#but this is the reality without marriage equality

[nemesis-21]

If anyone needs me, I'm going to be over here for the next week completely destroyed over the scene where Pisaeng kept saying that he was Kawi's loved one, but the doctor kept refusing to let him see Kawi because he wasn't legally his spouse.

[badolmen]

Back in my day the gay pirate show had interracial lesbian sex episode fucking one. Have these guys even boned on screen with their dicks out? Are they tackling the nuances of slavery, colonialism, and a rapidly expanding empire with no room for people like them on an interpersonal and societal scale? Have they even tried to kill each other yet???

[deadly-diminuendo]

The Ascendant Takes a Bride

an ascended astarion x fem!reader oneshot / nsfw / ~4.4k words

Summary: Just as you and your family are about to fall into ruin, you agree to marry the mysterious Astarion Ancunín in exchange for his promise to pay off all your debts. Attractive and charming though he is, you cannot help but to feel nervous about your arrangement. Some say he is a vampire. You have seen evidence that both supports and counters that claim. You are not sure what to believe. Finally you find yourself alone with him on your wedding night—and Astarion has some unexpected surprises in store for you.

CW/Tags: breeding kink, wedding night, loss of virginity, vampire bites/blood drinking, piv sex, fingering, post-game

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Your husband lifts you across the threshold, tearing you from the comfortable life you knew and thrusting you into a fate unknown, a fate you hope will be kind but fear will be grim.

You did what you had to do. Your family would either flourish or it would fall, and you knew your willingness to marry Astarion Ancunín would make all the difference. Why accept utter ruination when you could instead ensure the prosperity of everyone you love?

Ill fortune plagued your clan for decades—dwindling wealth, diminishing influence, a decaying estate—there was almost nothing left. Poverty was no longer a distant nightmare but an imminent reality. Your parents prayed you might escape its chokehold with a prudent match, but without a single gold coin for your dowry, your prospects for marriage were dire.

When almost all hope was lost the unlikely offer came—the affluent and prestigious owner of the castle on the hill would be willing to pay off all debts and restore your household to its former glory—if only you would agree to become his bride.

The proposal shocked you. You had been introduced to the enigmatic pale elf, but he was far from a man you knew well. Your acquaintanceship amounted to no more than a few polite but empty conversations and the occasional twirl about a dance floor. Then again you did notice how his gaze tended to follow you about the room, and you could never help but to regard him with an equally curious eye.

You were both attracted to and intimidated by him. The gods themselves could not have crafted a more beautiful man, and yet… something about him unsettled you. His grip a little too tight, his smile not quite sincere. He gave you the distinct impression of a scoundrel only pretending to be a gentleman.

And you had heard whisperings about him. They say he is a vampire. A devious, ruthless, heartless man who subsists on the blood of his enemies.

Still you were intrigued. You spent more time than you care to admit constructing and revising his biography in your mind, attempting to, but never succeeding in unravelling all his mysteries. The red irises and the sharp canines certainly supported the local gossip. Yet you’d seen him in broad daylight. You’d seen him eat real food. You’d felt the heat of his skin every time you’d danced together.

Surely the rumours could not be true.

You had a choice to make. Suddenly you possessed the power to save your whole family. Everything—everyone—depended on you and you alone.

So of course you said yes.

Determined as you were, you could never fully exorcise your doubts. Instead you chose to ignore them, to focus on all the good that could come from this arrangement. Your troubles would be over. Your family would live well. You would want for nothing.

Not to mention it was surprisingly easy to picture yourself in his bed.

But those doubts you buried did not lie dormant. Oh, no. They crept and crawled beneath your skin, festering and mutating into a dread that now threatens to consume you whole.

You cannot help but wonder: are you a saviour or a sacrificial lamb?

Either way it is far too late for second thoughts. Today you vowed yourself to Astarion. You promised him your body, your heart, your soul.

You are his wife.

Every part of you tingles with nervous energy—the expected wedding night jitters greatly exacerbated by the misgivings you feel concerning your new husband—and yet you cannot deny the thrill underlying it all.

The way he kissed you at the altar was downright sinful. The way he whispered his desire in your ear made you shiver. The way he held your hips tight against his as you danced left you weak in the knees.

He frightens you, and excites you, and—gods help you—you want him to fuck you.

You thought he might throw you on the bed and make you well and truly his the very second you were alone together. Instead he sets you down with care, ensuring you find your footing despite the bulk of your billowing skirts.

You manage a brief survey of the room—a canopy bed draped in scarlet silk, a plush loveseat in front of the fireplace, high-vaulted windows welcoming in the starlight—and as excessive as it all is in its extravagance, you find it cozy. Romantic, even. A place that might yet become your personal paradise.

Or your gilded cage. You shudder.

Your gaze falls upon the object nearest you: an ornate full-length mirror. You almost fail to recognize the woman you see staring back at you. You are the very picture of fairytale whimsy in your intricate ivory lace and your crown of white roses. You smile. To hells with your unwelcome anxiety. This is your wedding night, and you will enjoy every minute of it.

Or at least you will try.

Astarion’s reflection closes in behind yours, and you find yourself rather relieved to see that he has one. Another strike against the rumours.

You admire him in the looking glass. High cheekbones, enticing lips, bewitching eyes. Even his so-called flaws, all his wrinkles and his laugh lines, suit him to perfection.

And he admires you right back—more shamelessly than you do him—hungry eyes mentally peeling off your dress as they rake you over.

