore saddles himself with the problem of her regulation and con-trol. What this boils down to, in every case, is a withdrawal of the previous freedoms of adult women, which then traps them in a permanently arrested state of adolescent dependency and as such fulfills all the prescriptions of the patriarch.”

-Rosalind Miles; Who Cooked The Last Supper? The Women’s History of the World

#who cooked the last supper #herstory #patriarchy #religion #womens history #radblr #radfem #radical feminism #radical feminist safe #radical feminists do interact #radical feminists do touch #radical feminists please touch #feminism #feminist literature #radical feminists please interact #radical feminist community #radical feminist literature #radical feminst #radical feminist theory

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adarkroomandawallflower · 2 years

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The Continuance of Species

Pairing: Data Soong x (gender neutral) Reader [Platonic]

Rating: PG-13/Teen

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Mild swearing, implied fornication (nothing explicit or graphic mentioned), very brief mentions of pregnancy, pure platonic fluff, and lots of silliness!

Summary: While preparing for an upcoming science meeting with your friend and superior officer Lieutenant Commander Data, Data makes an unexpected visit to your quarters to share some surprising news involving your beloved pets.

The soft humming of the ship, which was usually a comfort to you, had suddenly become the most distracting sound in the galaxy. Your mind struggled to focus on the task at hand as the murmuring reverberated loudly against your eardrums. You knew this sudden sound sensitivity meant that you were beginning to lose focus, and that your productivity on the current project was about to become nonexistent.

An irritated yawn escaped your lips. “Damn it,” you breathed, shoving the PADD onto your coffee table. It wasn’t a harsh shove, but the echo of the device hitting the table was a cacophony to your currently overstimulated ears.

A soft “mrow?” resounded from the floor, and a few seconds later, your cat Patch took the place of the PADD that was previously in your lap. He sat expectantly, looking up at you with slightly dilated pupils and a sweet expression that made your heart melt. You couldn’t help but smile faintly at the feline, immediately scratching between his ears.

“Well hello, pretty boy,” you cooed. His eyes closed slowly as deep, but hushed purrs began to vibrate inside his throat. Your smile widened, and your earlier frustration melted away slightly.

As Patch purred generously against your thighs, your eyes wandered back to the abandoned PADD on your table. You had a meeting scheduled with your superior officer, Lieutenant Commander Data, in two days, and you were nowhere near ready for it. As the recently appointed Assistant Chief Science Officer, you were Data’s right-hand in the science sector, so the two of you worked together extensively. Additionally, you also had the opportunity to take command of the science team when the Lieutenant Commander’s various other ship duties took priority.

This had been the case for the past few weeks, as Data’s hands were tied up with Operations and night watch Bridge duties. Typically, you and Data met weekly to discuss the status of the science team’s work; however, since he had been unavailable for several weeks, you were unable to meet. Thus, your upcoming meeting was going to be extensive.

From experimental failures to unexplainable readings, a lot had happened in Data’s command absence, and you knew he wanted to know every detail, no matter how minute. Although you kept substantial, thorough records (a quality Data valued highly, and was one of the reasons he recommended you for this assistant command position), you were having difficulty organizing them all into a coherent presentation for him. In addition, Captain Picard had assigned the science team the considerable task of surveying a newly discovered M-class planet, in order to construct an evolutionary timeline of its development. This project was to start in a couple of weeks, and to be conducted in tandem with a Starfleet science research team scheduled to rendezvous with the Enterprise sometime in the upcoming week. Data had also requested that you prepare the team and laboratory for this impending research project in his absence, so he will likely inquire about updates on those provisions, as well.

You let out another sigh. You returned your focus to your pet, moving your hand to scratch under his chin. He eagerly lifted his head up slightly, extending his chin towards you to allow you more scratching access. His purrs increased in volume and intensity as you continued to scratch his chin.

“You wouldn’t happen to be available to help me present the various methods of evolutionary topographical study of planets to the rest of the team, would you?”

Patch’s eyes remained closed, and his purrs continued loudly as he ignored your query.

“Mhmm, didn’t think so.”

