#A male marrying into her family will be 'lesser'

[suzannahnatters]

all RIGHT:

Why You're Writing Medieval (and Medieval-Coded) Women Wrong: A RANT

(Or, For the Love of God, People, Stop Pretending Victorian Style Gender Roles Applied to All of History)

This is a problem I see alllll over the place - I'll be reading a medieval-coded book and the women will be told they aren't allowed to fight or learn or work, that they are only supposed to get married, keep house and have babies, &c &c.

If I point this out ppl will be like "yes but there was misogyny back then! women were treated terribly!" and OK. Stop right there.

By & large, what we as a culture think of as misogyny & patriarchy is the expression prevalent in Victorian times - not medieval. (And NO, this is not me blaming Victorians for their theme park version of "medieval history". This is me blaming 21st century people for being ignorant & refusing to do their homework).

Yes, there was misogyny in medieval times, but 1) in many ways it was actually markedly less severe than Victorian misogyny, tyvm - and 2) it was of a quite different type. (Disclaimer: I am speaking specifically of Frankish, Western European medieval women rather than those in other parts of the world. This applies to a lesser extent in Byzantium and I am still learning about women in the medieval Islamic world.)

So, here are the 2 vital things to remember about women when writing medieval or medieval-coded societies

FIRST. Where in Victorian times the primary axes of prejudice were gender and race - so that a male labourer had more rights than a female of the higher classes, and a middle class white man would be treated with more respect than an African or Indian dignitary - In medieval times, the primary axis of prejudice was, overwhelmingly, class. Thus, Frankish crusader knights arguably felt more solidarity with their Muslim opponents of knightly status, than they did their own peasants. Faith and age were also medieval axes of prejudice - children and young people were exploited ruthlessly, sent into war or marriage at 15 (boys) or 12 (girls). Gender was less important.

What this meant was that a medieval woman could expect - indeed demand - to be treated more or less the same way the men of her class were. Where no ancient legal obstacle existed, such as Salic law, a king's daughter could and did expect to rule, even after marriage.

Women of the knightly class could & did arm & fight - something that required a MASSIVE outlay of money, which was obviously at their discretion & disposal. See: Sichelgaita, Isabel de Conches, the unnamed women fighting in armour as knights during the Third Crusade, as recorded by Muslim chroniclers.

Tolkien's Eowyn is a great example of this medieval attitude to class trumping race: complaining that she's being told not to fight, she stresses her class: "I am of the house of Eorl & not a serving woman". She claims her rights, not as a woman, but as a member of the warrior class and the ruling family. Similarly in Renaissance Venice a doge protested the practice which saw 80% of noble women locked into convents for life: if these had been men they would have been "born to command & govern the world". Their class ought to have exempted them from discrimination on the basis of sex.

So, tip #1 for writing medieval women: remember that their class always outweighed their gender. They might be subordinate to the men within their own class, but not to those below.

SECOND. Whereas Victorians saw women's highest calling as marriage & children - the "angel in the house" ennobling & improving their men on a spiritual but rarely practical level - Medievals by contrast prized virginity/celibacy above marriage, seeing it as a way for women to transcend their sex. Often as nuns, saints, mystics; sometimes as warriors, queens, & ladies; always as businesswomen & merchants, women could & did forge their own paths in life

When Elizabeth I claimed to have "the heart & stomach of a king" & adopted the persona of the virgin queen, this was the norm she appealed to. Women could do things; they just had to prove they were Not Like Other Girls. By Elizabeth's time things were already changing: it was the Reformation that switched the ideal to marriage, & the Enlightenment that divorced femininity from reason, aggression & public life.

For more on this topic, read Katherine Hager's article "Endowed With Manly Courage: Medieval Perceptions of Women in Combat" on women who transcended gender to occupy a liminal space as warrior/virgin/saint.

So, tip #2: remember that for medieval women, wife and mother wasn't the ideal, virgin saint was the ideal. By proving yourself "not like other girls" you could gain significant autonomy & freedom.

Finally a bonus tip: if writing about medieval women, be sure to read writing on women's issues from the time so as to understand the terms in which these women spoke about & defended their ambitions. Start with Christine de Pisan.

I learned all this doing the reading for WATCHERS OF OUTREMER, my series of historical fantasy novels set in the medieval crusader states, which were dominated by strong medieval women! Book 5, THE HOUSE OF MOURNING (forthcoming 2023) will focus, to a greater extent than any other novel I've ever yet read or written, on the experience of women during the crusades - as warriors, captives, and political leaders. I can't wait to share it with you all!

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 10

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

“Azriel is fine,” Gwyn repeated drily, her nose buried in a book.

Her friends got to hear all about Nesta’s worry. 

“You don’t know that,” Nesta said with a sigh. “I just…gods, I want to throttle Rhysand,” she seethed. For doing this to Azriel. 

To Az. Who had always been kind to her. Who had always been…sweet to her. Who was sweet. Even when his exterior didn’t betray that. Who was kind and thoughtful and gave the best gifts…Who had sat with her when she had waken up from nightmares and had been willing to lay down his life to make sure that her sister would be happy. 

He was like a brother to Nesta. He was what she had always imagined an older brother to be like. And she knew that he had been utterly miserable, but hadn’t been able to fix what was wrong for him…and now she got to find out that it was all Rhysand’s fault. 

Emerge just sighed. “Get in line,” her friend said drily. “Mor wants to do worse than that to him, I think.”

Nesta held back a snort. She believed it once she saw it and not before. 

“He is fine. Quite happy even,” Gwyn repeated, a small grin painting her features. 

“How do you know?” Nesta demanded, turning to her red-haired friend who just smiled at her. 

“Because I saw him yesterday,” Gwyn said simply.

"You saw him?" Nesta asked, her eyes widening in surprise. "Where? When?" When had Gwyn. 

Gwyn just sighed. “Why would a male and a female that love each other very much come to see a Priestess?” 

Nesta's eyes widened as she realized what Gwyn was implying. 

"You don't mean..." she trailed off, shock and disbelief etched on her face. "They're getting married?" she said weakly.

Gwyn just grinned at her, miming to lock up her mouth and throw away the key. "Let's just say that Azriel couldn't have been more in love if he had tried," she said cryptically, flipping the page of her book with a smirk.

“Who is she?” Nesta demanded. Who was Azriel’s mate? Who was the girl that the mother had picked to be good enough for Az? 

“Sweet. Quiet,” Gwynn answered easily. “Thinks Azriel hung the moon and the stars.”

That was what he deserved, wasn’t it? 

Azriel deserved happiness after everything he had been through, and if his mate could provide that for him, then that was all that mattered. 

"Azriel deserves someone who loves him that much," she said, nodding in agreement. "Does he seem happy too?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"He's as happy as I've ever seen him," Gwyn answered, her expression softening. "He couldn't take his eyes off her the whole time. It was like the rest of the world didn't even exist."

Nesta smiled, feeling a sense of warmth thrumming through at the thought of Azriel being so happy. "I'm glad he's found someone who makes him feel that way," she said softly. "He deserves it."

Gwyn just smiled, her eyes twinkling. "I think they're good for each other," she said simply. "They just...fit together, you know?"

That’s what Nesta wished for for him.

And once she had that confirmation… well, it was much easier to calm Cassian.

Who had been near rabid with… Nesta wasn’t even sure with what. A bad conscience maybe. Anxiety, anger…a whole maelstrom of emotions. 

"Talk to me," she said simply, as she sat down on the ground a few feet away from where he was stabbing one of the training dummy. She had half expected him to pin a painting of Rhysand to it, to stab his brother’s proxy.  “Stop reducing every training double to kindle,” she said drily.

“Az said three days,” and he wasn’t there this morning,” Cassian snapped.

"Calm down," Nesta said firmly. "Azriel is a grown male, Cassian. He can take care of himself. Maybe something came up."

Like breakfast with his wife after they got married. 

"But what if he's hurt or...or worse?" Cassian said, his voice cracking with emotion. "We don't even know where he is or what he's doing."

Nesta sighed, knowing that she couldn't brush off his concerns completely. "Look. He said he would be with his mate," Nesta said drily. "I am sure she'll take care of him. And Gwyn did see him yesterday and said he was fine."

"Why did Gwyn see him?" Cassian demanded immediately.

“Because I had a favour to ask," Azriel's voice came from behind them, drily.

Cassian turned around so quickly that she was quite sure that he got whiplash...and then pounced on Azriel in a bonecrushing hug.

"I am so sorry," she could hear her mate apologise. "I had a talk with Rhys. I imagine you'll get a apology from him as well. It's not enough, it's nowhere near enough, but...maybe it could be a start," Cassian said softly. "I am sorry that you didn't feel like you could come to me when you found your mate."

Even when Azriel had a temper...if it was about his family he was more forgiving than they had any right to, Nesta reflected drily, as she watched him return the hug from Cassian. 

"It's not your fault," he waved him off, his voice dry. Cassian disagreed with that assessment, Nesta knew. Cassian thought that he should have said something earlier, done more...

She had never seen him as angry with Rhysand as he had been over the last few days. Actually, Nesta hadn’t thought that she would ever see the day that Cassian broke his High Lord's nose on purpose.

Cassian pulled back slightly from the hug, his expression still earnest. "I mean it, Az," he said. "I should have been there for you. I should have had your back."

"He did break Rhys'nose on your behalf," Nesta said drily.

Azriel's lips twitched into a faint smile. Thank you," he said, amusement in his voice.  "That...means more than you know."

Cassian just shrugged, still feeling guilty for not having been there for Azriel when he needed him. "I should have been a better brother to you," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I let you down."

Azriel said nothing, but squeezed Cassian’s shoulder. 

Nesta couldn’t help but look for a ring on his hand. A simple gold band glinted there on his finger, and she was unable not to smile at it. 

“Congratulartions,” she said quietly, nodding to the ring and Azriel looked at her and then the ring…and then he chuckled as she stood up and hugged him too. 

“Thank you,” he thanked her graciously. 

“You got married?!” Cassian said, sounding shocked, but the warmth in his voice was apparent. “Congrats!”. 

"So, tell us all about her," Nesta said seriously.

"Why do you want to know?" Azriel asked, staring at her.

"Because she is your mate. She is your wife. She is important to you," Nesta said simply. "She is important to you, so she is important to us. What's her name?"

"Her name is Sky," he answered softly. 

Sky. 

Her name was Sky. 

Named after what Azriel hadn’t been allowed to feel for over a decade. Sky. Named after what every Illyrian held dearest. 

"Sky is...the sweetest person I have ever met. With the bluest eyes. She loves books and her cat," Azriel explained, a soft smile on his face. 

Nesta and Cassian exchanged a small smile at the way Azriel's face lit up when he talked about Sky. "She sounds amazing," Nesta said sincerely. "We can’t wait to meet her. Whenever you are ready."

"Do you...Do you want to come to dinner tonight?" Azriel offered.

Nesta hadn't expected that. Had expected Azriel to hold a grudge to keep her away from all of them...but he was giving them a chance.

"Are you sure?" Nesta asked carefully. "We would love to come, but only if you're comfortable with it."

Azriel paused for a moment, "I'm sure," he said simply. "Sky would like it, and I...I would like it too."

Nesta smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest at Azriel's words. "We'll be there," she said warmly, Cassian nodding in agreement.

"Good," Azriel said simply. "I'll tell Sky."

"Thank you, Az," Cassian said softly, his expression earnest. "For giving us a chance."

This didn't stop Nesta's mate from telling her about his more and more ridiculous theories about Azriel's mate during their flight into Velaris and the mountains surrounding it.

Nesta couldn't help but roll his eyes as Cassian suggested her being a mythical being like Amren. "I swear, Cassian, you have the wildest imagination," she said, shaking her head. "Can you focus on flying for one minute without dreaming up these ridiculous scenarios?"

Cassian just shrugged, grinning unrepentantly. "Hey, it's fun to speculate," he said with a playful wink. "Besides, you never know...maybe Az's mate is a mermaid princess or something equally as exciting."

Nesta couldn't help but snort with laughter, even as Cassian landed in front of a charming cabin at a mountain lake. As soon as they landed, Nesta took a moment to take in their surroundings. The cabin was indeed charming, hidden away in a picturesque mountain setting near a serene lake. The peaceful surroundings seemed to perfectly mirror Azriel's quiet and introspective nature. Nesta could understand why he had chosen this spot as his home.

As they made their way towards the front door, Nesta couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves. This was…this was important. 

This was the female that Azriel had married, his mate…she was important to him.  

Before they had a chance to knock, Azriel opened the door, a slight smile on his face. "Come in," he said warmly.

Nesta's gaze immediately fell to the female at his size. Shorter than average, a body that consisted out of voluptuous curves, with chocolate brown waves falling to her waist. Her hands were clenched together and she was obviously nervous as she stared at Nesta and Cassian with ill-hidden apprehension.

"This...is Sky," Nesta heard Azriel say. Nesta couldn't tear her eyes away. Sky was exactly what she had expected and absolutely nothing like it at the same time. 

Nesta's first impression of Sky was that she was undeniably pretty, in a quiet and understated way. But as she looked at the nervous expression on Sky's face, Nesta couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy.

She could only imagine how daunting it must feel for Sky to be meeting Azriel's family for the first time. She gave Sky a warm smile, which she hoped would put the girl at ease. "It's nice to finally meet you, Sky," she said gently. "Az has told us a lot about you."

Sky managed a trembling smile, but the nerves were clear on her face. "It...It's n...nice t...to me...meet y...you t...too," she stuttered, grimacing at her own voice. Azriel's hand on her waist tightened and he fixed both Nesta and Cassian with a look that told them there would be hell to pay if they said a single thing about her stutter.

Nesta just gave him a reassuring smile, as  she got the message loud and clear. She wasn't going to make Sky feel even more uncomfortable and insecure than she already seemed to be. Not when it was clear that Azriel cared about her so much.

Cassian didn't even hesitate to pull first Azriel into a hug and then Sky right alongside with him, her small frame utterly dwarfed by Cassian.

“So you are my brother’s mate,” Cassian told her seriously. "We are so happy that we finally get to meet the girl that makes our brother so happy.”

Sky blushed at Cassian's warm words, but some of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders. "Th...Thank you...," she murmured, her tone a barely audible one. She stepped back into Azriel's embrace and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, his wings coming around to encircle her in a protective embrace.

Even his shadows seemed to love her. The shadows that normally kept away from every other person, only clinging to Azriel…seemed to dote on her, curls themselves through her hair, and along the hem of her dress…

"Shall we go inside?" Azriel asked, gesturing towards the open door behind him. Nesta and Cassian nodded, following the pair into the cozy cabin. The interior of the cabin was just as warm and inviting as the outside, with rustic wooden floors and a large stone fireplace that crackled cheerfully. There were shelves filled with books on every wall and a few comfortable armchairs nestled around a low table.

So many books. Nesta was quite sure that it probably could be considered a private library.

But before she could really take it in, there was a rough meowing.

Nesta glanced down in surprise to see a fat, fluffy brown cat sauntering towards them, meowing loudly. The cat rubbed against Sky's ankles before trying to leap on the arm of the couch...and failing horrible. "Is that your cat?" Nesta asked, an amused smile on his face.

"Y…Yes, Th...That's H...Hector," Sky answered, picking up the cat that now pretended that falling off the couch had been totally his plan all along and instead curled himself happily in Sky's arms. His yellow eyes stared in two different directions and his fur was patchy...but he was somehow quite charming.

Nesta liked him. He had character.  And his rough purring was adorable.

"He's adorable," Nesta said honestly, holding out her hand towards him. As Hector sniffed at her, she reached out to gently scratch behind his ears. The cat leaned into her touch contentedly, his purrs growing even louder.

"Sky dotes on him," Azriel said with a hint of pride in his voice. "He was a stray and she took him in. She's been taking care of him ever since."

Nesta looked at Sky, who was smiling at her cat. "That's so sweet," Nesta said. "He's a big boy, isn't he?" she said with some amusement. When Sky held him, Hector seemed to be nearly half her size.

"I...It's a...all the tuna he eats," Sky answered drily.

Nesta chuckled, "Well, he's certainly in good hands with you." She watched as Hector purred contentedly in Sky's arms, clearly very attached to her.

Cassian, meanwhile, was eyeing the cat with a playful grin. "Careful, Az, Hector might try to steal your girl with all his charm," he teased.

Azriel just cocked an eyebrow, "Oh he already did," he drawled, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Nesta couldn't help but laugh at their banter. It felt good to see Azriel being relaxed enough to joke around, even if it was at his own expense.

Even Sky was smiling as Hector let out a loud meow, clearly demanding attention. "Someone's jealous," she said softly, scratching him behind his ears. Hector purred contentedly and burrowed deeper into her arms, clearly happy to be the center of attention.

"Y...You want to hold him?" she offered the cat to Nesta. "I need to check on dinner."