“My beautiful bride.” You melt under his simple yet sultry praise, your imagination running wild with fantasies of what bliss the coming hours might bring. You know little of carnal pleasure but your own touch. By the end of this night you are sure to know much, much more.

His hands sweep across your shoulders, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your little capped sleeves. In the mirror you catch a flash of that devious smirk, the one that hints at the rogue you think he truly is.

“Almost a shame that I have to undress you.”

Your mouth runs dry, any words you might have said forever lost in the silence.

You do want this. You want to make love to your husband. You want to learn to love him in every sense of the word.

You want to trust him.

But can you?

“May I?” he asks, one hand travelling down to the laces at your back, the other hand enclosing yours in his. Feigning chivalry all while his firm grip screams out his barely suppressed urge to tear your gown from your flesh and pin you hard against the wall.

This is it. There is no going back now. You passed the point of no return hours before, your fate sealed with two little words: “I do.”

He wants you.

And so you will let him have you.

“Yes.”

With that, his fingers thread through your laces, pulling them loose with alarmingly efficient speed. Quite the expert he must be. You have, after all, heard talk of his rakish ways. Those rumours are much easier for you to believe.

You feel your bodice loosening, though your struggle to breathe persists, the weight of this moment somehow heavier than the mass of your dress. You gather your courage to do your part, tugging off your sleeves and letting the fabric fall away from your skin, pushing what remains down over your hips. Astarion takes your hand as you step out and away from your unwieldy gown, kicking it unceremoniously into a corner. The second it is out of the way, he pulls you back in front of the mirror with a force that makes you gasp.

“Look at you,” he says, and you glance at your reflection. You are bare before him save for what hides beneath your lacy smallclothes. “You are exquisite, darling.”

His fingers dig into your skin, seeking all your soft and sensitive places, your body beautifully pliable under his exploratory touch. He gives ample attention to the delicate curve from your waist to your hips, and to the lovely heft of your breasts, squeezing and kneading and molding you to his liking. You watch, mesmerized, the self-consciousness that might have held you back fading away. His thumbs repeatedly ghost across your nipples, soft lips nuzzling your neck as he grows hard against your backside—and, gods, your cunt aches for him. Not even the graze of his sharp teeth, suspect as it is, could dissuade you now.

Lust obliterates what was left of your modesty as sweet sounds spill forth from your parted lips. Already you are falling apart in his arms and he has not yet once stroked you between your legs. “Please…” you hear yourself beg.

He laughs. It’s a hearty, almost mocking sound, but you are too far gone to mind. “You will have to be more specific, I’m afraid.” As if he could not guess. Both of you know exactly what you want. “Use your words, pet.”

“Please touch me.”

Insufficient.

“Make love to me.”

Much better.

And there is one other little thing you should tell him.

“Like no one before you ever has.”

There it is, that devilish, devastatingly sexy grin. He is pleased. Maybe a little too pleased. You again note the pointed tips of his canines, and you expect, one way or another, you will soon be devoured.

“Oh, my sweet little virgin,” he purrs, hands slipping off your smallclothes, a finger dipping inside your slick heat. Hells. A relief sublime and yet nowhere near enough. “You have been so, so patient for me, haven’t you?” Patient is the last thing you feel right now as you arch into his touch, desperate for more friction, more pleasure, more Astarion. “Rest assured, my little love. I will reward you well. Grant you your every desire. Of course, I expect all I want in return.”

“Anything,” you cry, and you mean it. You waste no time contemplating the meaning of his words, nor your own. You just want to be fucked.

“Anything?” You nod and he smirks, increasing the pressure and pace as he inserts a second finger, holding you steady as you squirm. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you? All these years you saved yourself for my bed, and you didn’t even know it, did you?”

Should you be answering with a nod or a shake of the head now? You are no longer sure, your mind incapable of thought beyond imagining how glorious your orgasm will feel when he grants it to you. You eventually decide upon nodding, and you hear him chuckle.

“Adorable. The way you look, the way you sound—” He nibbles at your neck, then breathes into your ear. “And I bet you taste just as sweet.”

Your blood chills at the thought of him tasting it. A shiver runs down your spine.

No… Surely he speaks of something pleasurable. Something you have heard other young women gush and giggle about. Something you would like to experience for yourself. You let passion burn your needless worry away, writhing about as you refocus on release, your eyelids fluttering closed.

The next thing you know his hand is clutching your neck. “Watch.” You immediately obey his growled command, your eyes locking upon your own reflection, all flushed and disheveled. Gods, you look positively ravaged and you have yet to even take his cock. You glimpse his smile, a sure sign he is thoroughly enjoying the utter mess he is making of you.

“This pretty body of yours was meant to be mine, wasn’t it, pet?”

This time you know just what your answer should be. You nod furiously and he moves deliciously faster. It won’t be long now.

“Oh, and I assure you I will put it to excellent use.”

You nod again. You are certain he will. You keen as his fingers curl into you.

He grins. He knows he has you now.

“My, what an eager thing. You will be the perfect little vessel for me, won’t you?”

You agree. You would give him anything. As long as he takes care of you, too.

And he will take care of you, won’t he?

“A vessel to take my pleasure in whenever, wherever, however I want?”

You will. Gods, you will. You moan out your assent and punctuate it with his name. You will spend your life parting your mouth, spreading your legs, offering your body to fill and to fuck as he pleases. As long as he makes you come, too.

And he is about to make you…

“And to carry my children?”

You surrender to ecstasy as it wracks you senseless, clenching violently around his fingers and singing out your instinctive answer with ardour. “Yes!”