The tell-tale chime that signaled someone was at your door resounded suddenly throughout your quarters. Surprised, you stopped scratching your cat’s chin, much to his chagrin. He vocalized his displeasure to you, but you ignored him momentarily.

“Come in?” you responded hesitantly, unsure of who could be at your quarters and for what purpose.

As the doors whooshed open, your astonishment increased when you saw the familiar figure of your superior officer come into view. You panicked briefly, thinking he had decided to conduct your meeting earlier than originally planned. Eyes wide, you thoughtlessly stood up, Patch practically falling from your lap and glaring up at you once he hit the floor.

“Commander!” you addressed your superior, assuming as professional a stance as possible while in pajamas.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” he dismissed. “I am not here with duty-related motives.”

“Oh?” you responded, astounded yet again, but very relieved.

“Yes,” he reiterated, crouching down slightly to pet Patch, who was now happily weaving himself through Data’s legs in pleasant greeting. “Hello, Patch,” he addressed your eager feline, who excitedly nudged his head into his outstretched hand in response, "It is nice to see you, as well," he allowed Patch to rub against his palm for a moment before he gingerly ran his hand along his back.

Patch absolutely loved Data, as well as his cat, Spot. Since becoming friends, the four of you had frequent playdates in Data’s quarters. In fact, your cats were the ones to spark the blooming friendship between the two of you. You and Data had always been friendly and cordial with each other, as you both had vast respect for one another, but neither of you really spent time together outside of work. Upon discovering that you, too, had a cat; however, Data had begun to strike casual conversations with you and invite you to activities outside of work, mostly revolving around his extracurriculars.

Although you had been on the Enterprise for some time now, you didn’t have many friends, nor did you socialize or engage in many of the ship’s recreational activities. On occasion, you did partake in a casual trip to Ten Forward with some of your colleagues, but those outings were not of substantial significance to you. The only regular ventures you participated in were the weekly calls to your family and best friend, and spending leisure time with Patch.

Due to your lifelong streak of avoidant behavior, you were quite shocked when Data began consulting with you casually and inviting you to his poetry readings and musical performances. At first, you were confused, unsure of his intentions in this seemingly random desire to become more than just colleagues, but it became clear that his purpose in obtaining your friendship was not malicious or pitiful. He simply realized that the two of you shared a lot of qualities that made you platonically compatible, and he was keen to make a human friend who was so similar to himself: a rarity for him. Now, you were delighted that he saw you not just as a work associate, but as a friend, and the two of you continue to grow closer.

Your smile returned as you watched him meticulously pet Patch, who continued to vocalize his immense pleasure at the affection.

Data noticed you observing the two of them, but didn’t mention it. Instead, he was internally debating how to bring up the purpose for his visit, unsure how to begin this somewhat delicate conversation.

Thankfully, you did it for him, “What brings you here, Comma—Data?” you corrected, remembering him mentioning this visit was not work-related and thus, you deduced, was of a casual nature.

“I have come to discuss a matter related to Patch.”

“My cat?”

“Correct,” he stopped petting said cat, and stood up to regain his perfect posture.

You quickly tidied up a nearby chair and fluffed the pillow that was on it before sitting back down on your couch. He watched you curiously for a moment, internally debating whether or not to share his curiosity with you. After a few seconds, he decided against doing so, and elected to ask you about it at a later time, instead.

“Please, have a seat,” you encouraged, gesturing to the now vacant chair. He did as instructed, and almost immediately, Patch jumped into his lap, adamant in continuing the previous greetings. “What would you like to discuss about Patch?”

His eyes darted towards said feline, and he began to stroke the insatiable pet again. Once Patch was satisfied for the time being, he returned his stoic gaze onto you, “As you are aware, Spot gave birth to a healthy litter of kittens 18 days, 17 hours, and 23 seconds ago,” you nodded, a faint smile forming on your face, “Furthermore, if you recall, I intended to determine the father of her kittens,” Data’s hand moved to scratch the aperture of Patch’s back, where his tail and spine met, eliciting a new set of heavy purrs from your cat. “To do so, I collected DNA samples from the twelve male felines currently aboard the Enterprise, including Patch,” he looked down at the aforementioned cat, still caressing him generously, “After performing several trials of extensive genetic testing, I have deduced the father of Spot’s kittens,” he ceased his petting, but kept his hand on Patch’s back. “There is a 99.7132% chance that Patch is their biological father.”