Nesta gamely lifted Hector from Sky's arms, cradling him like a baby. "I'll keep him entertained while you do," she said with a smile. Hector mewled contentedly, his head tilted as he looked at Nesta with one eye.

As Azriel and Cassian made themselves comfortable on the couch, “Are you sure that’s a cat?” Cassian hissed towards Azriel. “And not a stunted mountain lion or something?” 

“It’s all the tuna he eats. He had a hard life," Azriel said defensively.

Nesta looked up from where she was still playing with Hector. "I can see that," she said with a nod, gesturing towards Hector's missing eye and patched up fur. "I can tell he was loved from the moment Sky took him in though."

Nesta carried him over to the bookcases, eyes greedily reading the names and words on the spines.

It was a whole galore of romance books in these bookcases, a lot that Nesta had never even heard about, though there were some of her favourites between them...another bookcase held books from every which topic that involved sword fighting and horse riding and blacksmithing and everything in between...lots of cookbooks too...and then there was one bookcase that seemed to be solely filled with every Sellyn Drake novel in existence. Even the ones that were so rare that notneven the house had yet managed to get them for Nesta. 

Nesta couldn't help but smirk as she ran her fingers over the spines of the 'Sellyn Drake' books. "Seems like Sky is just as big of a fan as I am," she said with a chuckle.

She turned to see Sky in the open kitchen, busy with a large pan. "You have all of her books," Nesta said admiringly. "I can't believe you have some of the rare ones, I have been trying to get those forever!"

Sky looked up from her cooking, surprised that Nesta seemed impressed by her collection. "Y...Yeah, I...I do like them..." Sky replied, her voice soft and hesitant. She turned back to the stove, clearly feeling self-conscious as she stirred the pot.

Nesta sensed her discomfort and decided to lighten the mood. "You know, I think I should officially crown you as the ultimate Sellyn Drake fan," she said with a playful grin. "No one has a collection like this one. Maybe we can talk about our favorite scenes sometime. I'm dying to discuss the latest novel...Did you read it already? Azriel got it for my birthday," Nesta told her brightly. "It's signed. I have no idea how he even managed that."

"I gave it to him," Sky said, turning towards her. 

Sky had gotten it for Az?!

"Where did you get it from? It wasn't even out yet?!" Nesta asked curiously. "Tell me your secrets."

Azriel smirked, "I have my ways," he said with a wink. "But I can't reveal all my secrets. The fun is in keeping a few things a mystery."

Nesta just rolled her eyes, "Always the cryptic one, Az." She then turned back to Sky, "But seriously, where did you get the signed copy from? I'd sell my soul to get my hands on one of those."

"The...The author owed me a favor," Sky said, her voice hesitant.

Nesta's eyes widened, "You mean you know Sellyn Drake in person??!!"

"I...I mean...I...she is...me" Sky stammered, her cheeks turning red as she fumbled with her words.

What?

Azriel chuckled warmly, walking over to Sky and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling Sky close. "What Sky is trying to say, Nesta, is that she is Sellyn Drake," he finished for her.

Nesta just stared for a moment, her mouth hanging open in surprise. "Are you serious?" she asked, still reeling from the revelation.

Sky just gave her a small nod, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Sellyn Drake is… a…actually a p…pen n…name," she said softly. "I couldn't use my real name and still keep my a…anonymity...So Skylar Alden became Sellyn Drake.”

Nesta was still trying to process the news. "So you're telling me that the author of my favorite novels of all time, is standing in front of me, cooking dinner?"

Sky shrugged, "Y...Yes?" There was a hint of uncertainty in her tone, as if she was unsure of what reaction she was going to get from Nesta.

Nesta's face split into a wide grin, "This is the best day ever" she exclaimed. She couldn't believe that she was meeting her favorite author, and it was even better knowing that the author was someone so sweet and unassuming as Sky.

Cassian started laughing, the sound deep and amused. "You have a few tricks up your sleeve, Sky" he chortled amusedly.

Azriel chuckled, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile. "Sky is full of surprises, even to me," he teased.

Sky just swatted at his arm, a soft blush coloring her cheeks

***

Somehow actually admitting that she was Sellyn Drake...that was easy. So easy.

She used to be so afraid to tell people about it. But with Azriel at her side, she felt safer. His love and support made her feel more confident and comfortable in her own skin. She could be herself with him without any judgement.

And why shouldn’t she be proud of her success? She wrote these books! They were her babies!

"Alright, but I need to know what happens next!" Nesta told her, her grey eyes wide and desperate. "You left the book at such a cliffhanger!"

Sky laughed softly, feeling a little less self-conscious now that the cat was out of the bag. She turned back to the stove, stirring the pot once more.

"Maybe I c…can give you a s…spoiler or two," she offered, grinning. "But just this one time. Can't give e…everything away too easily now, can I?"

Nesta leaned in, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Please, please tell me," she begged. "I need to know what happens next!"

"Alright," Sky agreed, amused by Nesta's enthusiasm. "But you have to p…promise not to b…breathe a word of this to my publisher. She would kill me if they knew I was spilling the beans before the book is even published." 

Nesta nodded eagerly, making a zipping motion across her lips. "Your secret is safe with me."

"And we lost them," Cassian said drily.

Azriel laughed, "Can't compete with the author herself, Cass. Best to just sit back and enjoy the ride."

Nesta was lovely and Cassian was as loud and boisterous as Azriel had described him to be...and quite frankly, Sky loved Azriel's family. At least the two people that she had met.

"Was tonight...alright?" Azriel asked her softly as he pulled her into his arms that evening.

Sky smiled gently, leaning back into his embrace. She felt relieved that the night had gone well, and that Azriel's family had accepted her with open arms. 

"It was...better than alright," she replied softly, feeling a warmth in her heart. She caught his hand in hers, pulling it to her lips, so she could press a kiss to the simple gold band that encircled his ring finger.

Their wedding had been a spur of the moment decision a day ago...but Sky wouldn't have wanted it any other day. It was everything she had ever wanted. Just the two of them.

No need for a big production. 

Azriel's eyes softened, and he tightened his arms around her. "I'm glad," he murmured, the emotion in his voice palpable. He kissed the top of her head, holding her close. Neither of them said anything for a while, just holding each other in a comforting silence.

"We have the healer appointment tomorrow," Sky said softly.

Something Azriel had insisted on after their talk about having children. He was worried that the beautiful wings that sprouted from his back would mean a difficult pregnancy for her, an impossible birth…

Azriel just nodded, his face set in a grim expression. "We do," he replied, his voice tight. He was still grappling with his fears about the situation. "But no matter what, we'll face it together," he promised her fiercely.

Madja, that was the healer's name, put these fears to rest however.

"Quite frankly, it's unlikely that the child will be born with wings anyway," she told them after she had listened to Azriel's fears. "It will only be half Illyrian, after all"

"Nyx?" Azriel questioned pointedly. He had mentioned his nephew to her in this context, about him being born with wings which had nearly killed his High Fae mother throughout the birth. 

"There were....circumstances around his conception, you know that," Madja said drily. "Skylar is High Fae with a dash of River Nymph. Which quite frankly, could be a point in your favour anyway."

"How so?" Sky asked curiously.

"Your bones are...bendy," Madja told her drily. "Even if the child would inherit Azriel's wings...and would have them at birth...which is unlikely in itself, your pelvis would be able to...expand enough to have the baby pass through the birth canal. However, it is more likely that any child the two of you had would be similar to the other half-illyrian you know," she told Azriel pointedly. "Being able to summon the wings at will, just like Rhysand."

Just like the High Lord?

"Really?" Sky asked, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. Azriel also appeared visibly more relaxed. "So there's a chance that our child will be born without wings?"

Madja nodded in confirmation, giving them a slight smile. "Yes, there is," she said reassuringly. "But even if that isn't the case, your Nymph ancestry would make the birth easier for you."

Azriel's hand found Sky's, squeezing it gently. She could feel his relief mirroring her own. It was a weight lifted off their shoulders to know that their baby's birth might not be as difficult as they had feared.

It was calming. Like all the puzzle pieces were slowly putting themselves together. 

"Thank you, Madja," Sky said warmly. "For putting our minds at ease."

[knightsickness]

baela not wanting or caring about driftmark for herself or rhaena is soo emblematic of hotd s2’s aversion to having women involved in any kind of compelling conflict its insane. noo grandpa you can name the toddler i have every reason to believe my aunt cheated on my uncle to get and then had my uncle unceremoniously murdered so she could immediately marry my dad. i dont mind ❤️. failing that i’m sure your bastard son my grandma went out of her way to say i dont mind im not a bitch wife cheat on me at sea all you like ❤️ about is free. youd think either of these scenarios might be ripe for exploration of this shows purported theme of how male-line inheritance degrades the family’s women telling them they’re inherently lesser than their male counterparts but no

[amnamuslimahsissy]

Kavy used to be a regular Hindu Indian boy and was living a normal life. Going to college regularly and sharp in studies and other activities but he was not completely happy with his life and always thought that something was missing in his life.

Once while doing his work he came across a thing call Sissy Muslimah which lead to change his life forever. When he came to know about the Sissy Muslimah thing he was a bit Curious about knowing more of it as he was very excited in gaining knowledge of new topics and so he started his reasearch on the Sissy Muslimah topic.

He came across thousands of captions , hypnos, bbcs and also how many Hindu Indian boys already had the same feeling as him and was turning into Muslimah wives of dominant muslim masters.

At first he thought it to be just a phase and his curiosity to gain knowledge but lesser did he knew that he was one the Hindu Bois destined to be Muslimah wife and serve Muslim masters. But he resisted such feelings and thought many times of how weak the other boys who were now Muslimah could be to give up on everything to be submissive Sissy Muslimah wives.

While exploring he came across a muslim alpha male who was dominant and strong. He was from Pakistan named Irfan and had already converted many of such Hindu Bois to submissive Muslimah. When Kavy talked to him about various things related to Muslimah and conversion. He answered patiently and was dominant enough to influence him to accept his fate as a sissy Muslimah wife. But still he was a bit resistant and so he challenged the alpha muslim man to check who have a bigger cock and was soon humbled by the muscunality of the Muslim master and so he accepted his defeat to him submitted to him to forever be his wife and take care of him and his family.

So Kavy now known as Amna as named by his SIR married him moving to Pakistan and is now ready for their reception in her white hijab and green dress as his master wants to show his Muslimah wife to the world.

Credits : @amnamuslimahsissy

Desclaimer: The photo here used does not belong to me and is obtained from internet so if anyone have any problem please DM

[simpxxstan]

best friend's older brother vernon

this is part of my 550 followers celebration event! find the rest of the members' headcanons in the event too as i post them through this month!

warnings: mention of cheating (not vernon or reader)

thinking about best friend's older brother!vernon who is two years older to you, but doesn't feel older at all

he may have lived in the world for two years more than you or your best friend, but you don't see where the years except the fact that he's taller than you

it's clear that vernon needs someone to take care of him. someone to show him which stop to get off at on the subway. someone who feeds him snacks when he's skipped lunch because he was too busy riding his bicycle. someone to push his hair back and make him wear a beanie when he's long due for a haircut. someone to remind him to take a certain book to class because he's bound to forget.

and mindlessly, unconsciously, you've taken up that role. of course, his sister and his family members are there, but you get involved too. partly because you spend so much time with his sister, but also because you like doing this. somehow, seven-year-old you felt very grown up taking care of a boy, so you go with the flow, and even after eleven years, the habits have stuck.

thinking about best friend's older brother!vernon who introduces you to his relatives as his 'girlfriend'

ten year old vernon learnt the day before that a girlfriend is a female friend you want to marry. hence, he finds no problem in introducing you to everyone as his girlfriend. consequently, he absolutely does not understand why you smack him on the back and go all red and pouty, and everyone in the room begins laughing at him. he didn't say anything wrong, did he?

"why do you want to marry her, vernon-ah?" his mother asks him later. "because she's the nicest girl i've ever met. and she knows everything about me, and i know everything about her." his mother laughs, "that is quite true. well, you can't go about calling anyone your girlfriend, okay? it's only something you can do later, when you're older, and the girl also agrees to being your girlfriend." "why can't i do it now if y/n agrees to it?" "because that's how it is, nonie."

vernon doesn't understand why it is like that, but he lets that occasion. it doesn't mean that the joke doesn't persist. and even at the age of twenty, when you meet his relatives at his birthday party, they all call you his girlfriend.

of course, vernon understands what it really means now, and he also realises his mistake back then. even you don't mind the joke anymore, and just go with it. but it's wrong- he should correct everyone and put an end to it. and yet, he doesn't. does he, maybe, like people referring to you as his girlfriend?

thinking about best friend's older brother!vernon who grows up to be a fine specimen of the male sex

and you, along with everyone else in the neighbourhood, are awed by his curly hair and chiselled features. he doesn't let everyone get close to him, owing to his shy nature, but you're fortunate enough to still remain in his closest circle, even after he graduates from school and joins a music production course in college. the age gap between the two of you feels lesser and lesser as you both grow up.

when you join the same college as him, he becomes your guardian angel in college. from giving you tours in the college to getting you involved with societies and the joys of dorm life, the two of you are again always together. except, his sister enrolled in a different university so unfortunately, you have to bear a long-distance friendship now. it is a comfort, still, that vernon is right here.

the roles are slightly reversed now. although vernon's still lost in daily life- losing track of time and place often and hoping for your guidance- he takes a more proactive role in supporting you in other, important matters.

like how he drives you to the interview of your first internship. you leave the office crying, and he pulls you into a hug. two weeks later, when you receive an acceptance offer letter, he hugs you close again. "i had said so," he tells you when he buys you ice cream as a treat.

like how he ensures you get in touch with the top seniors from your major so that you can prepare your notes well. "how do you even know him?" you ask him after he introduces you to one such senior. "oh, i see him around." "is he your friend?" "no, but he's not not my friend either."

thinking about best friend's older brother!vernon who also sees you fall in love for the first time in college

it's with a senior he introduced you to, youngjae, and he regrets the decision completely. he had introduced you to him because of his academic merit, but beyond that, he knew youngjae was up to no good. a playboy through and through- he would break your heart the second the chase dies out.

he ends up spending lesser and lesser time with you these days because of how you go everywhere with your new crush now. "has he asked you out yet?" vernon raises a brow at you when the two of you meet again in front of the dorms. "not yet," the blush is clear on your cheeks, as your eyes lit up. "but i'm sure youngjae will, soon! we've been texting a lot, nonie. i must thank you for introducing him to me, of course." you giggle, but vernon's face doesn't reflect your happiness. he's still confused about how to feel about this entire affair.

rationally, he should not be confused. this is protectiveness he feels. he felt the same way towards his sister when she started dating her current partner. it's worse in this case because he knows your heart will be broken. so it's just his instinct that's making him more protective.

but it's not just protectiveness, he knows. he knows it when you're going to parties with youngjae on your arm. he knows it when you laugh too loudly at any of youngjae's stupid jokes. he knows it when people start referring to you as youngjae's girlfriend.

thinking about best friend's older brother!vernon who is the person you run to when you find out that youngjae has been sleeping with someone else all this time

vernon doesn't ask or say anything. he simply sighs when he sees the tears streaming down your face, and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug against his chest. and he lets you cry into his sweater, all snot and wetness.

but it's the best thing he could do for you, and you wouldn't trade this for anything else. you know he understands in the silence, and you don't leave his side all night, as he plays soft jazz on his phone and you both sit on the bed in his dorm room in silence. his roommate also surprisingly doesn't question it, the two of you sharing earphones and sitting on the bed without saying anything, all night.

the next morning, you finally come to terms with your grief, having overcome the shock, and tell vernon everything. thankfully, he doesn't say, i knew it. he only says, "he never deserved you anyway. such a fool."

when you go to the cafeteria for lunch, as both your and vernon's classes start after lunch that day, vernon's hand is around your shoulders. every person in the cafeteria turns to look at the two of you, even youngjae. he steps up to you to talk to you, but you don't even look at him and walk straight past him. the two of you finally reach a table where your friends are sitting, who you'd texted earlier about the situation. they all sympathise with you, consoling you and genuinely making you feel better. but the best medicine is the weight of vernon's warm hand on your back throughout lunch time.

soon the entire college gets to know about the situation. it's comforting to know that no one's standing up in defense of youngjae and everyone's isolating him for his shameless actions. when vernon walks you to your classroom after lunch, youngjae confronts you again, forcefully making you stop in your way. when he sees that his pleas and apologies aren't melting you in any way, his eyes flare up with rage, and he looks to vernon instead.

"and what the hell are you doing? why are you walking around with her like that?"

"because she's my girlfriend, that's why."

thinking about best friend's older brother!vernon who takes everyone by shock by his declaration

of course, this new addition to the ongoing situation spreads like wildfire through all students also. and it has the same effect it has on them as it does on you. vernon almost laughs at the way your cheeks flare up and your lips purse into a pout. it's hauntingly similar to the incident eleven years ago, except vernon knows he's not saying it without understanding this time.