Only as the pleasure subsides do you begin to think things through.

What did he just say? What did you just say?

You knew this topic would come up eventually. It is an inescapable expectation among the nobility—sometimes unspoken, sometimes spoken very loudly—but always present either way. And yet the last thing you expected was for Astarion to speak of children right on the cusp of your consummation. You thought you would at least first get to know each other as lovers and partners before ever considering becoming parents.

Your state of shock does not discourage him. Instead he smiles wickedly as he gives your hardened nipple a pinch, sending another jolt of desire straight to your cunt. He begins rubbing your clit again, making you mewl, only to leave you whining when he withdraws. He leaves a trail of your own slick along your skin as his hand slides up to rest at your lower abdomen.

“Oh, my sweet love. I can already imagine how gorgeous you will look swollen with my child. You do want to give me a child, don’t you?”

You stare in silence though you have to admit it is not an unwelcome idea.

“You will let me come inside you, won’t you?”

Gods. Now that is an idea you welcome gladly. Something innate, something deeply ingrained within your core cries out your need. You crave it, crave to let him spill his seed inside you. You wriggle about in his arms as you picture it.

Motherhood just might suit you.

Astarion spins you around and you gaze into those stunningly hypnotic eyes. You press a hand to his chest and discover that his heart beats just like yours, its steady, strong tempo dismantling your lingering doubt. A mortal. Like you. 

“I can tell you want this, darling,” he says. Perhaps you do. “Your heart races at the thought. Give yourself to destiny. Give yourself to me.”

Only one answer comes to your mind.

“Yes.”

He captures your lips in a kiss that ignites your lust and kindles your affection. His arms feel like home. Like you have always belonged to him and you always will.

You need him now.

You only manage to undo a single button of his overcoat before he lifts you off the floor and lays you atop the silk and softness of his bed. Your bed, you realize. You imagine spending many endless nights together here in a tangle of limbs.

He stands there stripping himself as you lie and watch with rapt attention, and yet you hardly know where to look—his beautiful eyes bore into you with intense hunger, his deft hands work effortlessly through his every layer, his newly bared skin tempts and tantalizes you—every part of him competes for your admiration. When he finally pulls off his smallclothes your eyes are instantly drawn to his cock, thick and flaunting his desire. On instinct you part your legs.

The sight of you splayed in invitation lures Astarion onto the bed and over you, arms and legs caging you in, lips colliding with yours, cock ready at your entrance. You roll up your hips to tease him, your lack of patience testing what little remains of his.

Your little nudge is all it takes to make the last of it crumble and he crashes into you.

You wince at the initial tinge of pain. It passes in seconds, likely dulled by your arousal, and you are thankful for the mercy. You succumb to the pleasure of him stretching and sinking into you, your body eager to accept the whole of him as he slides deeper inside.

“Easy, darling. I promise a little pain is worth all the pleasure.” He gives you the soothing coos and slow movements of a gentle and cautious lover—a part he plays well, you would think, if not for the tension you detect coiled in his muscles. You recognize he is a man struggling to hold back, and that epiphany has your cunt clenching around him.

Emboldened by your obvious want, he starts to fuck into you in earnest, pushing in and pulling back in a rhythm you already know will be your new addiction. At first you try to match every intoxicating motion, pushing your hips upwards to meet him thrust for thrust, but instead you find yourself squirming wildly, only able to pet him as he works. You relish the sound of his grunts and groans, how they signal his enjoyment of you, though you know you are drowning them out with your wanton moans. He does look far too in command of himself for your liking, and in your mind you set yourself a goal: you will learn how to make him relinquish that tight control.

Of course, if Astarion wants to focus on your pleasure—well, you certainly will not complain about that. If nothing else, your husband is proving to be a generous lover.

You reach up for a kiss, eliciting from him a growl that rumbles down your throat as you taste his tongue. Never have you felt this close to another person, and you long to get even closer. You touch his face, his chest, his shoulders, wanting to explore every inch of his skin as you take every inch of his cock. When you throw your arms around his back, the scars your fingertips find there briefly distract you, but you quickly decide that is a story for another time.

Experimenting a little, you pull your legs back and angle your hips, the slight adjustment to your position an even better fit than you thought possible. You squeal when he presses into a delightfully sensitive spot—and so he does it again, and again, and again, repeatedly, rigorously, relentlessly. You concentrate hard on your impending climax, your mind conjuring up an image of him filling you to the brim with come night after night.

“You are mine . Mine to treasure. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed.”

That delicious thought sends your walls spasming, your mind shattering, your entire body pulsing with incomprehensible bliss. His name bursts from your lips as you ride out the sensation, and it pleases you to know you will be calling it out the rest of your life. You have never felt better.

Still you wanted him to join you in your freefall over the edge and you cannot help the twinge of disappointment you feel when you realize he did not finish with you.

Not that you mind continuing to indulge in your favourite new activity.

He stills a moment and you stare up at him, confused, concerned, even. “I would like to try… a little something else. Take a little more from you. That is if my dearest little love would be so good as to oblige me.” You cannot imagine what he means. You must look utterly baffled because he then chuckles and asks, “Do you trust me?”

“I would trust you with anything.” The words slip out automatically and yet they come as a surprise to you. He is your husband, yes. But you barely know him. You thought you were done questioning this, but a shadow of doubt creeps back in. Something in his tone you do not like. Honey laced with poison.

Is one night of passionate sex really enough to found your trust on?

You decide it is a good start at least, and brush off the invasive thought.