Your jaw dropped, almost cartoonishly, in disbelief. Your cat fathered Spot’s kittens!?

It technically was possible; Spot and Patch had several supervised playdates, mostly in Data’s quarters, but neither of you had ever seen them engaging in…naughty activities…

“Are you—” you cut yourself off, knowing the answer to your verbally incomplete inquiry, “How…” you started again, but were unable to find the words to form a coherent question, “How??”

Patch, now annoyed from the lack of affection, began meowing innocently at Data, “I suspect conception occurred during one of the instances Spot escaped from my quarters,” Data paused. “Although I have never witnessed our children engaging in promiscuous behavior with one another, nor have I witnessed or found either of them in our quarters unattended, it is the only satisfactory explanation,” he glanced down at Patch to offer him a somewhat disapproving look before his bright irises met yours once again. “My calculations suggest Spot was impregnated on Stardate 46791.2, a day which Geordi had found her roaming outside my quarters. Therefore, I theorize that she must have somehow initiated contact with Patch on that day, which resulted in the conception of her current litter.”

You were dumbfounded. No one had ever found Patch outside of your quarters. Spot had been known to escape Data’s quarters on occasion when he was away, but as far as you knew, Patch had never gotten out of yours. On the suspected conception date, you and Data had both been extra busy in the lab, performing a geological data analysis that ended up going well into the night. Spot and Patch had been left unattended, but in their respective quarters. You had no idea how the two of them could have met up and…conceived children!

“I’m so sorry…” you admonished sheepishly, staring at Patch in complete bewilderment.

“No apology is necessary,” he assured, “Spot and Patch simply engaged in an organismal urge to propagate, in order to continue the existence of their species.”

You ran a hand through your already disheveled hair and exhaled deeply, “Well, considering the circumstances, I think it’s necessary that we discuss custody and care arrangements.”

Data tilted his head curiously, “Custody?” before you could clarify, his positronic brain had already scoured through the innumerable information banks stored within him for the definition. “Ah, the protective care or guardianship of someone or something.”

“Exactly,” you confirmed, “Since Patch fathered Spot’s kittens, I think it’s only fair that I also share in the responsibility of caring for them.”

Data considered this for a moment before nodding in agreement. Your cat released another irritated meow at Data, and he glanced at him briefly with what appeared to be a slightly annoyed expression. “In that case, I believe the most appropriate course of action would be to divide the ‘custody’ equally.”

You nodded, “I agree; that would be the most appropriate division of custody.”

“The kittens are presently much too young to be separated from Spot, as they still require her lactation for sustenance. Thus, it would be premature to begin the custody divisions at this moment. However, in 3 months, 1 week, and 5 days, the kittens will have developed enough to survive without much of Spot’s assistance. At that time, our custody arrangement can begin.”

“Agreed.”

“Unfortunately, due to the flexible and incongruent nature of our work schedules, it is unlikely that we will be able to devise a consistent ‘kitten-sitting’ schedule. On the other hand, I am aware that my night shift duties have become more frequent, and thus, I anticipate that most of my availability will be fairly nonexistent for the foreseeable future, particularly in the evenings.”

He looked at you expectantly, almost apologetically, and you knew he was insinuating that you would have to take the brunt of the kitten care in the initial stages of your arrangement. The thought briefly increased your current stress levels, but you owed it to Data and Spot to do your part. Furthermore, you loved cats; taking care of the kittens would ultimately be more of a labor of love for you than anything else. “I think I can make that work.”

“Very well. I have devised a detailed itinerary with the individual duties that will need to be performed for the kittens when they are being cared for and supervised. I will finalize that document and send the information to you in the coming days.”