"what was that for?" you ask him later. "i had to do it. you know he would beg you to come back if i'd moved away." "well, i would be strong and resist him." vernon's glare makes your words falter. "are you sure?" "vern-" "okay just play along with it for a few days. will help you forget him faster."

you spend that night thinking about the events of the day, and you finally realise that the burning sensation in your chest is not sadness. that seems to have run out totally after your crying session with vernon last night. then what is this feeling?

you don't get time to yourself the next few days- when everyone's bombarding you with where when and how you and vernon got together. "it- it just happened," is what you say. and vernon doesn't clarify it either- so it just goes along.

and everyone actually accepts it immediately. no one gives it a second thought, no one needs a longer explanation. "oh we kinda saw it coming," one of your friends say. well, you certainly did NOT see it coming.

apparently, him playing along with it means he has his hands constantly on you, either looped through your arm, or a touch at the small of your back, or his fingers weaving through your hair. it also means him spending every moment outside class with you. soon, he becomes a permanent feature in your friend group, and your and his friends merge to become a big group sitting together at lunch, and creating an endless cacophony.

thinking about best friend's older brother!vernon who tells you that you can end this play-acting after a few weeks and the initial gossip has died down

but every weekend, his heart thumps in his chest as he anticipates when you'll tell him that you want to end the ruse now finally and you're sick of him. he knows he's putting on a very bold face in front of you, but inside? god, he's all nervous putty. he knows he's taking big risks- risks which are more likely to not pay off than actually succeed. but he can't not take the chance when it's right in front of him.

for these fifteen days, vernon lives his dream into reality. before this, he had no idea it would make him so happy to be your boyfriend. even if it's a fake relationship. is this what he's been yearning for all these months when he's seen you going around with another man? is this why he detests youngjae even more than he deserves for his faults?

he doesn't want to think too much about why he's so enthusiastic about doing this. he doesn't want to understand why his heart is fluttering all the time and he's losing focus on everything- even things he's usually very concentrated in, like music or films. he doesn't want to think of why his heart is thumping in his chest whenever the weekend comes around.

thinking about best friend's older brother!vernon who invites you over for movie night to his dorm on sunday

"you'll break up with him now." you tell yourself, looking into the mirror, even as your body moves with a mind of its own. you're wearing a silk dress that's completely not appropriate for a friendly movie night. you're even tying up your hair in a ponytail because vernon once said that hairstyle looks good on you.

"you will draw it to an end for your own good." that's what you tell yourself, but what is your own good? kinda blurry at the moment, because a big part of you doesn't want to let go of vernon. you know that ending things today will have an impact on your closeness- but you can't figure out why it is that you're so worried about letting go of vernon. is it because you don't want to lose a friend, or is it because you've found your ideal man in him?

because one thing you can't lie to even yourself is how perfect vernon would be, hypothetically, as a boyfriend, especially to you. he knows everything about you- your coffee order so that he always knows what to bring from the cafeteria, your menstrual cycle so that he can remind you to buy pads when your week's due, your workout routine so that he knows exactly where to massage that night while the two of you chill.

he's everything youngjae could never dream of being. you're in fact glad youngjae did cheat on you. you've been so blind for stooping down so low when you have had a perfect man around you for all your life. and yet, you don't know if these feelings are just the butterflies from his attention through this make-believe relationship, or whether you've really lost your heart to him. and in fear that it's the second, in which case you're going to regret the steps you plan to take tonight, you make haste to vernon's dorm room to tell him to break up.

"you will tell him to end this right now." you tell yourself when you knock on his door. but when he opens the door wearing his old, ratted t-shirt that you've seen him wear since high school, his hair messy over his forehead, and his pink lips plump, you forget all about breaking up and instead just go in with him, taking his hand as he helps you sit down on his dorm bed and sets up the movie on his laptop. when he gets under the blanket, his body unimaginably close to yours, the exposed skin of your legs graze against his hands and you can see the way he gulps.

"you have to tell him now, y/n!" your brain screams to you, so you blurt out. "vernon, i have something to tell you." vernon moves his hand away from you and sits up. "me too. but you go first." he doesn't break eye contact, and you can see the way he's biting his lip and fidgeting with his hands. symptoms of nervousness, you recall from your psych class. why is he nervous? "no, you go first, nonie."

he raises his eyebrows for confirmation and you nod. then he gulps before answering, "i like you, y/n." "what?" "i know i- fuck, i swear i'm not a creep. i swear i didn't start this fake ruse with you because i like you. hell, i didn't even know then that i liked you." "then, when?" " i realised it last night. but i think it wasn't even like a epiphany per se. just a realisation.... and a way to label some feelings that have been occupying my heart recently."

dear god, help me. you cry out silently for help, because fuck, he looks so earnest right now. so soft, so genuine, his words stunted with how fast he's speaking and his eyes a little dazzled in that on-brand look only vernon can pull off as cute. "nonie, are you serious?" he nods his head fervently. "i am. and i know this may be overwhelming, so you don't have to respond to me right now. but if you do want to reject me, you can tell me right away, i won't be-"

thinking about best friend's older brother!vernon who didn't see this coming in any of his mind's versions of how his confession would go

but it's certainly the best version when he feels your lips press against his. you pull away almost instantly, and he asks, "y/n?" you don't reply immediately, your eyes cast downwards to your hands. "y/n-ah? did you mean that?" after a long pause, he finally hears you squeak back, "yes, nonie. i- i wanted to try it and see what it felt like."

oh. so it was an experiment. well, that's manageable- although vernon doesn't think he'll ever forget the way your lips feel. "y/n-ah if you want to leave, you can. you don't have to-" but you don't let him continue. you kiss him again, pressing your wet, warm, soft lips against his own, and his hands find their way towards you. one of his hands settle on your cheek, and the other on your waist, and he pulls you nearly on top of him as he kisses you back hungrily.

they're all chaste kisses, until you open your mouth slightly and he takes the opportunity to let his tongue roam inside your mouth. but he underestimates you, you quickly suck on his tongue, making him moan out as he pulls back, breathless. "y/n, you've gotta tell me what this means. i can't keep kissing you without any clue of your feelings."

"do you need me to say it aloud, nonie?" "yes? please!" you pout slightly, as if offended by his demand. but then you whisper, "i like you too, nonie. i just wanted to see if my suspicions are real or just a figment of my imagination because you're so perfect." "perfect? har-" "no, you are. and that's not a recent discovery of mine. i've known it forever. you are too perfect to be real, vernon."

and that does it for vernon. the floodgates of his heart burst open, and all the feelings he'd been suppressing for so long flood into his system. it makes him warm and tingly all over, and he leans it to cup your cheeks. "you're the one who's perfect for me y/n-ah. i wasn't wrong all those years ago, you know. you are the woman i've always wanted to marry." you giggle shyly and hide your face in his chest, and vernon knows he's found his soulmate in you.

[hallowpen]

Let's discuss some major developments in episodes nine and ten...

Episode Nine brings us to a new location in หัวหิน ('Hua Hin'). Hua Hin is a beachside village that is known for its ties to Thai Royalty. It started off as a small fishing village before being transformed into a royal resort. In modern times, it is a popular destination for tourists and Bangkok residents alike.

"If the Prince (Arnon) is going to support his friend this much... I’m afraid it would be very hard for me to avoid and refuse Master Kuea."

We saw glimpses of Kuea's entitlement as early as episode two, but these two episodes truly emphasize his pretentious attitude. Pin's rejections have been clear, yet Kuea continues to pursue her by using his privileged connection to Prince Arnon to his advantage... and Pin knows, given her status, she cannot refuse him without risking insulting the prince. When his connection with Prince Arnon proves futile, Kuea enlists the help of Princess Patt... who he knows has the greatest influence over Pin's marriage prospects. After all, Kuea is a potential male suitor with status... he should know what's best for Pin better than Pin, right??? 🙄🙄🙄

THE RINGS!!! Oh... the rings. There was a bit of a shift from the novel as far as Princess Patt is concerned, but let's talk about Pin's not engagement ring. There were two concerns Princess Patt mentioned as to why Pin should not be wearing/in possession of Anil's ring. The obvious being that a woman only wears a diamond ring on their left ring finger to indicate their status as being 'unavailable', i.e. engaged to be married. The other concern is that someone of Pin's rank should not have accepted such an extravagant gift for fear of being discourteous toward a member of the royal family... it isn't considered to be proper social etiquette.

We are introduced to the character of Princess Im. Princess Im retains the title of พร��องค์เจ้า (pronounced 'phra-ong chao') as a daughter of the king and one of his lesser consorts. Princess Im's relationship with Princess Patt is what informs the latter's relationship with Pin. Princess Patt's love had to be kept a secret and could not be celebrated... it did not have a happy ending. She wishes better for Pin, and keeping with tradition would allow Pin a different path in life.

One of the scenes I was most looking forward to!!! In a time when Anil would be shunned for loving another woman, having the brother who raised her lend her his support is a monumental moment for her. As bold as Anil can be, her family's approval means everything. Prince Anan wants nothing more than to protect his sister, but he knows their reality means not everyone will be accepting of her in the way that he is. BecBec was so great in this scene with Kanin 😭😭😭

And of course, the threat of Anil's relationship with Pin being revealed is immediately driven home by that ending scene with Aon.

[goodqueenaly]

Why do you think Aemma Arryn never claimed a dragon? She was half Targaryen and when she married she was officially part of the Targaryen family, so there wouldn’t be any dynastic/political reasons for her not to have one. Do you think it was cultural differences from being raised in the Vale, health issues from her constant pregnancies, or worries about Viserys being seen as weak because his wife had a dragon and he didn’t (a la Rhaena and Aegon), or a combination of all of these reasons?

Number one, Aemma spent her first 11 years of life not just as an Arryn, raised in the Vale, but specifically as an Arryn of the Vale whose connection to House Targaryen was ancestral and dynastic rather than contemporary or draconic. Because Daella died almost immediately after giving birth to Aemma (thanks to her shithole husband Rodrik), Aemma almost certainly experienced no direct Targaryen influence in her infancy or childhood. To the extent young Aemma understood her place in the Targaryen family tree, she may only have known that she was the daughter of a younger daughter of King Jaehaerys and Alysanne, a cousin of the royal line more akin to whatever paternal relations she herself may have had among the families of the Vale (through prior generations of Arryn daughters’ marriages) than to a core member of the Targaryen royal family (and indeed, that extended Targaryen connection would go unmentioned, somewhat historically inexplicably, when Rhaenyra made her claim). Consequently, Aemma may not have expected or believed she was entitled to a dragon in the same way, say, her cousins Daemon and Rhaenys, and to a lesser extent her future husband Viserys - all growing up at court as male-line Targaryen princes (and a male-line Targaryen princess) - may have done. 

Number two, there was very little precedent in the royal Targaryen family for its princesses being married to Westerosi aristocrats, much less how dragons might be distributed to a princess' children in such a scenario. While such marriages do seem to have happened to some extent prior to the Conquest - see for example that claimant at the Great Council of 101 AC, who cited his descent from “a younger daughter [of Gaemon Targaryen] and the petty lord she had married” - the royal Targaryens before the Dance celebrated very few exogamous marriages for Targaryen princesses. Princess Rhaenys was the only case where the children of a Targaryen princess and a non-Targaryen had dragons of their own, and this situation was quite specific: Rhaenys, who herself was a dragonrider and had a significant claim to the throne, had married not just a Valyrian relation, but the most powerful Valyrian relation the Targaryens had, at the acme of his own authority and magnificence. Conversely, while Rodrik Arryn was certainly no hedge knight or commoner, he did not boast any of the same Valyrian credentials Lord Corlys did; too, Daella herself had no dragon of her own, and so no experience on dragonriding to encourage in her daughter (even if she had lived to do so, which of course she did not). 

Number three, once Aemma married Viserys, she seems to have had little opportunity to pursue dragonriding, even if she herself had wanted to (which we have no sense of - more on that below). While Viserys did apparently wait two years - massive eyeroll - to consummate his marriage to Aemma, she was still pregnant a number of times between 95 AC (when approximately the marriage was consummated) and 105 AC (the year she died, following the birth of the short-lived Prince Baelon), with “several miscarriages and the death of one son in the cradle over the course of her marriage” (plus the births of Princess Rhaenyra and that same Prince Baelon). If we don’t know exactly how many times Aemma was pregnant (as we do with, say, Queen Rhaella, and can speculate with Lysa Arryn), I would guess that Aemma was pregnant roughly at least six times in these 10-odd years, at least three of which pregnancies went to term and ended in the births of children - quite an exhausting and physically taxing schedule for Aemma. Whatever her interest level in actually having a dragon of her own, Aemma was likely not in a position physically to try to claim a dragon in these years. 

Of course, the problem inherent to the conceit of Fire and Blood Volume 1 - and I mentioned this the other day - is that we’re almost always kept at arms length from the interior thoughts and feelings of any given character. This problem is compounded for Aemma by the author’s unfortunate penchant of using some of his female characters as little more than walking wombs, who exist solely to give birth to more important characters. Aemma might have been given a name (more than can be said for some of her narrative sisters), but her role in the story is limited to being married off as a prepubescent child bride, enduring seemingly (if not actually) annual pregnancies (including more than one pregnancy loss), and then dying in childbirth. Did Aemma have any sense of her own (at least theoretical) draconic inheritance? Or was she, as GRRM via Gyldayn frustratingly portrays her mother, infantilized to the point of almost total inaction, unwilling to engage in any pursuits except marriage and childbearing? We’ll never know, because neither the format of F&B nor, I would guess, GRRM himself seems interested in the answer. 

(Again, I need to emphasize that I am not talking about That Other Show and will block any discussion of That Other Show.)

[lunastrophe]

If I missed this in your pinned post, I truly apologize. Are there marriages in drow culture? Or is that considered silly because of how men are viewed overall? Did Houses have other ways of securing alliances with each other?

Hello and no need to apologize, I have not touched this topic yet 🙂 In general, in Lolth-sworn drow culture marriages are practiced, but mainly in merchant clans and among commoners - usually to formally stregthen bonds between (or inside) clans or families.

🕷️ In Noble Families - noble females are free to choose and discard their mates, either by simply leaving them, or by killing them, without formalizing their relationship through marriage.

Even claiming a male as a consort or a patron is done without any particular ceremony or formalities, although traditionally, such male is given the female's family name and is considered a member of her house.

An unusual example of two noble Lolth-sworn drow formally entering a marriage were Tiago Baenre and Saribel Xorlarrin. Saribel, being only a minor priestess, was treating this marriage as an opportunity to elevate her station - she even took her husband's family name and was allowing him to hold the upper hand in their relationship, which was very much against drow custom.

🕷️ Marriages Among Merchants And Commoners - according to Drow of the Underdark (2e), drow marriages are generally "transient things" and they usually last for a year or for a decade, with a possibility of renewal.

In merchant clans, "security demands that mates be of the same clan, or that an outsider be taken into the clan, if a relationship develops."

In Drow of the Underdark (3.5e), it is mentioned that "in some cases, an appropriate marriage can bring two families together into one larger unit, but in most cases the male is simply subsumed into the female’s family line."

More information on drow marriages from DotU (3.5e): Marriage is primarily a political or financial arrangement. Drow marry to formalize alliances, to combine family resources, or - in some cases - to cement their dominance over a weaker ally or companion. No stigma is attached to children born out of wedlock, but a child born of a marriage has a stronger claim to her parents' wealth and power if something happens to the parents. Thus, some drow marry before procreating, to ensure that everything they have achieved remains in the family line.

Most drow marriages are monogamous, not due to moral or religious doctrine, but because few drow are willing to allow more than one other individual that close to them on a regular basis. A few drow marriages do involve multiple partners, however. These arrangements usually involve a single drow female taking numerous male partners, but other combinations are not unheard of.

🕷️ Ceremony - priestesses of Loth sometimes perform social ceremonies like marriages, but "this is usually done as a favor (eventually requiring repayment, of course) to another powerful drow." Among low-ranking drow, a priestess "might perform a marriage ceremony in exchange for several barrels of fine lichen wine and a potion of invisibility." (DotU, 3.5e)

Unfortunately, nothing more is known about the ceremony itself.

• It should be noted that in other drow cultures, marriage can be perceived differently and does not need to be purely transactional. Eilistraeans, for example, have specific marriage ceremony called the Love-Binding and in their culture, marriage bond is typically based on love.

🕷️ Securing Alliances - Lolth-sworn drow alliances are based mainly on mutual gain and generally, they last as long as they pay off. They can be strengthened by exchange of house members - by accepting a member of lesser house into a more powerful house, for example - or by various favours and debts connecting the families. In the end, though... well, according to drow saying, "all trust is foolish", so drow probably tend to see every alliance as more or less temporary.