He grins and turns you around, his hands all over you again, his lips planting kisses along your back, your shoulders, your neck. You let out a contented sigh.

A sharp, searing pain rips through you. You grimace. In your hysteria you imagine daggers embedded in your neck. And then it hits you.

Fangs.

You married a vampire. You let him fuck you. You let him bite you.

The first shock subsides, leaving a throbbing numbness in its wake, blood rushing out of your veins and into his greedy mouth. You should be screaming in horror, planning your escape, forsaking your vows in hopes of a return to a normal life. Instead you lean back, pliant and willing, nestling yourself against him as he holds you in his fierce embrace.

You have never known such peril and yet in the cradle of his arms you feel… safe. 

You should not feel safe.

“Sweet hells,” he rasps when he stops, lapping at your wound one last time. “I have not tasted something so delectable in decades.”

This is madness. And yet a surge of pride swells in your heart at his praise. You do feel a little dizzy, a little weak—but still very much alive.

He pushes you to your knees and plunges back into you, a hand pressing you down as he fucks you into the mattress. You steal a little glance at him over your shoulder, meeting his eyes for only a second—but you will never forget their eerie, unnatural glow. You bury your face in your pillow and shut your eyes. Perhaps it is better that you don’t look. That you don’t know.

So this is Astarion out of control.

You tremble in ecstasy and in fear, still shaken by the frightful revelation, and yet still yearning to merge and meld with him endlessly. Your body begs you to bend to his will, an echo of his voice reverberating in your mind. Succumb. Surrender. Submit. So you do. You could not deny him now even if you wanted to.

You let yourself moan with abandon as his length slams in and out of you. You revel in the divine new depth this position allows him to explore and the feral sounds he makes as he drives into you faster. Bucking against him, you find yourself shaking as you reach the precipice of your pleasure.

With every pump, each more erratic than the one before, you can sense Astarion losing more and more of himself in his frantic search for euphoria. When at last he finds it, cock twitching and pulsing against your walls as he spends himself inside you, you break apart again with a delighted cry. Your final thought as he fully empties into you is a question of how long it will be before you begin to grow round with child.

When it is done, you lie panting beneath him, logic and reason beginning to clear your clouded mind. You become all too aware of his seed seeping out of you, and the dull pangs of pain in your punctured neck. How can you just accept all of this?

Astarion settles in beside you, and taking a tentative turn, you face him, eyes catching sight of the red trail trickling down from the corner of his mouth. Blood. Your blood. He casually wipes it away as if it were no more unusual than a little spilled wine. You shiver.

You know your shock must be written all over your face. “Come,” he says, and you listen, shifting your body closer to his and giving into his gentle caresses. When he speaks again, his expression is soft, his voice smooth. You feel a touch more at ease.

“You were so, so brave for me tonight. You need not fear what I am, love. Besides—I need you mortal. Fertile.”

A deluge of questions and concerns flood your mind, and yet that last word sends a thrill through you that shakes you to your core, pushing your worries away. Already you want more of Astarion—you want him to cherish you, to worship your being, to bring you heaven again and again. You snuggle up against him, communicating your desire with a burning kiss. 

You will ask for answers someday.

But not tonight.

+++

Astarion likes to watch you.

Never has he seen a lovelier creature. You sit smiling down at the sweet baby bundled in your arms, the swell of a second child already beginning to show even through the layers of your dress. You have done your duty so beautifully well. Like he always knew you would.

He decided he would have you the moment he saw you. So like a love he lost ages ago and yet her superior in every way. The defiance he recalled and resented had long been bred out of your line, replaced with a demurity and a domesticity that made you ideally suited to your purpose. You could not be any more perfect for him.

And so he made it his mission to make you his. No doubt he could simply charm you into bed, but it was not enough to make you want him. He had to make you need him. The fools in your family had already made much progress in that regard without his interference, but the pull of a string here and there ensured your desperation.

And of course he made every claim on you he could. He wedded you. He was the first and the only to bed you. And he impregnated you so very easily. It was like you were made to be bred. What better way to declare to the world that you are his and his alone?

Your beautiful brood of children will strengthen his reign, infiltrate and influence every powerful organization, spread the Ancunín name throughout the city and the whole world. And the nobility does like a lord to have his heirs—even if an immortal will never need a replacement.

He watches as you look up. You notice him and give him that pretty smile.

You have given him so much. Even love. In him you have awakened an affection he thought he might never feel again. That he did not even know he needed.

You complete him.

He smiles back at you.

There is only one claim left on you to make, one that will come years from now, when the time of child-bearing is behind you.

To make you his bride for all eternity.

Thank you for reading!

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[the-virgoperspective]

Part 2

The Sun in the composite chart is one half of the most important luminaries and one of the most vital sources of energy in a relationship. The Composite Sun can tell you about the motivation of the relationship, what it’s purpose is, and what issues may revolve around it. It shows what energies are contributed in the relationship. Looking at aspects to the Composite Sun can give you a clearer picture of whether there will be challenges or harmony at the core of the bond.

I will be using the writings of Robert Hand from his novel “Planets in Composite: Analyzing Human Relations” to describe the meaning and significance of The Sun in each composite house. Please always keep in mind that this is only one vital step to reading an entire composite chart and should not be seriously considered without viewing everything as a whole. This is just one piece. Enjoy!

7H Composite Sun

The Sun in the seventh house of the composite chart is usually and excellent position for any kind of relationship in which two people are trying to work as a unit in an equal partnership. You will work together on a basis of total sharing, with each of you making your own contribution to the strength of the whole.