“Great, that sounds good to me,” you glanced down at Patch, who was still greedily demanding Data’s attention. “I know you said an apology isn’t necessary, but I really do have to apologize again. I can’t believe he did that…if you need any help with Spot and the kittens before our custody arrangement begins, please let me know. I’d be more than happy to help.”

“Although it is true that this would not have occurred without the involvement of Patch, it would be unfair to place the entire blame on him. After all, Spot was also a willing and equal participant in the conception. Therefore, she is equivalently responsible for this…unforeseen circumstance,” the apparently promiscuous Patch was now curled up in Data’s lap, having accepted that Data was no longer going to indulge his requests for affection, and elected to drift off to sleep, instead.

“However,” Data continued, “your offered assistance with Spot and our kittens is appreciated. I will inform you if we will require any aid prior to the beginning of our custody arrangement.”

You smiled, “Thank you.”

Data nodded once, faintly returning your smile. “In addition, if you are available, I would like for you to meet the kittens, after the conclusion of our upcoming meeting.”

Your smile widened slightly, “Yes, I’d love to meet them.”

“Good.”

A somewhat comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you processed all this information. Unbeknownst to you, while your brain was slowly unpacking and cramming these new realizations into your over-occupied mind, Data was studying you intently. He hadn’t seen you in a little over three weeks, but he calculated that in that timespan, the dark circles under your eyes had increased in intensity by 9.3%, indicating that you had not been sleeping well. He also noted that your resting heart rate and blood pressure had risen considerably since the last time you met, and he counted three small, grey hairs protruding wildly from your scalp: all tell-tale physiological signs of increased stress levels.

As your commanding officer, he had a duty to be mindful of your health and report any serious concerns to Dr. Crusher or Counselor Troi. However, he also considered you a good friend, and as a friend, he held an even greater obligation to be mindful of your health, “May I ask a question of a personal nature?”

You hesitated, eyeing him almost suspiciously, “Sure, Data.”

“Why have you been having difficulty obtaining an adequate amount of sleep?”

Your brain took a moment to extrapolate what he was asking you, but once the query was fully processed, you let out a small sigh, “I don’t really know,” you lied, “but I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

He raised an eyebrow quizzically and narrowed his golden eyes at you, clearly not fully believing your statement. There was no way you were going to admit to your superior, who recommended you for this promotion, how intense and stressful it had been so far without his consistent presence and assistance. You wanted him to know that you could handle the workload and that he could count on you, but if he felt you were being dishonest with him, that could also negatively affect your reputation with him.

“I was considering heading over to Sick Bay to speak with Dr. Crusher about it, though, if it didn’t improve next week,” you added honestly, hoping it would smooth things over.

He studied you for a moment before dropping his accusatory expression, apparently satisfied (for now) with your response. “That sounds like a reasonable course of action.”

You nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” you blurted out suddenly.

He cocked his head to the side slightly, his eyebrows scrunching downwards softly as his classic confused expression encompassed his pale face. “What are you expressing gratitude for?”

“For looking out for me,” you smiled faintly, “for…caring about me.”

The perplexity disappeared from his face as quickly as it had appeared. “Ahh, I see. Although your gratitude is appreciated, it is not required. As your superior officer, and your friend, it is expected that I, in human parlance, ‘keep a close eye on’ you and your health. I was simply performing my anticipated duties.”

Your smile widened slightly at his natural mention of your friendship. “Perhaps, but I still appreciate you, and our friendship.”

He returned a faint smile, “I appreciate our friendship, as well, and I appreciate your occupation as my Assistant Chief Science Officer. Your work has been admirable thus far,” you flushed faintly at his unanticipated compliment, a reaction he had become delightfully accustomed to. “To continue your commendable work, you will require the proper amount of sleep necessary for a human adult. Therefore, I will leave your quarters now, so that you can rest adequately for our upcoming meeting.”

You groaned internally at the reminder.

He very cautiously picked up Patch from his lap and placed him delicately onto the chair he previously occupied. Satisfied that he had not awoken him, he nodded approvingly to himself, performing the Picard maneuver while straightening his posture to face you, “I look forward to our meeting, Lieutenant.”