[mamayan]

OK BUT what about sub Muzans daughter , Dom Genya..

Since I have so many requests for this…

Genya Shinazugawa x Muzan’s Daughter Reader!

cw: NSFW • Clichè Aphrodisiac Troupe • Consenting Blood Drinking • PIV Sex • Slightly Dom! Genya (more switch) • Dacryphilia (M) • Fem! Reader • Praise/Fluff • Oral (F) • Sugary Sweetness • Breeding Kink

“I expect nothing less than perfection. You’ve done well, child.”

“Thank you, my Lord, it is my honor and duty to uphold your expectations.”

Low.

You’re bowed low to the ground. Forehead nearly touching, so close it’s nearly indistinguishable from pressing your skin to the ground.

You don’t. Can’t. Even if death is threatened.

The aura surrounding him would make any lesser demon fawn and fall to their knees, but it only drove you wild. A call to your soul to destroy him and take his place. You hated him. The man who should’ve peacefully allowed you to marry off into a pristine family and be given a true chance as a human with happiness and children ruined when he turned you. Had you attacked and nearly slaughtered before acting as if he was bestowing a mercy and not a curse.

Your face betrays nothing. Sweet and serene as always because of your true emotions showed all your hard work would be for naught. You thought of your loyal servant Tamayo, her breakthrough and discovery which could change the tide of this cursed war. Then without your permission his face appeared.

You can’t think of him.

Despite not having a heart which worked as one should in a human, it still pained your chest to remember his face and the distance between you both.

Patience.

You must be patient and stay low, no matter how it irritated your pride like a nail in your soul.

You left, moving through the infinity castle with confidence none else beside yourself and Kokushibo possessed in this space. You kept Nakime in your peripheral, the disturbed demon not to your taste despite her blood art providing much assistance in your plans.

That woman cared little for loyalty. She just liked havoc.

“Ah~♡ The lovely lady is here? Akaza-dono, you didn’t tell me we’d be graced with her ladyships presence!” Your cool gaze slid over the upper rank two demon, Doma, who now stood before you and blocked your path. His dazzling rainbow eyes trained on you with a worship similar to how he looked at your father. You shared the same addicting blood after all.

“Lady,” Akaza was as formal as ever as he leapt from a high shifting platform, landing smoothly before you to bow slightly. You returned the polite gesture before looking back at Doma with a small smile.

“Doma-san,”

“Yes! My lady?”

“Do you like being beheaded? You must be a masochist I presume, since you continue to block my path.”

“Ah… right.” He swiftly moved, created a hole for you to move through, kimono dragging lightly on the ground as you passed with your smile in tact. The blonde male irritated you as well, his loyalty questionable a from all angles.

You left, being taken out to your previous location, a spacious estate given as a gift some thirty or so years ago.

Tomoya was present, her gentle smile and irritable little assistant all in tact which made you breathe an inner sigh of relief. Your father wants her dead, and you’re harboring her in secret. Your carefully placed house of leaves can be blown apart any moment, one wrong step could destroy you and all your plans.

It could destroy him.

“Ubuyashiki contacted me… mentioned a young slayer you’ve had… correspondence with is assigned a mission near the base of the mountains.” Tomoya was always soft spoken, gentle atmosphere a layer plastered to hide the true nature she kept swaddled. Her rage. She glance over as she works, a multitude more of glass beakers filled with liquids you didn’t question.

“Hn.”

“Not going?”

“No.”

“…May I ask why?”

“You may not.”

“I see.”

Your mouth twitched before you sighed, knowing she wouldn’t give up so easily. It was obvious how you doted on him, so there was little use pretending he meant nothing.

“I’ll check, nothing more.”

“Hn.” Her smile grew but you didn’t point it out, scoffing as you left in more of a hurry than you cared to think on.

He’s going to die.

This demon isn’t dying no matter how he blows its head off or slices it to pieces.

He’s been fighting for nearly two days straight, exhausted and fatigued to a point he may not survive if it continues any longer. He’s requested backup, but it may not come, and this demon’s blood is only making him more sluggish and it comes back for another swing at his jugular.

“Fucker—! Die!” He doesn’t stop though, because if he’s going to die then he’s taking this piece of shit out with him.

“Genya?!”

“Huh?” He turns at the wrong moment, and that’s his mistake.

He watches in amazement as you move swiftly, the demon he struggled to defeat lit to flames as if the sun was out and on it directly. His eyes look up, the sky covered by a thick blanket of clouds preventing even a tiny fraction of light through.

“Genya no!” He’s bleeding. Badly.

“Oh no, no it’s my fault, no sweet boy, look at me. Genya!” You look different. Less confident yet still beautiful. Are you crying? Can demons cry? He wonders briefly, eyes looking down but unable to move his body as you cradle him to your chest, blood is everywhere.

He’s going to die.

“No my love, look at me. Stay with me, okay?” He wants to speak, but his mouth feels wet and cemented shut.

You’re trembling. Or is it him?

“Okay. Let me think… okay, we’ll fix this, just stay with me alright?”

He wants to reassure you, tell you in all honesty he doesn’t regret dying in your arms, but his vision is getting fuzzy.

“I won’t let you die.”

He’s glad he gets to hear your voice in the end.

He’s burning.

Genya’s eyes shoot open, breathing picking up as he feels a building fire in his core, specifically his cock.

“Fuck—ah,” he groans, muscles twitching as he rolls to his side and looks around. He’s in an inn it appears, the silence thick as he surveys his body to check to for injuries.

None.

He’s still himself though, which means you must’ve fed him your flesh.

He’s never felt this before though, after consuming a demon.

“Good, you’re awake. How’re you feeling?” A cool hand on his forehead jolts him from his thoughts, dark purple eyes looking up to your face as you smile so sweetly down at him, and the disgusting thoughts swirling inside him begin to bubble over.

“You see feverish still.” You murmur, forehead wrinkling as you lean in closer and Genya has to breathe through his mouth when he catches a whiff of something floral and sweet on you.

“Master…” he’s dying in a different way now, mind fogging over as he looks up and sees you.

It’s been months. How could you be here? Why do you smell so good? He’s itching to run out of his own skin, teeth aching because he wants to sink them into you, eyes watering as he realizes he’s going out of control.

“Genya? Sweetheart you don’t seem alright, what’s going on—oh?” He knows you allow it, your strength and power nothing to dismiss for even the strongest demon or slayer, but still you allow him to grip your shoulders and pull you into a tight hug. He’s nearly sobbing when you hug him back, arms wrapping around him and pulling him impossibly closer.

“Ma-Master I need—please, I need—,” you’re nodding with understanding as you lean back, smile still so sweet and caring as you look him over with complete adoration. He’s melting for it, gritting his teeth because the moment feels ruined but his straining cock isn’t listening to anything right now.

“I knew there’d be some kind of side effect, I just didn’t imagine it’d affect you like this.” He’s not listening, head hazy and eyes clouding over as he leans forward and kisses you, soft lips desperate for entrance into your mouth which he’s gratefully granted.

His hands are everywhere now, shaky and jerky as he yanks awkwardly at your kimono and his own clothing, trying to tear it from you both as his hips hump the air at nothing.

He needs to taste you. Needs you on his tongue with desperation he’s never felt. He might truly perish this time if he’s denied.

You’re soft in his arms, and for the first time he realizes you’re smaller than he thought. Sweet and caring despite how you’ve fucked him senseless, and remembering only drives him more crazy.

“Please—fuck, let me taste you.” Tears are already welling up in his eyes, features languid as his reddened face struggles to stay still, even as he shakes and clutches onto your robes.

“Okay, sweet boy, whatever you want.”

Whatever you want—

He gives up on his disheveled clothing in favor of pushing up your kimono only halfway opened, burying his face in your crotch much like the dog you enjoy calling him, lips immediately seeking out your warm heat. He moans at your taste, hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer with the intention of suffocating himself as he dry humps the futon, pre-cum wetting and staining his yukata placed on him. His hot mouth open and tongue flicking at the hidden pearl which has you moaning.

Your noises drive him more wild, eating you like a man starved. His nails digging into the fat of your hips, only leaving marks for a second before you heal.

“So good, fuck—,” he’s delirious and gone to the heat and haze of your blood and slick. He’d happily die only consuming the two for the rest of his life. He’s chanting your name as he slurps and messily swallows your slick, and he groans low in his throat when you tangle your fingers into the soft tuft of hair atop his head and yank him closer to grind on his face.

“Such a good boy, yes—you’re going to make me cum.” Your words only push him to work harder, tongue lapping and lavishing your clit while your orgasm washes over you.

He only stops when you force his head up, slick covered red face almost offended it’d been stopped.

“Enough. Don’t you want to feel better? Come here Genya.”

“Y-yes—,” he’s nearly falling over himself as he sits up and crawls over you, clothes tangled awkwardly around his legs but it hardly mattered since his cock was free and ready.

He came the moment he felt his tip glide through your soaked folds, body nearly seizing up as he struggled to breathe through such an intense release.

“It’s alright, you’re doing so good.” He whines as you brush the sweat soaked hair off his forehead, blurry eyes only briefly focusing on you before dropping down to his still hard cock.

It hurt. He wanted to cry because it hurt to physically not be inside you. You seemed to know though, encouraging him with soft words and gentle hands guiding him forward as he finally pressed forward and felt the tip of his cock breach the tight ring of muscle to your pussy. “C-cuming—ah, fuck, please let me cum, please—,”

“Cum for me sweet boy,” you kiss him.

He comes again, but you gasp in pleasure and delight when he merely surges forward to completely fill you, Genya’s fucked out expression lewdly on display as he ruts into you with an unset rhythm. His libido won’t tire it appeared.

He moans loudly when you clamp down around him, tightening up to watch his eyes roll back and drool slide down his chin. He cries though when you try to slow him, shush him quiet as he pumps his poor meat rod into your gummy walls with a more coordinated roll of his hips. Pretty tears glistening in his eyes despite the animalistic way he’s pounding into your body, trying to mold your inner walls into the shape of him.

“I l-love you—,” he’s not even in his right mind but he’s confessing. It amuses and warms you, only making you draw him in closer as he pants and whines losing himself inside you.

“You feel so good, Master, Y/N, I’m going crazy,” he’s slurring his speech, mindlessly fucking you until he’s begging to fill you again and again.

If you were human it might’ve been too much.

You aren’t though, and he’s still hard despite it all, only making a frothy mess of cum continuously being pumped into your pussy and spilling out over the sides when he stretches you out again.

“Go crazy then, fuck me harder.” He does, pressing forward and folding you up into a mating press where he pounds straight against your womb which he babbles about filling, panting and moaning like a dog in heat as he makes you cum before painting your insides once again.

He wakes the next morning with something akin to a headache, but alive nonetheless.

His eyes widen though when they catch you, naked beside him and gazing at him fondly.

“Did you have fun, pet?”

He feels something ominous in your words but he can’t quite pick it out.

“Y-yes…?”

“That’s good, because I’m very curious of the biological response you had to my blood. I’d like to run some more tests.”

Despite the almost polite way you spoke, he knew you weren’t really asking.

Dividers/@cafekitsune

[achaotichuman]

Thirty-One Days of Tamcien people!!! Prompts list is here if you would like to join in for this little unofficial event!

For this fic, I couldnt resist the angst potential. I hope you are all prepared for the pain.

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

TRIGGER WARNING: DEPICITONS OF INFANTICIDE

“Well, Lucien?”

Lucien stared, wide-eyed at his eldest brother. Eris kept a pristine blank face, the picture of Autumn royalty. With his pressed tunic, and polished gold jewellery. He stood next to Beron who looked bored, unamused, like the delivery of news that his youngest son was to be shackled into a political marriage wasn’t nothing more than chatter about the weather of the past week. 

“What?” Lucien asked, dumbfounded. 

“The boy finally speaks.” Beron muttered, the High lord took a breath, straightening his back as he reiterated the news in a far less… gentle way, then how Eris had said it, “The High lord of Spring and I have come up with a plan, Lucien. The youngest of Spring is an unfit Heir, but a potential Heir nonetheless. With his shapeshifting capabilities, however, he is capable of bearing children. And despite both his and your… lesser preferences when it comes to partners-”

Lucien snapped in a sharp breath at the words ‘lesser preferences’. A breath Beron noticed, his eyes were alight with power as he murmured, “Keep a tight leash on your sharp tongue, if it weren’t for how useful you are, I’d have you dead.”

Lucien’s hand clenched underneath the table, but he schooled his features. Briefly glancing at Eris who just stared at him with pity in his eyes. 

Beron had never given Lucien much thought, often forgetting he even existed. It had allowed him more freedom than the rest of his brothers. He was mostly free to do as he pleased. But there were some boundaries that even a forgotten, lesser seventh son could not cross. Enjoying romantic, or motherforbid, sexual company as a male with other males was one of those boundaries. 

Lucien had thought Beron might kill him when he was told by a sentry that Lucien had been caught dallying with one of the male courtiers in the gardens. He had locked him in his bedroom for days, his only company one of the maids who brought him meals and drink, as well as Silas, his second-eldest brother, who occasionally sent a bottle of wine to drown his sorrows in. 

At first, Lucien had kicked at the door, screamed and cried, but it was heavily fortified with some kind of enchantment that not even Lucien, as talented as he was at undoing spells, could figure out. 

And that brought him to this morning, being sat down in front of his entire family. His mother not even looking him in the eyes, as she sat at Beron’s left. His other brothers watched either their plates or Lucien himself. Most of them looked bored. Lucien supposed it would be boring for them to watch. 

For him though, his heart was pounding in his chest. His hands were shaking, his knuckles white as he fought to keep his anger in check, even as it rose in the back of his throat, burning hotter and hotter with every stoking breath. 

Beron continued on, uncaring for Lucien’s clear distress, “Elvin has sent his third son here. He will be shapeshifted to the body of a female, and you will court him as is proper. We will make sure all our affairs are in order, then you will marry him, and bear a son, one who will be taken and raised by the nurses, and taught by Eris. If your child is powerful enough to make up for your endless failures and disappointments, then I will let both you and the failure son of Spring live. If not…”

It took everything in Lucien to raise his voice enough, to keep his voice steady enough, to ask, “And if I bear a daughter?”

“There will be no daughter.” Beron said softly, “If there is, she is to be killed so swiftly even I never hear of her existence. If there is a daughter, you will end her life and say a boy died in childbirth. Then you will try again until you produce a worthy son.”

A sob tried to rack through his body, pushing against his ribs, his throat constricting until he was sure he wasn’t breathing. His skin was slick with sweat, his eyes burned with tears. 

It was simple and plain. He was to be locked in a marriage with a male who would hate him for what he was doing to him. Their child would not be theirs, a boy that would be Eris’ Heir in every way that counted. And if they had a daughter, she would not live long enough to open her eyes.

The doors opened behind Lucien, they creaked, and footsteps filed into the room, but Lucien heard it all very distantly. Everything became far away, like he was sinking underwater, slipping into darkness. 

“Do you understand, Lucien?” Beron asked. Lucien didn’t fully hear what he said, but he felt himself nod nonetheless. 

“He is here, milord.” Someone said, 

“Send him in,” Someone else said. Might’ve been Beron. Might’ve been Eris. 

Lucien stopped hearing altogether. 

He was beautiful. 

He was so, so beautiful. Lucien got a little light-headed trying to imagine what he’d look like in his natural male form.

With long, golden hair. Like fine threads of pure gold. Vibrant eyes, so green, but shrouded with a kind of darkness that reminded Lucien of standing on the border to Spring at night as a child, looking in to see the dark woods shrouded in fog. 

Lucien knew his female figure was shifted to suit Beron’s ideas for what a woman should look like. A trim waist cinched by a tight green corset decorated with details of golden roses, ample breasts that were pushed up by the corset. Long skirts flared out over the tiles of the Forest House floor, hiding his legs that Lucien was sure were also designed to meet Beron’s strict requirements. 

But even with every cleverly sewn-in modification to his form, there was a sure power behind every stride. Muscle that flexed underneath the too tight fabric, and a warrior’s gaze underneath the makeup that tried to hide cuts and bruises. Lucien was sure he spied bandaged that peeked out when the puffy sleeves of his dress rode up slightly. 

“My High Lord, this is Tamlin, the youngest son of the Spring Court.” The male that escorted the young prince said. 

Beron tilted his head, one ankle resting on his other knee, as he surveyed the youngest Prince from his throne. 

“Not so much a son anymore.” Beron muttered, then raised his voice to say, “You’ll be a fine Lady for my son. However, the name Tamlin no longer fits the wearer.”

“Names are a title only fit for those deserving, easily stripped from those lesser.” The male said he had dark brown hair and pretty eyes, if only they weren’t so ugly from the greed that shone in them, Lucien thought. 

Tamlin had been entirely blank-faced since he entered, but for the first time, his eyes lit up with fear. 

“My mother named me.” Tamlin said, his voice clearly altered to fit his new body. But distress shone plainly in it. 