In most cases, this is the best position of all for either marriage or a business partnership. It denotes a complimentary that makes the whole stronger than either of the parts. Unlike a relationship with the composite Sun in the first house, the strength of your relationship is real as well as apparent to others.

One warning, however. The seventh is the house not only of partnerships and marriage, but also of open enmities and intimate conflict. In fact, the best overall description of it is the house of intimate one-to-one encounters of any kind. With this placement, of your relationship is not going well, you may compete with each other in a way that is disruptive and produces antagonism between you. Even in a healthy relationship you can expect this to some extent, but usually such competitiveness should bind the two of you together rather than drive you apart.

8H Composite Sun

Composite Sun in the eighth house may give the two of you a feeling of “fatedness,” that this relationship is going to play an important role in your lives, even if it is not a long-term relationship. The eighth is the house of major transformations, involving the destruction of an old way of being and the birth of a new one. In conventional natal horoscopes it is the house of death. But this should not be taken to mean that a relationship with an eighth-house Sun will end quickly. Instead, it will probably cause something in each of you to die and something new to be born. Obviously both of you will experience this relationship deeply.

You will be exposed to the most basic and profound aspects of your own and your partner’s inner nature. In addition you will likely confront each other in such a way as to force changes in the areas of your lives that are not working out well. Both of you will experience psychological changes through this relationship.

In a sexual relationship, physical sex assumes an unusual importance, although not entirely for its own sake. Sex is likely to be seen by both of you as an experience that transcends ordinary reality-not as an escape but as something that gives greater depth to everyday life. Consequently, your attitude toward sex is not likely to be casual.

The eighth house is also the house of joint resources and property. Somewhat like the second-house composite Sun, this position can give the two of you a strong drive to acquire material possessions, or it can mean that possessions are a very important element in the security of the relationship. Here again it is necessary not to overdo this emphasis, because it can distort your perspective. Emotional needs are actually more important than possessions. However, because the eighth house is more basically emotional and profoundly psychological than the second house, this is not so likely to be a source of difficulty.

9H Composite Sun

Composite Sun in the ninth house indicates a relationship that involves the growth of consciousness. Particularly in a personal relationship, the experiences that you undergo will give you greater understanding and insight into what is going on in your world. Together you will have a great interest in philosophy, metaphysics, religion, and all other routes to expanded consciousness and understanding. The relationship itself is likely to be quite idealistic. With the Sun in this position, a relationship between the sexes may tend to become platonic. Even if sex is involved, a platonic feeling will still be present.

The two of you will be very interested in communication and the sharing of ideas. Community of thinking is one of the dominant drives created by this position. You may travel quite a bit or at least be interested in foreign or distant places. “Travel is broadening,” as they say, and you both view it as a positive force in expanding your consciousness.

For a personal relationship the only possible defect of this placement is that the relationship is likely to be more intellectual than emotional.

In a business or professional relationship this position is excellent for associations involving foreign countries, for business concerning travel-especially over long distances-for importing and exporting, and for intellectual enterprises such as “think tanks.” This position is useful in any type of relationship because it indicates that together you have foresight and the ability to plan ahead for the long haul.

10H Composite Sun

A relationship with composite Sun in the tenth house is likely to be a significant one. The tenth house, one of the most important houses of the horoscope, rules overall life direction or purpose. This is manifested in such areas as reputation, career, sense of self with respect to the outside world, and the general direction that something must take in order to evolve.

First of all, this position indicates that the two of you have an identity of purpose in your lives together, or at least that you are able to help each other attain the goals you have set for yourselves. Obviously this position is particularly useful for a business or professional relationship, but it is also very important in a personal relationship. If this relationship goes anywhere at all, it will have a strong effect on your life purpose. It may help both of you to define yourselves and answer the question of who you are, or it may take you further on a path that you have already chosen. At the very least, you will feel a strong community of purpose and direction, that tour egos somehow complement each other.

Since the tenth house is also the house of status, some couples may become excessively concerned with how they look to others-in other words, their social image or their importance in the community-while ignoring serious emotional problems that may be destroying the relationship. With this position there is a general danger that you may be much too concerned with the outer world in general and not enough with tour own subjective concerns, which are valid in their own way. This is the exact opposite of the problems that can arise with the fourth-house Sun. Here the danger is that the two of you may deal with difficulties by trying to adjust matters in the external world, when their origin is within yourselves.

Even so, this placement is a good indication of an important relationship, one in which you will find strong identity of life purpose and direction, which will enable you to work well together.

11H Composite Sun

Composite Sun in the eleventh house is an excellent position for almost any type of relationship because the eleventh is the house of friends. The composite Sun here indicates that no matter what the purpose of the relationship, the two of you will be able to get along with each other.

It is an especially good placement for marriage, because in the long run, friendship is one of the most important elements in cementing a marital relationship. This position does not by itself indicate sexual attraction; that must be provided by other components of the horoscope.

The Sun in this position is a good indication that you will share common hopes and ideals for the future, and you will work together to attain them, which is a desirable trait in any relationship. In fact, shared hopes and ideals may be the main element that binds the two of you together.

The eleventh is also the house of one’s social self-expression and your ability to fit into groups. A well-placed eleventh house Sun indicates that the two of you can function as a small group in your own right and that together you will find it easy to relate in larger groups. When you are together, you enjoy the company of others and are glad to have people around you. This is in contrast to those couples who like to be together without others.

With this placement, even a business or professional relationship is likely to develop a strong personal dimension as well, which in most cases should aid rather than inhibit the other functions of the relationship.