You stood up, assuming a dignified pose. “As do I, Commander."

You both made your way to the entrance of your quarters. As soon as the doors opened, Data stepped through them, but paused for a moment.

He turned back around to face you, “Pleasant dreams, Lieutenant.”

You smiled, briefly recalling his dreaming program he told you he had discovered during an electrical accident in Engineering. “You, too, Commander.”

He returned your smile faintly, and politely nodded once before turning and heading down the hall.

As the doors closed, you turned back around to face your living room. Placing your hands on your hips sassily, you stared at the previously rolled up ball of fur, whose head was now lifted up slightly and eyes stared at you hazily. “You better not get used to lounging around anymore. You’ve got children to take care of now, young man!”

He extended his front paws and revealed his claws, stretching carelessly before he returned to his previous spherical orientation.

You shook your head with an exasperated sigh.

BONUS:

Stardate 46791.2.

Ensign Smith strode down the hallway, on his way to Engineering per Lieutenant Commander LaForge’s request. He was excited that the Chief Engineer had asked for his assistance, eager to show him how good of an engineer he was. Good enough, he thought, to be a candidate for a promoted position that had recently become available.

Along his trip to Engineering, the Ensign noticed an orange tabby cat pawing at one of the quarters and stopped.

“Aww, did you get out of your quarters?” he asked the cat, who looked up at him pleadingly, “Don’t worry, I’ll let you back in,” he peered at the doors, looking for the quarters' number, “Computer, requesting emergency access to quarters S3282,” a few seconds passed before the doors flew open, and the cat eagerly ran inside.

As the doors closed, his eyes briefly registered the name of the inhabitant. Although he didn’t know you personally, he did recognize your name, and knew you were a superior officer (as well as likely to be friends with Commander LaForge). He would have to remember to mention rescuing your cat to you, if you ever meet, in the off-chance you would put in a good word for him to his superior.

Pleased with himself, Ensign Smith continued on his way to Engineering.

Now inside your quarters, Spot meowed intently, searching for her best feline friend. Patch immediately came trotting out of your shared bedroom at the sound of her familiar voice. When they locked eyes, Spot meowed again, and Patch eagerly made his way over to her.

They sniffed their noses in greeting, and Patch vocalized his hello. Spot lovingly butted her head against his face for a moment before excitedly brushing herself against his side. Patch’s tail flicked in amusement, and his pupils dilated. Spot repeated the motion, purring lowly.

Upon the completion of his latest Dixon Hill adventure, Captain Picard exited the holodeck with a satisfied half-smile. He was glad to have some quality leisure time to himself, although he knew it would be short-lived.

As he made his way down the hall, he briefly glanced over to his left and realized he was passing by your quarters. With the geographical data analysis from a previously completed science excursion by the Enterprise’s science team underway, he anticipated yours and Data’s reports on the matter to be arriving on his desk soon. He decided to stop by and briefly discuss your progress with you, as well as schedule a meeting time to go over the final details with you, Data, and your team.

He pinged your quarter's LCARS pin pad, requesting access. The doors opened unexpectedly, and a sudden rush of orange…something flew between his legs and ran down the hall.

“What the devil?!” he swore, briefly staring down the hall at the now disappeared figure before turning his attention back to your quarters.

He peered inside, looking for you, but only saw your cat, sat on the floor in the living room, cleaning himself, “Lieutenant?” he called again. Patch stopped cleaning himself and looked up at the Captain curiously.

Feeling that he had overstayed his welcome, especially since you were evidently not home, the Captain nodded awkwardly to your cat before exiting.

The doors whooshed shut, and he continued on his way, deciding a formal meeting to discuss your reports would be best. The strange occurrence he witnessed would be long forgotten by the time of the official meeting, and he would neglect to mention the bizarre encounter to you.

A/N: My first Data fic! This was an idea that has been stewing in my brain for several months, but now finally came to fruition. I would have loved to have seen Data’s search for Spot’s kittens’ father(s) as a subplot to an episode, but alas...

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