Lucien’s eyes widened slightly. The panic he now understood. His mother had not been allowed to name any of her sons before him, but Beron had not cared for what his name might be. Lucien had been the only child she bore that she had any say over. 

If the horror stories of what High Lord Elvin did to his wife were true, then Lucien was sure that Tamlin had also been the only son Dahlia had been allowed to name. 

Beron scowled, “You will do well to watch yourself. Ladies and those of lesser value do not speak unless spoken too.”

Tamlin lowered his eyes, but briefly, for a small fleeting moment, they looked towards him. 

Lucien’s heart raced in his chest when their gazes locked. 

This was no normal man. 

His eyes burned with such a ferocity. With such fire if it weren’t for the essence of Spring that seemed to seep from his very bones, he could’ve been of Autumn. 

Lucien swallowed hard. 

The two Lords spoke, and it was nothing more than a background buzz in his ears, as Lucien felt his heart racing in his chest. 

Tamlin stayed in the Forest House. Lucien never thought he’d say it, but Beron was more merciful to him than Elvin had been to Tamlin. Eris had briefly informed him that Tamlin was not welcome back in Spring, ever. He was banished. 

Lucien had never met the High Lord of Spring. Not properly, only fleetingly through glances in meetings or during celebrations in which the Spring Court was invited. Elvin had been the picture of power. Wearing furs, gold and jewels. Unsurprisingly, he and Beron got on well. 

But Beron had not banished Lucien, that would raise questions, and Beron would rather keep his disappointment around then promote gossip. Because gossipers always found out, and if the Autumn Court knew one of his sons enjoyed the company of males. Beron’s ego would never recover. 

Elvin did not seem to care, gladly allowing gossip to spread, just so long as he never had to see Tamlin again.

That level of hatefulness frightened Lucien. 

Tamlin himself was quiet. He was given a new name, and remained under the careful gaze of his mother’s watchful Ladies. Who didn’t let him out of their sights for long. 

The ‘courting’ was mostly Lucien sitting in the same general vicinity as Tamlin and allowing his mother to talk to the people who chaperoned Tamlin. 

Tamlin himself remained glassy-eyed, with a back ramrod straight, and a pleasant smile on his pretty face. 

Lucien tried to return the smile, he tried to talk to him, but he would receive strange looks from the Ladies of the Court, and even Tamlin himself would shrink in a little. So, he stopped, and he waited.

Once the proper time for courting was over, they would be wed. And as the days ticked closer, the knot in Lucien’s stomach progressively got tighter and tighter. 

One night it was particularly bad. 

His mind conjured visions of a small, wailing child. With a shock of strawberry blond hair, big green eyes and darkened skin. She was so small, so pretty, and his chest was filled with so much love and adoration. 

But it was a she. 

The vision turned, his hands were covered in blood and the babe was in his arms, without a head. And Lucien screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. 

He woke up crying. Clutching the sheets so tightly, trying to reach out into the darkness like he might be able to change the nightmare he had. 

Eventually, his breaths slowed. His panic calmed. When he was no longer shaking so much, he slowly sat up. 

The room was not so dark after his eyes adjusted. There was the silvery light of the moon that slipped between the crack in his curtains. The dying embers in the fireplace gave off an amber glow that lit his path to his desk, the chair which his robe was slung over. 

He dressed in dark orange silk quickly, then left his room. 

Lucien walked the cold, dark halls silently. Trying to slow his still too quick breaths, trying to stop his heart from beating so much. 

It was a few weeks from when they were to formally announce the engagement, from there Beron would move swiftly. 

They had a story, Tamlin, now called Lillian- Beron had wished for something delicate, to try and further shift attention away from looking further into who Tamlin really was- was a Lady from the Spring Court. She had been chosen as a bride for Lucien, her family was no more than a widowed father, played by one of the Lords of Spring that Elvin had sent as a servant for Tamlin. 

It was a believable story. No one would pay mind to it. Lucien almost wished someone would find the details inaccurate, would look into it and pick out the flaws, call Beron out and demand to know the truth. Just so that Lucien would never have to risk holding his daughter in his hands only to have her torn from him and-

His heart was beating faster again. His hands were shaking. 

He needed air. 

Slipping out through the servants quarters. Lucien found himself in the gardens. They weren’t much, but they were pretty. Winding paths through the Autumn forests, the scent of woodsmoke and distant rain drifted through the chilled air. He breathed in deeply, pacing slowly through the paths, winding further into the deeper parts of the woods. 

He didn’t know how long he walked for, before Lucien heard the snapping of a twig underneath a foot that was not his own. 

Whirling around, he summoned flames to his hands immediately. 

“Who is there?!” He yelled. 

Noone responded, but he felt eyes on him. 

“As a son of Autumn, I order you to reveal yourself!” His flames grew hotter, spilling up his forearms. 

What he didn’t expect, was for a male whom he very much recognised to step out from inbetween the trees. 

Lucien’s jaw dropped, and his flames went out. 

Oh, he had been right, Tamlin’s male form did make him light-headed. 

He was like a living statue of the Gods. Painted by the finest hands. Long golden hair no longer in elaborate braids, but spilling down his shoulders and back, curls wild and free. His eyes, no longer shrouded but like when the sun hits the dew drops hanging on the edges of the grass blades. He was taller than Lucien, his face now sharper, but his lips still soft. His movements no longer restricted by silk and corsets, but moving fluidly. He eyed Lucien like a predator. Like a warrior sizing up an opponent. 

“You.” Lucien breathed. 

Tamlin gritted his teeth, he snarled, fangs glinting in the moon's silver light, “You.”

It was then that Lucien understood. 

Tamlin hated him. 

He supposed it was with good reason. 

“I will not tell anyone.” Lucien said, hoping that may ease the Prince’s aggression. 

Tamlin, however, just tilted his head to the side, “You lie. You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” Lucien said softly, looking over Tamlin now, Lucien recognised that the tunic, the leather pants, it was hunting leathers. They had the emblem of the Autumn Court. He had stolen them. 

“Which poor sap is out of hunting leathers?” Lucien questioned, his voice an amused hum. 

“You will tell.” Tamlin crossed his arms. 

“And gain what? An even deeper scowl when I’m forced to bed you? I will not receive Beron’s good graces if I report that I’ve found you unshifted.”

Tamlin considered his words, and even though he still frowned, his demeanour shifted slightly. He leaned back on his heels, uncrossed his arms, no longer so much glaring at Lucien, and more observing him with keen, cunning eyes. 

“You’ll get a scowl anyway.” Tamlin said, “I don’t fuck men I don’t love.”

“That makes two of us then.” Lucien replied, “We can be uncomfortable together.”

Tamlin sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He plucked out a dead leaf and looked at it so horribly, you would have thought it killed his mother. 

“How are you enjoying our Court?” Lucien tried for small talk, “I hope you're finding everything comfortable.”

Tamlin’s eyes softened ever so slightly, “Your Court is so…”

Lucien swallowed, Tamlin flicked his eyes around as he tried to find words. 

“Dead.” Tamlin eventually said, flicking the leaf away. 

Lucien snorted, he actually outright laughed, the first time in months. 

Tamlin glanced over at him, with a raised eyebrow, Lucien bit his bottom lip as he struggled to keep a smile down, “Sorry, sorry, I’ve just never had someone say something so… forthright? It is Autumn though, you will find much of it is dead.”

The Spring Prince just stared at him, then looked back down at the leaf now floating to the ground. 

“I don’t…” Tamlin grasped one of his arms, he bit down on his lip, but there was no smile on his face like Lucien. The Autumn Lord felt a pang of sudden worry bubble up inside him when he saw tears lining Tamlin’s eyes. 

“I can feel the lands.” He croaked out, “And all I feel is death.”

“Oh…” Lucien whispered. 

“I am a Spring Fae.” Tamlin whispered. 

Then the Prince whirled around, screaming, “I am a Spring Fae, I do not belong in death!”

Tears were spilling uncontrollably down his face, as Tamlin then said, “I would have rathered my father killed me. I wish he had slaughtered me so at least my blood would spill on Spring Land. I cannot live in death!”

Tamlin dropped to his knees, and Lucien felt the sudden, intense urge to run to him. 

His tears fell without stopping, an endless river, a well without a bottom. And the land… it felt like it bent towards him. Weakened as he was not in Spring, but still, the land seemed to cry with him. 

“I cannot be bound to the birthing bed. I cannot live in eternal dying.” His voice shuddered with every breath. He was shaking. 

It was then that Lucien noticed the finer details. The deep, heavy bags that weighed down his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks, the way his clothes seemed to droop around him. The tan of his skin was replaced by a sickly paleness. 

Lucien felt the knot in his stomach tighten, bile rose in his throat as he stared at this male. At this banished Prince. His future bride. 

He felt sick as he realised how similar he looked to how his mother looked. Worn down, forced to bend until she broke. 

That wasn’t what he wanted. 

This wasn’t what he wanted

He didn’t want the marriage his parents had. He didn’t want to watch who was bound to him slowly wither away until he was nothing but the female Elvin and Beron had forced him to become. 

Lucien stepped forward, his foot breaking the dead leaves scattered across the ground. Tamlin flinched, ducking his head down, covering himself with his arms, trying to hide himself. 

“Hey, hey,” Lucien whispered, he slowly got to his knees, putting a hand on the ground between them, reaching out his arm. 

“I can’t live like this.” Tamlin whispered, “I just can’t, I’ll-”

“I know, I know.” Lucien murmured. 

Suddenly, an idea came to him. 

“Hey, Tamlin,” Lucien murmured. 

Tamlin furrowed his brow, looking up at Lucien. He seemed surprised, “Yes?”

“I have something I think you’ll like.”

“It’s not the Spring Court but…” Lucien opened the cloudy glass door to reveal the inside. He turned and saw Tamlin’s eyes wide, his mouth dropped open. 

“You have a greenhouse.” He whispered, his voice filled with awe. 

They did have a greenhouse. And a magnificent one at that. 

Filled with plants from all over Prythian. It was large. With its tall walls, its glass ceiling revealing a blurred view of the starry night sky. The heavy, rich smell of pollen swirled all around them. Bees buzzed about, flying from flower to flower. Plants bloomed all around them. Encasing them in a world entirely separate from the world of Autumn. 

Tamlin stepped in further. Lucien shut the door, ceiling out the death and decay of his own Court outside. Tamlin stared at the greenhouse all around him, walking backwards into it, seemingly lost in a trance. 

“It’s beautiful.” He whispered finally, bending down to lightly trace his finger across a blooming rose. 

“It is.” Lucien agreed, then he cleared his throat, “Beron has an extensive collection from not just Prythian, but the lands across the sea. There are several different rooms, in which house a variety of different plants that require a separate environment to the rest.”

“Amazing.” Tamlin breathed, wandering in further, Lucien followed after him. 

“If you would like, I can organise so that you can help the gardening staff to care for the greenhouse.”

Tamlin whirled around, blinking in surprise, “You’d really do that for me?”

Lucien smiled, “Of course, Tamlin. Consider it an early wedding gift.”

Tamlin still stared at him, after a minute, Lucien felt just a tad uncomfortable, but before he could say anything, Tamlin’s eyes widened once more, he blushed profusely, looking away, “Sorry, it’s just… no one has called me by my name in months.”

“Oh… yes.” They all called him Lillian now. Lady Lillian, Lord Lucien Vanserra’s future bride. 

It might be torment. 

“Thank you.” Tamlin said, his eyes filled with tears once more, but this time, they weren’t from fear, or sadness, rather overflowing gratitude that shone in his voice, “Thank you so much, Lord-”

“Lucien. Just Lucien.” Lucien quickly said, then he shrugged, “My friends call me Luce.”

Tamlin laughed a little, and the sound made Lucien’s heart jump in his chest. It reminded him of sunlight and new blooms. 

“Am I a friend?” He asked with a smile that was blindingly sweet. 

Lucien felt blood rise in his face, heating his cheeks, “You are my future partner, you are more than a friend.”

Tamlin blushed a little at that, “Tam.” He said, “You can call me Tam then.”

“Tam.” Lucien repeated, he tasted the name on his tongue, and yes, that felt very right. 

The days went on. Tamlin spent every free moment he had in the greenhouse. Some of the workers had raised their eyebrows, and a few counsellors had come to Lucien to advise against such ‘frivolous hobbies’ but Lucien had shut them down immediately. Tamlin was to be allowed full access to all the greenhouses amenities and supplies. Including appropriate clothing to do such work. 

And work he did. 

They continued to meet in the late evenings. Lucien thought that maybe Tamlin might still be hesitant to talk to him, but the more and more they spoke, the more he uncovered the real Tamlin. The male who had been buried beneath gowns, makeup and mouths telling him to shut up and sit down and act like a Lady. 

The real Tamlin had been working in his father’s warbands. He had been training as a warrior, his specialty being with daggers and swords. 

Tamlin had laughed as he told a story about how the first time he ever beat their General in a duel. He had been the first soldier since the War to do so. He had shown Lucien the scars across his hands, legs and back while telling him how he earned them. 

And if Lucien got a little breathless, felt his face go hot, whenever Tamlin pulled his shirt off to show off his muscled back and hard chest, Tamlin didn’t seem to notice. 

Tamlin also told him the story of how his father found out about his preferences. He had fallen in love with a boy he met in the War Camps. Lucien’s jaw had fallen open when he learned it was the Prince of Night. 

Rhysand, his name was, he had been so charming. Pushed Tamlin just to the very edge, fought with relentless strength, been so kind. 

“I couldn’t have resisted him if I tried.” Tamlin had said with a sadness in his eyes. 

Then Rhysand had betrayed him. Had told Elvin of what they had been doing to humiliate him in front of their Court. To score points with his father, who loathed Elvin. 

Lucien had asked Tamlin what Elvin had done after, Tamlin had turned to look at him, and the sheer horror in his eyes had been enough to convey what had happened. 

It had brought them together, in this sick and twisted situation, they had started to form some kind of bond. 

During the agonising times, where Lucien and Tamlin would sit silently across from each other, Tamlin started giving him brighter smiles, ones that were genuine. Lucien would discreetly jut his thumb towards whoever was gossiping that morning and roll his eyes. Tamlin would thin his lips as he struggled to hold back a laugh. And then they would ramble and rant about all the horribly boring chatter of the day. 

It was so nice. 

And then, their engagement was announced. 

Tamlin and Lucien had to sit by each other. Tamlin strapped in an impossibly tightly corseted gown, donning Autumn colours and Autumn jewels, his hair bound into tight braids pinned up in an elaborate style. 

It was beautiful. He was beautiful. Devastatingly so. 

But it wasn’t Tamlin. And Lucien could tell he hated it. Behind the picture perfect smile, the soft curves of his curated form, his politely folded hands, covered with gloves to hide the callouses, there was a rage. A rage and a fear that was so deeply ingrained into Tamlin from all of this, it couldn’t be ignored. 

Even though the greenhouse, and their talks had seemed to have helped. They hadn’t helped enough. Tamlin was still so much thinner than when he first came. And he’d mumbled more than once while trying to carry soil or mulch, that he was getting weaker. He still didn’t sleep properly, and often his eyes were bloodshot from crying that he tried to hide. 

But, there was nothing Lucien could do to stop this. 

Lucien himself was suffering in a different way. 

He barely slept anymore. When he did, he was plagued with dreams, as he got to know Tamlin, they only worsened, only became more realistic, as the ticking of the days got louder. 

Lucien saw Tamlin strapped down, held down, screaming, in agony, covered in his own blood, in a body he hated. Forced to carry child after child after child. 

Lucien saw his daughter. A wildly beautiful babe, still covered in the fluids of the womb, crying so loudly. Screaming as she was ripped from him. Often Lucien was held down, and could only watch helplessly as she was pulled apart.

Sometimes it was different, and Lucien was no longer in control of his own body. He would be the one to take the knife to his own baby’s throat, her crying always got louder, wails turned to screams before it was silent. 

He always woke up crying. His own tears scared him. For after the nightmare, the wet, warm water felt like blood. 

It was the night before their wedding, when it happened.

Lucien had been walking out to the greenhouse, dressed in simple clothes, strolling through the grounds. The fear that he had been drowning in all day slowly disappearing as his attention was taken up by the prospect of being able to vent with Tamlin. 

But before he ever caught sight of the greenhouse, he found Tamlin, standing out in the line of the trees, just hidden from the sight of the sentries patrol. Lucien had found out that Tamlin had long memorised the guards rounds, so that he could get around easier and do as he pleased. 

“Lucien.” Tamlin had murmured, urging him to hide in the shadow of the trees with him. 

“Why aren’t you at the greenhouse?” Lucien asked, furrowing his brow. 

“Lucien I-...” Tamin trailed off, then he straightened his back as he said, “This is what I have wanted to do since I was young, and I’ve realised, there is nothing stopping me from doing it now.”