12H Composite Sun

Composite Sun in the twelfth house is a significant position. But it presents challenges that many people find difficult to deal with.

It indicates that through this relationship both of you will encounter aspects of your inner selves that you would normally keep hidden from yourselves as well as from others. It is also possible that the relationship itself may be hidden from others in such a way that either they are not aware that it exists or they do not understand what it is about.

The most difficult result of this Sun placement is that it may make the relationship self-defeating for both of you, particularly if you are not completely honest with each other. Unless you disclose all secrets, they will cause one or both of you to behave in a way that will undermine not only the relationship but your own self-esteem as well.

In any personal relationship this placement demands that you thoroughly search your innermost selves to understand how previously hidden psychological traits are operating within the relationship. This encounter will make each of your grow as individuals, and the growth it can bring about is more important than your survival as a couple. If you are at all dishonest or if you shrink from the psychological truth in order to keep the relationship going, it will only serve to further undermine the partnership. And a breakup brought on in this way will thoroughly destroy any possible potential for growth.

With this Sun placement, do not enter into any legally binding relationship such as marriage until you have thoroughly worked out all the hidden psychological patterns that may weaken it. This place represents a potential for psychological repression, so separations and breakups can be particularly disastrous as the hidden pressures surface.

No one position or element in a chart is sufficient to destroy a relationship, but this position of the Sun in a composite chart is a call to be especially careful.

Find part one here!

ᡣ𐭩 heart divider by @cafekitsune ᡣ𐭩

[7s3ven]

GOOD LUCK, BABE! coriolanus snow + lucy gray

IN WHICH… coriolanus snow is obsessed with a girl from the Academy and goes to great lengths to keep her to himself.

“When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night. With your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife.”

Warnings/notes (woah, that’s a lot) : LONGGG oneshot, lucy gray x fem! reader mentioned, bisexual reader (closeted), bisexual lucy gray, possessiveness (coriolanus), snake and song bird spoilers, not rlly following plot, differing details, y/n’s family is distantly related to the romanovs, angst, death of a baby, dark, abuse, mentions of murder, mainly in coryo’s POV, mentions of attempted suicide, messy marriage, medicated pills, anxiety mention, mental health issues mentioned, some manipulation

A/N: I tried to search something up for this BUT I ACCIDENTALLY SEARCHED “DARK DAYS CANNABIS”

—

Coriolanus Snow had been brought up in a wealthy family within the Capitol. At least, they were rich. They lost their status and money during the Dark Days when his father was killed in the war.

Coryo could still remember what he had witnessed. The blood spilt, the weapons raised, and the hunger. The hunger that got so extreme for some people that they resorted to a barbaric crime. He could still remember seeing a man carve off the leg of a maid. The visions engraved into his mind kept his awake at night, which was obnoxious when he was trying to sleep between the hours he spent studying.

Tonight would be different, though. He had received an invitation to a party, courtesy of his friends who had snuck his name to the host. They all thought he was as equally as rich when in reality, he didn’t even have a speck of dirt to his name.

Coryo arrived at the large mansion in his usual appearance; his dark eye bags concealed, perfectly styled blond hair, and pale skin which victorians would have killed for. Even with ghostly hued skin, Corio knew he was attractive. He saw the way girls eyes him up and down like he was a piece of meat. He felt slightly disgusted by them but he enjoyed the attention they gave him.

The ball room of the mansion was practically glittering as he stepped in, his gaze wandering over numerous expensive paintings and architect features fit for a Roman king.

His friends hadn’t given him much information as to who the host actually was but he instantly knew.

Y/N L/N was a year older than him and studied at the Academy too. She was due to start the University next year. That was really all Corio knew about Y/N L/N. Her family carefully planned what details they shared with the public, which admittedly weren’t many to begin with.

Coryo knew the L/N’s managed to stay on top, even during the Dark Days, but he always wondered how. He didn’t even register how Y/N L/N was walking towards him until she tapped his shoulder, charmingly smiling like she did to all her guests, yet it made Coryo feel special. Like that tilted grin was reserved for him.

���Coriolanus Snow, so glad you could make it.” Y/N uttered.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Coryo repeated his practised script that he had prepared. He wasn’t a very social person but he knew somewhat befriending Y/N would have its benefits in the future.

She was wealthy, well-known, and clearly the favourite of various professors at the Academy. Crossing the wrong path with her was asking for a death sentence.

“Allow me to show you around, Coriolanus. It’s the least I can do for someone as important as you. My condolences to your father as well.”

Coryo felt a bitter feeling well up in his throat. His father had given their family a prestigious title, without him and his money, they were nothing. He kept up with the facade, revealing how broke he truly was would only make him an outcast.

“You must be excited about the 10th Hunger Games offer.” Y/N spoke to make small talk as she guided Coryo through the building, occasionally pausing to explain something. “You were chosen as a mentor, were you not?”

“Yes. I was. For District Twelve.” Coryo responded. He saw Y/N visibly scrunch up her nose. District Twelve was infamous for being poor and weak, the runt of litter. Their profession was gathering coal but they didn’t have the glamor other Districts had. That’s what made them so unlikable. “If I remember correctly, were you not also given an offer to become a mentor?” He questioned.

“I turned it down. I am far too busy with my studies as I am. I do not have the spare time to mentor some kid who will only disappoint me.”

Y/N spoke with harsh and blunt words, but she wasn’t wrong. In the end, there could only be one victor and the odds of that was 1 out of 12.