“What-”

“There is nothing stopping us from running, Luce.” Tamlin said. 

Lucien’s heart seemed to stop, as the world around them ceased to exist. 

He could only mumble a breathless, “What?”

“There are no wards, no enchantments. Beron is cocky. He does not think anyone could get past his guards, all protective walls are inside the Forest House, and here we are.” Tamlin spread his hands out dramatically, “Outside.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I’m making a break for it.” He said it with such a resolution. With such conviction that Lucien, for a moment, had his breath stolen. 

Lucien finally recovered enough to start protesting, “No… No, no, no, that is dangerous-”

“The only danger is the consequences of getting caught, and not only is it unlikely, but would they be worse than what we will be forced to do?”

“I-”

“Luce,” Tamlin said, a little softer, “I love you, but…” His features hardened, “I will not wait around, I refuse to do nothing at all. I refuse to let Beron force you to rape me until I am impregnated. I refuse to potentially have to murder a daughter. And I refuse to have to give up a son.”

Lucien stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. 

So, Tamlin had the same nightmares then. 

“But…” Lucien grasped weakly for straws. 

He didn’t know why he was grasping. His mind was already made up. 

“I will not stay. I am only offering you a way out too. Because as soon as I leave these boundaries, I will shapeshift into a new person and disappear from the records entirely.”

“Where are you going?” Lucien asked. 

“I cannot tell you. Not unless you come with me.” Tamlin said. 

Lucien swallowed hard. 

He looked back towards the Forest House. He saw a figure in the windows high above. The figure of a woman too thin. A woman once so powerful, and now broken and bent in every direction Beron wished to twist her. He knew she had once screamed and cried, and for a moment. Lucien wondered if his mother had also lost daughters… 

Under the moonlight, two males looked at each other. Under the moonlight, their hands intertwined. 

They were gone before the sunrise. And their fathers had raged until the land shook. 

It is centuries later and no one knows where they went. But those who knew them know they are safe. 

On a sunny spring morning, the wailing of a new babe filled the room. A tired male who had shifted himself out of his own will cried with joy. 

Lucien held his daughter with all the love he held. He stroked her strawberry blonde hair, and cried when she opened her bright green eyes. 

Extra notes about this, if you want to hear em:

Whilst this fic on the surface covers topics like the homophobia and misogyny depicted in ACOTAR, a lot of Tamlin's pain in this is a reflection of my experience being transmasc. Seems counterintuitive, I know, since Beron and Elvin, the main antags, both agree on Tamlin 'transitioning' to female. But the reason I wrote it this way and didn't make it so that Tamlin was already AFAB wanting to transition to male, is because I felt this was a better way to showcase the pain of being forced into an image and forced to abide by a set of standards assigned to a gender you do not identify with.

Tamlin being forced to live in Autumn and not being allowed back into Spring is more symbolic example of this. He is a "Spring Fae" he cannot "live in death" or cannot live as the antithesis of what he identifies as since it's such a deeply important part of him. This is also the reason I made it so Tamlin was banished from Spring, not Lucien from Autumn, since I felt with his shapeshifting abilities, this point would be best made with Tamlin.

Anyway, let me know your thoughts on this, and please give any feedback you might have! I hope you enjoyed!

Divider by @saradika

[thequeer07puss]

On Hera and Zeus’s marriage: a rant

I’ve seen a lot people get mad at Zeus because his application of marriage in mythology is a bit more flexible than what we’re used to, while misunderstanding the theological and cultural realities that surround it

The Native Hera and the Foreign Zeus

Long ago, before what is now known as the Greek pantheon was a thing, the Greeks worshipped the goddess now known as Hera, and she was their main goddess. Some time later, another group of people, recognisable as derived from Proto-Indo-European descent through their worship of a sky father (Zeus), either conquered or merged with the existing culture of the time.

These two groups, to avoid too violent of a clash while merging, made their patron deities spouses to make the transition more smooth for everyone, effectively breaking the Proto-Indo-European pattern of sky god-earth goddess duos, while still being present to a lesser extent in the form Demeter’s brief marriage with Zeus.

Divine marriage

Now, we all know Zeus in his myths was quite a womaniser, both because of his function as an All-Father, and as his function as the representation of Ancient Greek patriarchal society where men could have as many extramarital affairs and women could not. Note the fact that this was completely allowed and accepted in Ancient Greece, and that other male deities with known spouses still slept around without their wives getting angry (eg Poseidon and Dionysus).

Why is that so? One could simply dismiss this by saying that Hera is just “being jealous”, but the answer is deeper than the surface level.

The marriage of Zeus and Hera is meant to be egalitarian, meaning that they occupy the same position and receive the same amount of honour in Olympian society, and Hera, as defender and mistress of Olympus, has to constantly check whether or not there is a breach of that egalitarian semi-open marriage or an attack on her honours as both queen of the gods and equal partner of Zeus.

Now, Hera is well-known for her fury against Zeus’s mistresses, and while this may seem funny/tragic to people, it’s not rlly ALL of them that had that treatment. The only ones of Zeus’s mistresses (that I know of) that received any kind of attack from Hera were Leto, Alcmene and Semele. (This ill reputation of Hera as a jealous wife might mostly be due to Heracles, but we’ll get back to him later)

Leto and Semele

Leto was one of Zeus’s previous wives before Hera came in power, and she conceived her children, Apollo and Artemis after Zeus and Hera got married (UPG). Semele was a mortal princess from a very important family line, who Zeus took a liking to and came down to often, even swearing to her on the river Styx to give her anything she wanted. This could tickle Hera the wrong way for 2 reasons: Leto, a previous queen, and Semele, a mortal, may have started to feel proud of Zeus’s special attention, and that their children (Apollo & Artemis, and Dionysus respectively) were destined to eventually enter her home due to them being very important. The first point could just be a reminder of Hera’s supremacy as Queen of Heaven, and sends a clear message: “Just because the King gives you special favours doesn’t mean you are above, or better than me”.

The trials that face Heracles, Apollon and Dionysus (ie madness followed by redemption, Python, and a period of madness respectively) could therefore be tests to prove their worth and proof that Zeus did not waste his time and energy making children unfit to integrate the Olympian family without some pushback. Zeus famously spent 3 days conceiving Heracles, whose famous fate at the hands of Hera could be seen as trials in her honour, as evidenced by his name which means “the glory of Hera”. When he ascends to Olympus, he even goes as far as marrying Hera’s daughter, Hebe.

Conclusion

Hera is not a jealous wife, and her marriage with Zeus is certainly not dysfunctional. They love each other deeply (see: the foundation myth of the Daidala festival) and their relationship is certainly not something to be questioned or made fun of. Honouring Hera properly means honouring Zeus, and vice-versa.

On that note, I wish you all a happy Theogamia.

[wishcamper]

Cassian Appreciation Week Day 4: Lover

Continuing @cassianappreciationweek with an entry that explores Cassian's openness to love in its many packages. You can read it here or on ao3.

Thicker Than Water

In which Cassian loves his friends.. a lot.

CW: consensual sexual content, a moment of dubcon if you squint

"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

“I thought being married would get us past the overfamiliar gifts, but I guess that was wishful thinking,” Nesta sighed, and Cassian cursed himself for the thousandth time for all the years he spent letting his guilt rule him.

The House’s warmth was a relief when it washed over his wings, and as he set Nesta down in the dining room it felt more like home than ever. She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the rack, and despite the time his stomach still swooped seeing the long column of her neck, her cheeks flushed from the wine and hours spent in the parlor of the river house.

Nesta, his wife, their third Solstice as mates since that night everything changed. Lucky didn’t even come close to how he felt having her in his life - it was a rare gift, one that he doubted even other mates experienced.

Which was why the present from Mor didn’t make him feel uncomfortable so much as sad. He worried about the ways his friend was struggling to move on, to find her place now their family had changed irrevocably.

Cassian sank into an armchair and chucked the silky undershorts into the hearth, watching the fabric curl and twist as the flames engulfed it. “I’m sorry, I’ll talk to her about it. Maybe she’ll actually hear me this time.”

He’d told Nesta the story of their ill-fated one night stand ages ago, the fallout not just with Mor’s engagement but within their found family as well. He still looked back on the whole thing with shame, but Nesta was helping him shift that, to understand and make peace with the ways he’d been harmed, to discern what was and wasn’t his duty to bear.

“It’s not your fault,” she said as if reading his thoughts, coming behind his chair to drape herself over his shoulders. Her hair smelled of vanilla and cinnamon when she buried her face in his neck, voice thick with drink and drowsiness. “I can’t say it’s surprising, the way all of you are with each other. If I didn’t know, I’d assume you’d have been with at least one of them.”

“What does that mean?”

Cassian frowned as Nesta tapped a careful finger against her lips and moved to pour herself a nightcap, her words sounding measured when she finally spoke. “Your family is very.. charged. You talk about sex all the time, none of you were attached before my sisters and I came along. There’s just something not quite familial about it.”

“Hey now,” he began, but Nesta cut him off with a kiss, returning to perch herself in his lap. He drew his wings and arms around her habitually despite his offense, stealing a sip from her glass.

“Sorry love, I’ve no judgment for you. I’m certainly not innocent." She loosed the tie from his hair, her fingers soothing where they worked through the tangles he'd earned rolling on the floor with his nephew. "Besides, you’ve only slept with one of your family members, it could be worse.”

“Uh.. huh.”

“Cassian.”

He’d been distracted by the fullness of her hips in his hands, thinking of how he could persuade her to push sleep off for another hour or two. But now her words registered, igniting a nervousness low in his stomach. He flashed what he hoped was a lazy smile. “Yes, sweetheart?”

But he knew it didn’t work when her blue-gray eyes narrowed, scrutinizing, fixed him with a stare that would make lesser males cower. 

“You’re being shifty. What are you hiding?”

Damn the bond, damn her mind-reading power that would’ve seen through him without the direct connection to his fucking soul. His insides went all squirmy, knots of memory beginning to unravel.

“Okay, remember how we agreed to not hold our pasts against each other?”

“Cassian Archeron, tell me the truth right now.”

“Okay fine fine, just don’t - ow - don’t kill me until you’ve heard the whole thing.”

Nesta lowered the pillow from where she’d raised it to whack him a second time, her wintery eyes flashing in the firelight.

“Spill.”

—

They’d been stationed in the Illyrian mountains for four fucking months by now, whipping the newest recruits into shape, or trying to, anyhow. Rhys wanted everyone in top fighting shape after rumors of an armada preparing to sail from the continent, and though it was a worthy cause, being away from Velaris was starting to wear Cassian thin.

But if he was miserable, then Azriel was wretchedly depressed. He was as surly as Cassian had ever seen him, and even though it wasn’t abnormal the duration of this last bout was worrisome. For weeks he’d been trying to find a way past that thick wall of stoicism, but for all his jokes and ribbing and attempts at quiet company, Az only sunk further into a deep freeze. There was a kind of deadness in his eyes that Cassian had come to associate with loneliness, or else feeling unworthy of reaching out.

So he decided to offer up one of his own frustrations one frigid morning as they sparred in the deserted ring, hoping to draw the shadowsinger out by catching him when his body was most alive.

“I’m going out of my mind surrounded by males up here,” Cassian said after dodging a jab of Azriel’s elbow aimed straight for his chin. "I have no idea how those monks in Cesere do it."

Az scoffed. “No one warming your bed?”

“Fuck no. You?”

“Not really looking.”

The village close by was more liberal than most due to its status as a trading crossroads, and Cassian had found a bevy of eager and willing females in the earlier days of their assignment. But one had to be careful to avoid spreading themselves too far - Illyrians were famous for being incurable gossips as much as they were for their wings.

Still, it surprised him to hear Azriel wasn’t even trying. They both had healthy appetites, the spymaster’s at times more ravenous than even his own.

“Yeah, sure.” Cassian smirked as they circled each other, making a show of rolling his eyes enough that Az might take the bait. He did, spinning to sweep Cassian’s feet from beneath him, but it went less well than expected when Az pivoted at the last moment and boxed him about the ear with a closed fist, making it ring.

“I mean it.”

Azriel landed a kick to Cassian’s shoulder to emphasize the point. He felt the shadows start to twine up his arm and blasted them outward with the siphon on his gauntlet, his laughter coming out in great white puffs amidst the chill.

He loved that Az never held back when they sparred. Sometimes Cassian wondered if he was the only one Azriel felt comfortable going full tilt with, the only one beside Rhys who could take him and not break. Which was why his curiosity spiked hearing of the shadowsinger’s celibacy, wondering if that restraint appeared elsewhere.

“Why not?”

He saw the frozen ground inside Azriel begin to thaw, the corner of his mouth twitching, but he quickly schooled his expression into that blank mask once more. “Don’t do this.”

“No really, why? You’re a good-looking male.” Ducking, Cassian managed to grab Az around the neck, ruffling his hair with a clenched fist like the childhood bully that still lived within him, though there was something else inside it that he ignored . “Do you not know what you’re doing, Azzie?”

Azriel struggled against him, growling his displeasure at the accusation. “Of course I do.”

At last he wriggled free, shadows swarming waspish and angry about his wings, but that fire had returned to his eyes, replacing the cold hollowness. Cassian didn’t quite know what was happening, but a thrill passed through him that had nothing to do with their sparring. There was so much that powerful body was capable of, and he couldn’t help egging Az on as he kicked out at one of his legs, stoking the flames.

“Prove it.”

“Fuck you.”

The shadowsinger’s hair fell elegantly across his face despite the sweat, and Cassian was distracted watching the sway of it, his already loose tongue unraveling more by the second.

“Like you have the balls to. You can’t handle me.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew Azriel wouldn’t be able to let a challenge go, that his competitive streak would win over his better judgment every time. And Cassian could admit to himself that a part of him wanted that, wanted to keep making Az flush with rage like that, and so the taunts kept flowing.

“I’d make you cry, pretty boy. I’d have you begging for mercy before I even touched you.”

The next time Azriel came at him there was no restraint, no checking his blows, and they grappled violently, nails scraping against leather, panting breaths heating the space between them. Color bloomed high in the shadowsinger's cheeks, too deep for the cold, the exhertion.

They’d shared many charged glances in the ring over the years, the dances of combat and desire so often a hair’s breadth away from each other. Cassian usually dismissed it as an unavoidable side effect of being close for so long, knowing Azriel’s quirks more than his own. But now something blazed behind each blow and snarl, white-hot and searing, spurring him on.

“And then I’d make you forget your own fucking name.” He rushed forward and tackled Az around the middle, crushing him into the ground. “The only one you’d remember would be mine, and I’d make you scream it over and over and -”

Shadows whipped around them, lashing at his face and arms. Cassian heard a snarl and then the world flipped and he was the one pinned to the ground, face smashed into the dirt with one of Azriel’s hands splayed across his cheek, scars rasping at his stubble.

Another thrill pulsed through him, more urgent than before as he thrashed to free himself, albeit half-heartedly. The shadowsinger paused, looking down between them.

“Cauldron, Cass, are you getting hard?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

But he already knew the answer, could feel the long, hard press of Azriel through his leathers, the erratic beat of the shadowsinger’s heart in time with his own. Cassian grinned as he looked up into Azriel’s expression twisted in fury and something more malleable, consumed by the turbulence in his eyes he knew matched his own.

“Fuck it.”

Azriel yanked him upward and their mouths crashed together, a tangle of teeth and tongues, hands gripping hair and shoulders, their bodies carving symbols in the dirt. It was all so absurd, so surreal that Cassian laughed against Azriel’s lips, causing the latter to bite down on his own.

“Bedroom,” Cassian panted when Az pulled back, and shadows whisked them away in an instant, his back landing on the soft down of a feather bed. Azriel was still straddling him, now ripping at the jacket of his leathers.

“Get this shit off.”

They both fumbled with buckles and clasps that usually took no thought, an indicator of the building fervor, the delirium that captured both of them in its wild, wanton fist. But when their lips met once more there was a tenderness to it that surprised Cassian, the grip of Azriel’s hand on his jaw lighter than it ought to be. 

An understanding passed between them, two people who had hurt others, had been hurt themselves, and didn’t make themselves vulnerable for just fucking anybody.

Cassian’s hand moved slowly to the laces of his pants, giving Az time to decide as he watched with heavy-lidded eyes, frozen ground replaced by smoldering embers.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Az’s tongue darted out to trace his lower lip. “Always.”

“Then put your hands on the headboard.”

—

“Things sort of devolved from there,” Cassian finished with a shrug. They’d stayed up all night, only to return to the training ring in the morning clear-headed and casual, as if nothing had happened. “We’ve shared females since then, but never just the two of us. I think we needed to get it out of our systems.”

Nesta had moved from his lap and draped herself across the chaise lounge while he talked, golden brown hair spilling across her shoulders as she removed the pins. She was looking at him now with a kind of hunger in her wintery eyes, one that said she was picturing herself as the female they shared. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You two are.. Close.”

“Alright you minx, reel it back in. I don’t know if I’m ready to share you yet.”

“If that’s all I think I can live with it. At least it wasn’t Rhysand,” she said airily as she stood, and he followed her down the hall like a bird chasing the breeze, borne forth by the power she held over him. His thoughts were all a jumble - he couldn’t lie, but he had to, but then she’d be pissed, but she might be more pissed by the truth.

By the time they reached their room, all he managed was a noise like a seagull being strangled, followed by a weak, “Well..”

Cassian bought himself time shucking off his boots and tucking them in the wardrobe, trying to temper the onslaught of memories, the edges fuzzy from liquor and time. When he summoned the courage to emerge Nesta was naked, which was great, but also glaring at him over one shoulder, blue-gray flashing like a stormy sea, which was decidedly less great. 

“Cassian. Are you kidding?”

He sighed, accepting his fate as he rid himself of his shirt and trousers. “Look, it was a long time ago, I was young and drunk and curious. Shit happens.”

Nesta gave a disdainful hm! and stepped down into their giant bathtub, a cruel swish of her hips for emphasis.

“So you just accidentally came on to both your best friends on separate occasions because shit happens.”

“Yes.” He splashed into the fragrant water with much less grace and wrapped her in his arms, drawing a shriek. “Only I didn’t start it this time.”

—

He was finally sitting down, mercifully, miraculously, at rest for one godsdamn moment.

The last month had been one of the most brutal of Cassian’s life, the constant drilling, the endless training as they prepared for war. Now that he’d collapsed like a sack of bones in the armchair before the fire, he didn’t know how he’d remained on his feet so long in the first place.

As if summoned by his weariness, Rhys strolled into the house a few moments later, Windhaven’s harsh winter air sneaking in behind him. Cassian ruffled his wings and shot a dark look over his shoulder, not even bothering with a greeting.

“Close the fucking door.”

“In a bad mood, darling?” Rhys drawled, the aristocratic glide of his voice grating on Cassian’s nerves as the lordling divested himself of his traveling cloak. “I’ve just the thing to soothe your troubled heart.”

He produced a bottle of deep purple mulberry moonshine, a delicacy of Spring. It was impossible to get with the embargo on the southern court, though Cassian suspected Rhys’ stupid blond friend probably had a hand in supplying it.

He ignored the spike of jealousy, ascribing it to the headache now pounding somewhere behind his eye, and accepted the proffered glass without another word.

They drained the bottle for the better part of the evening, talking shit and one-upping each other, the ease of conversation helping Cassian relax until he’d sunk low in his chair, legs splayed long across the floor. Azriel was gone on a mission for the High Lord, and so they enjoyed the rare time just the two of them, perhaps the last time for a while. They’d all be shipped off to their individual assignments soon, and though it wasn’t confirmed Cassian knew they’d be separated, far-flung across Prythian in a way they hadn’t been since the Blood Rite.

Which was why he’d been pissed when Rhys brought a female home last night, shattering the images he’d had of sharing a meal together, drinking before the fire just like this.

“Did you enjoy the show last night?” Rhys asked casually, and Cassian scowled at him as his cheeks heated in a way he hoped was camouflaged by the flush of alcohol.

He’d heard them fucking in the night, woken to the creak of the bedframe, hushed moans and whispers drifting over him like a warm breeze. Rhys was going down on her from the sound of it, and very successfully if the female’s growing abandon was anything to go by. Even in his mortification Cassian had let one of his hands edge lower, biting the pillow to muffle his own labored breaths.

The memory made his arousal flare even now, loosened as he was by booze and easy company. When he looked up Rhys was smirking at him, a daring twinkle in his inconstant violet eyes.

“If you’re reading my mind I’m going to throw your bed out the window.”

Rhys’ smirk deepened. “That’s fine. I’ll just climb in with you.”

“Like I’d let you within ten wingspans of my bed.”

“You seemed fairly open to it when you were touching yourself under the covers.”

Cassian tried to ignore the spike of wanting at the words, instead downing the rest of his glass before he set it on the table with feigned nonchalance. Rhys stood and circled around the back of his chair, and Cassian assumed he was going to retrieve another bottle until he felt strong hands begin to knead the muscle at his shoulder, where his wings connected to his back. That touch-starved part of him that never got enough affection sparked alive, that wanted to both shy away from the contact and lean into its promise desperately.

“I don’t mind, for the record. We both knew. And we both liked it,” Rhys assured him. A sharp pain tore through Cassian’s neck before he could answer, Rhys following the tendon with a gentle thumb. “Gods but you’re tense. You’ve worried yourself into knots, darling.”

They were silent for a while, and Cassian let himself surrender to the pressure of Rhys’ hands, mind drifting back toward the night before as the tension seeped out of him. He had been curious about how Rhys had made the female moan like that, though at the time he’d thought for purely academic purposes. Now he felt a stirring below, curious in an entirely different way.

“Well if you ever change your tune, you’re welcome to pull back the covers and join in,” Rhys said breezily after a long slug of his own drink. “Have you ever had a male before, Cassian?” 

“No. Have you?”

Rhys hummed in confirmation behind him. “It’s not so different, you know.”

He felt Rhys’ hands roaming lower, slipping under his shirt to stroke at his chest, long fingers running through the thatch of curls at the center. Cassian’s whole body went hot, and he warred against the impulse to give in, still not sure if Rhys was sincere or just fucking with him.

“You fuck anything that moves, so I’m not sure how much weight that holds.”

It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it - Rhys was an undeniably handsome male, and even though he didn’t typically lean that way there was something comforting about the familiarity, the trust. The hands continued their path downward, undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“I have a very talented tongue, I’ve been told. Seems wrong not to share my gifts.”

“What a public service, lordling." Cassian was surprised by the gravel in his own voice, the building desire thick and heavy on his tongue. "Your subjects are truly grateful.”

“What can I say? I live to serve.”

Cassian hissed as fingers grazed his waistband. The rush of alcohol in his veins was making him feel bold, and Rhys certainly appeared on board, but the old twinge lingered, the unspoken rule.

“Are you sure about this? I mean I’m flattered, obviously, but after everything that happened with Mor I assumed we were all off-limits.”

Rhys’ hands stilled, pulling away from him. “Do you still feel guilty about that?”

“Of course I do,” Cassian murmured even as felt the loss of contact acutely, the part of him that wanted to take what was being offered, to let down his wall of self-sufficiency and be the cared for instead of the carer.

Soft lips pressed against his head, an apology somewhere inside it though neither spoke it aloud. Rhys rounded the chair to stand before the fire, a contemplative air about him.

“You work so hard, Cass, you show up for all of us without a moment’s hesitation. I know you’d die for me, but do you know I’d live in Hel for you?” When Rhys looked back Cassian saw the desire in his own eyes reflected along with something deeper, a wish to be connected, to give. “It’s not wrong to let someone else take over for a while.”

Then Rhys stepped close again and lowered to his knees on the threadbare rug, and Cassian forgot how to string a sentence together, how to breathe.

“Just relax. Let me take care of this for you.”

Deft fingers unlaced his trousers, relieving the ache only the slightest bit, which was somehow worse because Cassian was aware of just how turned on he was, how much he wanted Rhys to keep going. He ran a hand through Rhys’ blue-black hair without thinking, earning a satisfied smirk.

Then his breathing went ragged as the world swirled down to the space between them, the closing gap, before he was nothing but white-hot sensation, gripping the arms of the chair to stay tethered to reality.

“Oh, Mother, fuck that feels good.”

“Told you I'm talented."

—

“And then I went to sleep, and we never talked about it again.”

Nesta had flung an arm over her eyes as she listened, sprawled across the bed now in surrender to the images pouring through her mind.

“Just like that. Just casual oral sex between friends. I can never look him in the eye again, but I also can't wait for him to know that I know. Oh no, and Feyre? Is it my obligation to tell my baby sister that our husbands have..? Please tell me that's it."

Cassian couldn’t help but smile despite his mortification as his wife peeked out from under her arm, assessing. For all Nesta’s dramatics he knew she was listening carefully, holding space for him the way she always had. Her jokes were never aimed to wound, but rather to show him that she could handle whatever he gave her, that she wasn’t afraid of who he was and who he’d been.

“That’s mostly it.”

“Cassian.”

“Look, we’re already here.” He passed her the slice of cake the House dropped onto the nightstand, hoping some sugar might help the bitter pill go down. “I might as well tell you about Amren.”

“Amren?!”

—

There was only one bed.

Cassian had faced monsters, undead creatures, yet nothing in his two hundred years of life compared to the terror he felt staring at that single, solitary bed.

“Why have you stopped?” demanded Amren. “Did you forget how to walk through a door?”

Rhys had sent them near their southern border with Day, their first mission together since Amren’s appointment to the court. They were supposed to retrieve an enchanted mirror guarded by a cantankerous cyclops and his herd of mammoths, had been waylaid by a huge storm that blew in from the west that made flying impossible. But the warrior in Cassian was more worried about the volatile creature in the tavern attic with him now, despite her markedly smaller stature.

“I don’t even think we could share the bed.” He cast a glance around at the rest of the room, which didn’t take long considering how fucking tiny it was, the sharp cant of the roof. “You're small enough to fit in the chair if you curl up like a cat.”

Amren grew impatient with him blocking the door and ducked through the tunnel between his wing and leg to get around him. He shivered when she brushed the edge, grateful the tiny fae was now too busy surveying the room in abject disgust.

“I will not sleep in that chair. I will take the bed, and you can swallow your male pride and sleep on the floor.”

“And if I refuse?”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”

She planted her hands on her hips when she said it, but the positioning was slightly off, unrehearsed as she was from developing her gestures in this body in solitude. The effect of that in juxtaposition with her terrifying mercury eyes and awkward attempt at slang made Cassian burst out laughing. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s no way I’m fitting on the floor.”

She didn’t appreciate his words, definitely didn’t appreciate the laughter, but even she could see his point. There was barely enough room for them both to stand, let alone to get his wings in any kind of position that didn’t leave him bent like a broken parasol.

Amren scowled. “Sleep outside then, hang from a tree by your feet or whatever it is your kind do.”

Cassian let the casual cruelty roll over him, used to being looked down on by High Fae. “They’re your kind now, too, you know. You should learn about the people you serve.”

“I know all that I need to, boy,” she snapped. She was ripping through her miniature pack now, searching for something that must’ve sunk to the bottom. “Chiefly that I will sleep here and you will manage elsewhere.”

“Trust me, I would love nothing more than to not share this room, but it’s raining. So you’re stuck with me unless you’d rather I smell like a wet mutt tomorrow.”

Having found what she was looking for, Amren straightened and regarded him over one shoulder, the effect somewhat dampened by the fact she had to crane her neck all the way back at a weird angle to see his face. Cassian felt a nervousness flutter in his stomach, suddenly remembering all she was capable of, what she’d probably have no scruples doing to him. But after a moment she snorted, as if sensing his caution.

“Very well, then.”

She sneered hard enough he thought her face might split before she perched on the edge of the bed and took a swig from a flask, lips coming away ruby.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Cassian said as he removed his own pack, tucking it under the chair she definitely would’ve fit in. Maybe talking about herself would blunt her spikiness, he thought. It always seemed to cheer Rhys up. “What’s with the blood? Is it just for fun or is it part of your whole..” He waved a hand in her direction. “Image. The scary reputation thing.”

“Language has truly declined in the last few millennia. The blood is necessary. That will be the end of your questions.”

The cap of her flask screwed shut of its own accord, metal glinting in the low faelights.

“Fine, fuck. Just trying to be friendly. Do they not do that where you’re from?”

She fixed him with that eerie silver stare that promised the separation of his balls from the rest of him. “Enough. Questions.”

He took her seriously this time, darting from the room when she started pulling out her sleep clothes.

After scarfing down a serviceable meal in the tavern below, Cassian felt the tiredness settle over him like smoke, making his brain fuggy. Amren turned away from him when he returned, and he peeled off his wet leathers with as much modesty as the small room allowed, not wanting to chance asking her to step out. He could shield most of his body with his wings from the back anyway, but he felt her piercing eyes on him, the air charged with something he couldn’t quite place. At first he thought he’d pissed her off further, and was prepared to do some half-hearted groveling when a cold finger traced down the edge of his wing, making him yelp.

“Mother fuck, a little warning?”

He twisted to see Amren right behind him with her pinky raised, the blood red nail tipping it talon-sharp. “I heard these wings were sensitive.”

“Yeah, and it’s also considered pretty fucking rude to touch them without asking,” Cassian choked out when she reached up again, still reeling from the aftershocks of the unanticipated touch. Her eyes swirled like a midwinter squall.

“It was your suggestion I learn about my people.”

He knew she could scent his arousal from the feline smile that spread across her face, that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Stop looking at me like you want to eat me.”

“But you look delicious.”

He couldn’t tell if that meant she wanted to bed him or drain him dry, though neither made sense, nor did the way she knew how to touch his wings that made a fierce hunger spark within him. While it was true he hadn’t slept with anyone in a while, barely anyone outside Illyria really got it right. He suppressed a shudder, heard her sardonic chuckle. 

“My power is in the blood. The flow, the pressure,” Amren said, and Cassian understood as he felt his blood rush south at her words, even as the purr of her voice wrapped around his neck like a noose. “It bends to my will.”

“Careful,” he managed, holding back a groan. “That’s my favorite part.”

Sharp nails tapped on the outer bone of his wing, making him shudder in earnest this time. “I’d have guessed it would be this.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. This was spiraling and he was quickly losing what little ability he had to make tactical decisions. “Maybe this isn’t such a -”

“Shall I stop?”

“NO. No.” His body screamed in protest at the suggestion, and though Rhys would likely kill him for this it was too good,  “Let’s just agree that as of tomorrow, this never happened,” he panted, and when he turned Amren was grinning at him, maybe the first real smile he’d seen her make, just the briefest flash before she pounced. 

It was a whirlwind from that moment on, and he didn’t remember much save for the way she loomed over him, somehow larger than she had any right to be. The blood whizzed through his brain, making him delirious but it felt fucking incredible, like slamming back a shot of pure lifeforce. Amren’s hands danced over his wings expertly, making him see double, so that he didn’t even think to ask how she knew just how to touch them until he was splayed on the floor with his legs under the bed, more thoroughly wrung out than he’d been in decades.

“I had wings once, before I came to your world.”

Perhaps it was the naivety of the afterglow, but Cassian was surprised by the crack that formed in his heart as she said it, the pain that lingered there. She’d been right earlier - his wings were his favorite part, a constant connection to his homeland, his freedom.

“Do you miss them?”

“Every day.”

He lifted a hand to brush back the raven hair that had fallen across her face, but she smacked him away savagely, pushing off his chest to her feet. His head swam as she towered over him, hands on her hips correctly this time.

“It seems you fit on the floor after all, so I’ll be taking the bed. And if you ever speak of this to anyone,” Amren shook the flask, grinning with all her teeth. “I’ll make a special vintage out of you.”

—

Nesta was laughing hysterically now, silver tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“I’m so glad my misery is funny to you.” Cassian crossed his arms and his mate immediately reached over to uncross them, crawling to sit astride him so he couldn’t close off again. 

“Oh my. Oh. This is..” She took his face in her hands, pressed a kiss to his furrowed brow as her laughter ebbed. “I love you.”

“Yeah, you better.”

She brushed her nose against his, gentler now, a gesture that everything was okay. “You know, it does make me feel better in a way. That there wasn’t anything special about Morrigan, because this is just who you are.”

“What, an idiot?”

“No,” she assured him, stifling the laugh that still wanted to bubble forth. “Open to opportunity.”

“I guess so? I’ve never really thought about it before.”

Nesta lay against him in answer, resting her head on his chest. He took the opportunity to run his fingers through her curtain of hair, and she hummed when he scratched lightly at her scalp, holding him tighter.

“As long as you’re faithful to me now and you’ve never slept with one of my sisters, I don’t much care. You haven’t, right?

“No way, sweetheart. Promise.”

He felt her smile against his skin, the corner of it quirked in a way he knew meant she was scheming over something, or else setting a trap. ”So…” she breathed, her tone full of courtier’s dodginess. “Who was the best?”

“You, of course.”

“Oh no you don’t.” She sat up and glared at him, though he saw the lightness in her eyes, the zing of excitement pulsing under her skin. “You opened this door, you can’t blame me for wanting to walk through it. Answer.”

“Fine. Az was the best. Hands down. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I have an opportunity you might be open to.”

Nesta dug one hand into his hair, the other tracing a line from the hollow of his throat to where their bodies connected and Cassian knew he was fucked, knew she’d do everything she could to outshine those memories, to make hers the only body that lived in his mind.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that was already true, though his motives were not entirely selfless as she slipped her night dress over her head, and they twined for hours with unbridled glee, pausing every now and then for Nesta to fall apart with laughter.