“Nevertheless, Dr Gaul has still given me permission to see the tributes after they are chosen.” Y/N had always been curious, even when it didn’t serve her. The fear of missing out drove her forward.

Y/N stopped in front of a large painting, gazing up at it. “The Romanovs.” She stated. Everybody knew how the L/N’s were distantly related to the Russian family, they bragged about it at every party. They, or rather Y/N’s father, was also convinced that they were related to Julius Caesar. “I keep telling my mother to take the painting down and let the Romanovs rest in peace, but he refuses.”

Y/N resumed walking, leasing Coryo down a dim hallway. The lights flickered and although Coryo was not one to get scared, the eyes of the paintings that lined the walls made him uneasy.

“This is the room with the best view.” Y/N said as she unlocked a door and gently pushed it open. It creaked and Y/N immediately strode forward. Coryo adjusted his tie and followed her. Without a word, Y/N opened the doors leading to the balcony and showed Coryo a small smile.

She motioned for him to look. The garden was lit up with different coloured lights swirling around. Joyful music was playing and Coryo could hear the sound of laughter over it.

“How stunning.” He piped up, gaze raking over the various guests below. “For a moment, I thought you were going to murder me when you took me down that corridor.” That was his sorry excuse for a joke. Nevertheless, Y/N quietly laughed.

“We can never seem to get those lights to work.” She explained. “Shall we return back to the party? Your friends must have arrived by now.”

Coryo only nodded his head. He trailed behind Y/N through the twists and turns of the mansion, listening to the faint noise of classical music and Y/N’s heels clicking against the tiled floor.

“It was lovely speaking with you, Coriolanus.” Y/N nodded her head in acknowledgement as they returned to the glittering ballroom.

“My friends call me Coryo.” He said out of instinct, forgetting who he was talking to. Y/N L/N was not his friend. She was an acquaintance, a companion, somebody Coryo should be associated with but could never be friends with. She didn’t have friends, she had people who benefited her.

“I look forward to our next conversation, Coriolanus.” As expected, Y/N ignored his nickname offer. She smiled as she subtly established that they were not friends.

Coryo returned her polite smile. “Me too, Y/N. Enjoy your party.” He watched as Y/N walked towards her school companions, greeting them. Her small yet exclusive group consisted of only the best people. There was another heiress, two military leaders’ sons, and a few more spoiled girls.

Coryo found his eyes glued to Y/N as he stood in a corner, leaning his back against a stable pillar. If he hadn’t been watching so carefully, he would have missed the looks one of the girls gave Y/N and how she subtly reached for Y/N’s hand every five minutes to brush against it then draw back.

This caused Coryo to raise an eyebrow. He knew the look of a crush, all the girls in his year looked at him with lovestruck eyes of awe. This girl, who he identified as a mayor’s daughter, was nothing better. Coryo wondered if Y/N even noticed. She seemed oblivious as she conversed with a boy across from her about what seemed like serious matters. Coryo saw the strain in Y/N’s jaw and the furrow in the boy’s brows.

Y/N L/N fascinated him and despite all of Coryo’s instincts to look past whatever effect she had on him, he could not ignore his burning curiosity.

—

The next time Y/N and Coryo spoke was at the Academy after the tributes had been chosen. Coryo was on his way to greet his tribute from Distract Twelve, a brunette girl going by the name of Lucy Gray Baird, when Y/N called out for him.

“Coriolanus!” She exclaimed, excusing herself from her conversation with the same boy from the party and a girl in Coryo’s class. “Are you going to pick up your tribute?” Y/N asked as she got closer to him. She said it like the District Twelve girl was nothing more than a pet. Though, in the capital’s eyes, she was below the status of a pet.

“Yes. Would you like to accompany me?” Coryo knew what Y/N wanted so he gave her the offer before she could ask. Despite the shining excitement in her eyes, Y/N only faintly smiled.

“Yes please.” She calmly answered. Coryo stuck out his arm for Y/N to grasp, a sign of politeness. Having done this many times, Y/N snaked her hand around his bicep, lightly gripping it.

“How was the party?” Y/N questioned, tilting her head to the side. “I hope it wasn’t too boring for someone like you.”

Coryo’s jaw clenched but he made sure not to show it. Y/N was above him, he knew. It was common knowledge to him. And although Y/N didn’t know the truth, she thought she was superior. She’d be surprised when she found out she actually was.

“It was all about politics. If I had known you were going to show up, I would have invited more people with similar interests to you.” Y/N smiled, searching for a sign that she was getting under Coryo’s skin.

He simply shook his head. “I am invested in politics, though I do not show it. Many of my classmates favor the government running currently whereas I oppose them. They are relentlessly taxing us only to give our hard-earned money to those who do not deserve it.”

There was a hum of slightly approval from Y/N. “I am glad you agree with my opinion. Many of my companions are blind-sighted as well.”

That was the end of their conversation.

Coryo fidgeted with the long-stemmed white rose he held in his free hand, a gift Tigris had urged him to give his tribute. There was no one else at the train station save for the pair. Y/N’s grip on Coryo’s arm never wavered as the hot sun beat down on them.

“They never manage to keep the trains on schedule.” Y/N stated with a small sigh as she broke away from Coryo to sit on a nearby bench. It was then that Coryo noticed she was not in her Academy uniform.

She was dressed in a solid black skirt, a fitted white blouse, and a slightly cropped black blazer with golden buttons. Coryo’s gaze lowered to the pretty bow that was tied around her collar then to her Mary Jane heels.