---

Me: I’m gonna write fun silly smut! Also me: *drags out the saddest fucking background info to justify it* And you can pry pansexual switch king Cassian from my cold ass dead ass hands. Also think this may be the first Amren/Cassian fic ever. Is this my legacy? Oh god.

[warwickroyals]

Sunderland's Royal Jewel Vault (29/∞) ♛

↬ The Duchess of Westminster's Ruby Parue

As we learned last week, a majority of Queen Anne’s jewels were heirlooms from her extravagant grandmother, Martha, Duchess of Westminster. Today, we will learn about another one of the duchess’s suites, the lesser-known Westminster Ruby Parure. The suite of rubies and diamonds originally belonged to Lady Martha Whitley, who became the Duchess of Westminster when she married King Louis II’s sixth son, Prince Augustus, Duke of Westminster in 1838. The Duke and Duchess, along with their three children, were important members of the royal family, representing four subsequent kings: King Louis III, King James, King Louis IV, and King George. As a senior lady at court, Martha was noted for her large collection of jewels, including an eye-catching set of rubies which she often paired with expensive satin gowns and plumes of ostrich feathers. A ruby tiara, featuring large tear-drop-shaped gems, was the highlight of the parure. Over the years, the rubies were also worn by Martha’s daughter, Princess Elizabeth Anne, but when the Duchess died in 1911, her will left the rubies for none other than her beloved granddaughter, Princess Anne of Westminster. Anne was the only legitimate male-line grandchild of the Duke and Duchess of Westminster, as such most of the Westminster possessions passed to her. However, this transition was not a smooth one. Through their eldest son Prince Louis, the new Duke of Westminster, the Duke and Duchess also had three illegitimate grandchildren, who were less than pleased to be left out of their grandmother’s will. In 1913, with the support of their father, they contested Anne, by then Duchess of Woodbine, for several of their grandmother’s possessions, including the rubies and large sums of money. It’s unclear how this conflict was resolved, some claim Anne simply refused to meet her cousins’ demands, while other sources state a judge sided with the Princess. Either way, Anne maintained ownership of the rubies, although money was rumoured to have “traded hands.” By 1930, Anne was Queen and while she posed with the rubies on multiple occasions, they weren’t among her favourites. When her youngest son Prince Michael, Duke of Glencairn, married Esther Jungman, Anne surprised her daughter-in-law by gifting her the collection. By then, the suite had grown to include the tiara, a necklace, two matching bracelets, earrings, and multiple brooches. Esther got good use out of the rubies, wearing them to numerous high-profile events—state visits, wedding receptions, and banquets—until her death in 1988. Afterwards, the rubies were passed on to Esther’s eldest daughter, Princess Mary. Mary wore the parure’s tiara in its original state a handful of times, but in the 1990s she decided to alter the tiara, selling the top row of tear-drop rubies and modifying the tiara into a smaller, bandeau shape. This choice caused drama between Mary and her two sisters, with Princess Frances of Glencairn allegedly accusing her sister of “massacring Grandma’s tiara”. Members of the family were seemingly puzzled by Mary’s choice to tinker with such an old tiara. Mary, known for her unfussy and aloof demeanour, seemed unbothered by the hysterics. “It’s mine, I can do what I want with it,” was her alleged response. “It was either alter it or sell the whole damn thing. People would complain regardless.” Exceptionally close to King Louis V, Mary continues to be a devoted working royal. As a result, the Westminster rubies continue to pop up on many occasions. Altered or not the Westminster ruby tiara has remained at play for almost two hundred years, something that sets it above even the most famous of Sunderlandian tiaras.

[shadowqueenjude]

Day 2 of @sjmvillainweek Planning

Villain: Beron Vanserra

Part 1 here

“Not that I mind new clothes,” Beron said, “but what’s with the harried tailor?”

“Your brother is getting married,” Francesca Vanserra said in a clipped tone. The Lady of Autumn…and Beron’s mother by blood. Not like she cared about that particular title. Lady Vanserra spent more time fixing up her hair than taking care of her children. Beron couldn’t recall a single memory where she’d shown him affection.

But enough self-pity. Violet was right; he had to be strong.

“You found someone willing to marry him?” Beron asked, genuine surprise laced into his voice. Each brother was more useless than the last; if it pleased him, Beron could kill them all single-handedly.

“Astonishing the lows people will sink to to become royalty,” Francesca replied sardonically. Beron snorted. Indeed, good looks and royal blood were all any of his brothers had to offer. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Lady Olivia Fleur Bellerose of the Spring Court. A lesser member of nobility, but an exquisitely classy faerie who can whip your brother Vulcan into shape.”

Beron seriously doubted that, but opted not to contradict Francesca. “When is the wedding?” he asked

“Oh, it’s in one week; that’s why the tailor is in such a hurry!” Francesca exclaimed before flouncing out of the room.

Wait what?

A week? This was a royal fucking wedding they were talking about; most royal weddings took years to plan to perfection. Something must have happened to prompt such a rapid marriage.

Beron didn’t bother to think about it. Ultimately it didn’t really matter what the reasoning was; it was one more shitty person out of his life. And he was also that much closer to the throne.

Although a couple of days later, when the castle was being completely redecorated and they were kicked out of the forest house, curiosity won out and Beron asked his sister.

“Vivi, do you know anything about Vulcan’s marriage?” he whispered, the two of them standing a little ways from the rest of their family.

Violet snorted. “Vulcan is an utter embarrassment to this family, even more so than the others. The other day, he got so drunk that he stripped in front of priestesses and began to harass them. After that, he stumbled back home and hit on me. He was so drunk that he flirted with his own sister. So father is sending him away. The first good decision he’s made in a while. I feel for the girl, though.”

What a ridiculous male. It was shocking, sometimes, to realize that Beron shared half of his blood with Vulcan, even more than he shared with Violet. Vanserras had a reputation to uphold, and Vulcan was absolutely trashing it with his antics. Veni vidi vici was their family motto; it had been drilled into them from birth. The only thing Vulcan was conquering was the race against wisdom.

“Me too.”

Violet and Beron shared identical shit-eating grins before quickly looking away from each other as Frederick approached them.

“The Bellerose family arrives tomorrow. Be on your best behavior, you two,” Frederick warned.

“Aren’t I always?” Violet drawled. Forever irreverent. Frederick’s eyes glowed fiery bronze for a moment before they returned to their natural black. “No. That’s why I said that.”

Violet’s face hardened as Frederick walked away from them, her fists clenched. Despite her talent as a diplomat, she had never been good at hiding her emotions around their father. But unlike Beron, she held no fear for him; only raw, visceral rage and hatred.

Beron wondered if that lack of fear would be the reason she won…or the reason she underestimated the high lord of autumn.

That night, Beron knocked on Violet’s door. “Come in,” she muttered, and Beron carefully pushed it open. Violet’s normally vibrant waves hung dully down her back. She was in an orange silk nightgown sitting on the far edge of her bed. Beron cautiously walked towards her.

“Are you ok?” he asked. Violet turned her head at that. Her purple irises bore into him as she responded sarcastically, “I’m simply peachy. Can’t you tell?”

Beron winced at his lack of tact, moving to sit on the bed. “Then perhaps what I say will make you feel better.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Beron smirked, tilting his face ever so slightly. “Really? Because I have a plan where we can get rid of our parents once and for all.”

Slowly, Violet’s face transformed into a devious smile. “Oh? Let’s hear it then, Berry.”

[loregoddess]

some rambling thoughts about Unicorn Overlord and the angels and how they're written under the cut (lots of endgame spoilers), because I haven't been able to stop thinking about some things since finishing the game

So, I've been watching some of the other maiden rite dialogue and endings for UO, and some of them are insane. Like. Alain can marry Dinah--their paired ending says she becomes the new queen, so he definitely marries her, and presents to all of Cornia he beautiful wife, who is also Literally A Fox.

But! despite having very romantic rites with say, Raenys or Umerus, he does not marry them in his paired ending (they both return to Albion and just. Live their lives. no marriage implied, like, Alain's got more romantic "but not married" endings with some of the male characters than he does any of the angels).

Fascinating implications honestly. I had suspected that the bestrals were willing to live in family units with humans (as implied by Ramona, Morard, and Yunifi being a family unit, batshit backstories aside; and also the entire orphanage side quest). Like sure, there aren't any like, half-bestral half-human offspring in the game unlike the confirmed "half-elves exist, and a lot of humans are hot for elves", but the bestrals are shown to live in family units with human members. And while no one (aside? from? Alain? sir?) is hot for the bestrals (at least I didn't find any NPCs who were like, "hot damn" about the bestrals), we also don't see any human characters fawning over the angels (whatever Sharon and Ochlys have aside, I'll get to them in a sec).

And like, in-game the angels (technically "the winged", I know angel is a specific term but bear with me here) are all religiously and culturally treated as like, literal divine messengers of the heavens. But we also learn from the sage in Albion that they aren't divine in any way, they're literally just humans with wings, the result of an ancient magical lab experiment that apparently went wrong.

So it's like? The idea that they're divine messengers was definitely made-up, probably by the first pontifex, to give the winged a place to exist safely in society, but! But also this ends up getting warped in the most fascinating ways bc it leads to the "present day" culture(s) in the game, where other races are jealous of the angels but generally get along with them, but also, most importantly, view them as divine. Even though there are like, winged children and families, and they're clearly just people with wings, no one treats them that way, and while this leads to some of the angels being really arrogant (Ochlys's parents thinking humans are lesser beings), it also puts all the angels in a really weird spot.

Like, Ochlys loves Sharon bc Sharon treats her like a person, and doesn't revere her with reverence to the point of isolation (which seems to be how most humans treat angels), and so we get the idea that generally, a lot of angels are isolated from all the other races because they are viewed as divine. And this also places some absolutely insane expectations on the angels themselves, like, if they're divine messengers of the heavens, then they're supposed to be perfect, they're supposed to embody and represent everything that is the heavenly divine, they're not allowed to be people.

But the thing is, Baltro knows damned well (as do all the ancient Zenoiran souls) that the angels aren't divine anything, they're a failed magical experiment that got propped up on an isolated pedestal, who've have been acting the part of divine messengers bc that's what's expected of them, that's all they've ever know, it's so ingrained in the culture after 800 years that no one even questions it. But the angels are people with flaws and emotions that can be manipulated, and that is exactly what Baltro and the other Zenoiran forces do. Baltro doesn't even need the mind-control magic, because the way the culture of Fevrith treats the angels makes them extremely easy to manipulate by toying with their emotions and how they view themselves and how humans view them.

Take Umerus for example. Umerus throws aside all her values in a desperate attempt to save her brother's life, because she loves him, he's the last family she has left, and she'd even turn her blade on her oldest friend and anyone else if it meant a chance at saving him. And when Alain and Scarlett are able to save her brother for her and free her from Zenoiran influence, she ends up so guilt-ridden over her actions because she went against everything that her culture and everyone in the world has told her she is--divine and perfect and holy--because she's failed at being "an angel", so she's wracked with immense guilt that she can't escape.

Had any other character (human, elf, or bestral) been in Umerus's position, their actions wouldn't have been questioned, others would have been like "well, of course you'd act that way in that situation, that makes sense" and all would be forgiven, and while Alain and Scarlett are able to forgive Umerus (bc they treat and see her as a person), Umerus can't forgive herself, because she doesn't seem to see herself as a person, only as an angel who failed at being an angel.

And like, it's like this for almost all the angels in the Albion section. Fodoquia is ready to die fighting Zenoira right up till his own people make a sacrifice of his son, and then Zenoira uses his grief and rage to control him until Alain shows up (Fodoquia's admittedly faster to forgive himself, but he never truly bent to Zenoira's will and it seems he felt justified in a lot of his resentment towards the people who killed his son, even if he also feels guilt in his lost faith in them).

Sanatio is presented with a dead pontifex and the promise that all of Albion and the theocracy that upholds it will fall into utter chaos if he ever lets people know that the pontifex is dead. Baltro uses Sanatio's faith like puppet strings to make Sanatio mislead all of the orthodoxy, and Sanatio hates himself for it afterwards because he's not only an angel, but one of the highest ranking angels in the orthodoxy, he's supposed to be divine, to be above being manipulated and toyed with, and he failed that. And all the reasons why he failed are totally understandable and would have been forgiven so quickly had he been literally anything except an angel (and again, Alain and Scarlett don't hold any of Baltro's manipulation against Sanatio), but Sanatio can't forgive himself, he can't see his actions as anything outside of horrific and sinful bc that's all the culture around the angels has taught him.

And on the flipside we get Raenys, who is so devoted to trying to be the paragon of an angel, to protect others and uphold what is right, that her actions are nearly self-destructive, because she would die rather than fail.

Ochlys is the only angel in the entire game who seems even remotely well-adjusted, and that seems to be because she cut ties with her parents and their ideals, and also decided she was going to do whatever she pleased in her job rather than listen to her boss. And she met and spent an immense amount of time with Sharon, who treated her like a person from the start and gave Ochlys a chance to see herself as a person, rather than just as a divine angel.

And yet! Alain can't marry any of them. He can marry elves and bestrals, and of course other humans, but not the angels. The culture around the angels is such that even though his rite dialogue with Raenys ends with them kissing, he can't marry her, bc she is an angel, she is the divine, and I honestly don't know if a marriage between an angel and someone of literally any other race would be allowed, because it'd probably be viewed as sacrilege of some sort, because people aren't supposed to fall in love with something divine, they're supposed to revere it, but never bring it down to their level, because the angels--to what seems to be the cultural norms of all Fevrith--aren't people in their own right.

And I dunno, I got off topic, I was just gonna make a joke post about the fact that Alain could take a fox-woman as his queen, but not a human woman with some wings. But the fact is I've had a lot of thoughts about Albion and the angels, and how subtly the writing shows the culture around them, and like. It's so interesting, but also tragic, and hrm, the writing in the game, man. The writing gets me.

[whinlatter]

omg, andromeda and ginny, parvati and harry, peter and lily, petunia and james (humor me)

waaaait i love these!

andromeda and ginny (@saintsenara also asked about andromeda and harry so answering that one here too): poor andromeda. your beloved husband, treasured daughter and the son-in-law you tolerate all die, and then you get (1) seventeen year old trying to do up godparent with his gobby girlfriend in tow. nightmare. in this is what andromeda imagined teddy would be up to each time harry and ginny babysat:

i reckon it takes andromeda a long time to properly warm up to and trust harry and ginny after the war. harry, she understands, has at least some claim to being involved in teddy's life as godfather that she honours even if she doesn't like it: ginny's just an add-on to that. i do tend to like the idea of andromeda as someone who left her family and married for love but who is still marked by her aristocratic origins, who retains a kind of protective conservativism and sense of propriety that makes her a bit sceptical of this guardianship arrangement of 'grandmother plus teenage godson plus his girlfriend apparently'. i think it gets a bit easier with time, though as teddy gets older, i can imagine harry still being quite deferential to andromeda's wishes while ginny's the one to lightly challenge andromeda's authority a bit more and taking a more liberal approach as a guardian to teddy. i can imagine them falling out over ginny buying teddy some booze or to taking him to get a piercing or tattoo or something. (andromeda was born in the mid-fifties, after all). this conflict with ginny reminds andromeda, painfully, of her clashes with dora all those years ago, which just makes it all that bit worse.

parvati and harry: yung parvati definitely fancied harry. and you know what? i maintain that yung harry thought parvati was quite fit too (he's into hair and he stares at hers a bit. i rest my case). i also maintain that the only reason yung harry didn't fancy parvati more is because she giggled too much and he can be such a sourpuss. and as a paid up member of the campaign to let girls giggle (CLGG) i say: justice for patil!

peter and lily: to me, peter was exactly the kind of misogynist dweeb that male friendship groups often pick up early and let slosh around within their ranks for far too long past their expiration date. (you know what i mean! there's so often that one guy! and he sucks! and they're like yeah but he's been here too long there's no getting rid! and then he ignores you when you go with them to the pub! fuck that guy!) i don't think peter and lily were ever close - i'm always struck how in her letter to sirius, lily talks about peter's visit in the context of her trying to have his friends visit to cheer him up, rather than out of her own affection for him ('James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell — also, Dumbledore’s still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend, I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the news about the McKinnons...') i tend to subscribe to the view of the marauders that is sirius, peter and, to a lesser but still real extent, remus, all orbiting james, and lily being closest with sirius of those four by virtue of him being james' best mate, but never really being one of the four of them herself, and definitely being least close with peter out of all of them. i don't think lily distrusted peter, but i think the secret-keeper switch shouldn't be taken as sign of great warmth and affection.

petunia and james: james, obviously, thought petunia was a fucking nightmare. petunia, obviously, thought james was a spoiled layabout wastrel of the highest order. she did however get a wee look at lily and james' wedding pictures despite herself and think sirius was really fit. just because she's a dickhead but that doesn't mean she can't have taste!

thanks anon!