The pair waited an hour before Y/N let out an exasperated sigh and quickly stood up. “I’m getting a drink. Would you care for one?”

“Black coffee, please. No sugar or cream. Thank you.” Coryo replied. He liked his coffee bitter.

“Of course.” Y/N walked off to find the nearest coffee shop, which wasn’t far. It was just down the road. Coryo tapped his foot, waiting for Y/N to return.

When he heard the sound of her heels against the stone, he turned his head.

“Still no train arrival?” She asked as she handed Coryo his steaming coffee. She held an iced tea in her hand, taking short sips occasionally.

Another hour passed.

Sweat trickled down Coryo’s back.

Y/N had walked off again, this time to get pastries. She dropped a paper bag into Coryo’s lap, smiling. “I thought you’d be hungry since all you have is that rose. I don’t think it’d be very tasty.”

Y/N bounced her leg as she leaned back, resting against the wall behind her.

The minutes crawled by like snails. It was painful to wait.

Y/N’s eyelids began to droop, no doubt tired from staying up all night to study. Coryo was struggling to stay awake too, the heat of the sun beating down on him.

His head tilted to the side, feeling heavy, before it accidentally landed on Y/N’s shoulder. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her eyes were closed. She made no move to shake Coryo off, which made him conclude that she had fallen asleep.

Coryo let his eyes close for a split second. He didn’t expect to fall asleep. The next time he opened his eyes was when he heard the loud train whistle. The short train screeched to a sudden halt. It sat there for twenty minutes without assistance until a peacekeeper unlocked the chains and banged on the door with his baton, yelling at the tributes.

Y/N was the first to stand up. She watched as the tributes were harshly dragged out of the first cart. There was a furrow in her brow as the peacekeeper yanked a pale-skinned girl out, causing her to fall. The poor girl barely caught herself with her bound hands.

The peacekeepers banged at the door, shouting threats at the reluctant tributes. Coryo hesitated to move so Y/N plucked the rose out of his hand, sparing him small teasing smile.

“Hurry up, Coriolanus.” She whispered. Y/N strode towards Lucy Gray, whose eyes were glued to her. Coryo watched as Y/N paused in front of Lucy Gray. The brunette’s head was tilted up as she softly gazed at Y/N.

“Welcome to the Capitol.” Y/N greeted the brunette, holding out the white rose. Coryo wasn’t far behind Y/N. His hands lingered on her shoulders as she stared at Lucy Gray.

“Are you my mentor?” The District Twelve girl asked.

“Unfortunately not. Coriolanus here is your mentor.” Y/N said. Coryo saw Lucy Gray’s shoulders slump. She had been hoping for Y/N to be her mentor. “I best get back to the Academy. I have some work to do.” Y/N turned her head to speak to Coryo. “Lovely meeting you.” She politely smiled at Lucy Gray.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Lucy Gray asked as she played with the rose in her hands, referring to Y/N who had hurried off.

“No.” Coryo answered a little too quickly. “I’m Coriolanus Snow. Nice to meet you, Lucy Gray.”

—

Whenever Coryo went to visit Lucy Gray, Y/N would join him. Her arm was always wrapped around Coryo yet she spoke to Lucy Gray more than she spoke to him. Coryo was starting to think Y/N was only tagging along to see the District Twelve girl.

Coryo couldn’t help but let his gaze dart between the two girls who were locked in a laughter-filled conversation, separated by bars. Coryo could recognise the look of wonder in Lucy Gray’s eyes when she looked at Y/N but he clenched his jaw when Y/N started smiling at her more than him.

He was a better fit for the L/N heiress. Lucy Gray was merely a district girl, nothing more than that. She could never give Y/N what Coryo could. Coryo could make her dreams come true while Lucy Gray would only destroy them.

Soon enough, Y/N started visiting Lucy Gray without Coryo. He watched from a distance, tapping his foot in annoyance. Lucy Gray wasn’t even worth worrying about because Y/N was still loyal to her duty. As the only child of the L/N Family, it was her duty to continue the legacy. That started with marrying someone worthy, which Lucy Gray was far from.

Y/N wasn’t allowed to visit Lucy Gray before the Hunger Games started, so she passed on a message through Coryo.

“She says good luck.” Coryo uttered. He didn’t need to specify who the message was from, Lucy Gray already knew. “May the odds be ever in your favor.” Coryo said as he handed Lucy Gray another white rose. He eagerly watched as she smelled the rose which carried the scent of Y/N’s perfume to conceal the poison he had added.

He had grown infatuated with Y/N over time and he was determined to get to her before Lucy Gray, even if that meant slipping small doses of poison to her, which wasn’t enough to kill her but it would hinder her senses.

Despite wanting to prove his fellow mentors wrong because he was naturally competitive, Coryo was still clinging to a bit of hope that Lucy Gray would be eliminated early on during the game. She was not.

Coryo almost wanted to send a drone at her himself.

Y/N always stood beside him, not minding how Coryo laced his hands with hers. She was far too focused on the screen whenever Lucy Gray appeared on it.

Despite secretly rooting against Lucy Gray, he couldn’t help but be stunned when her singing lulled the snakes. They didn’t attack her, which made Coryo’s eyes narrow. He glanced at Y/N, who was subtly fidgeting. Clearly, she had used some sort of tactic to make the snakes docile only to Lucy Gray.

“She won.” Y/N whispered as all but one of the tributes were finally eliminated. “She won. Stop the games.” But nobody moved. “She’s won. Let her out!” Murmurs arose as Y/N’s voice rose in volume. She tugged on Coryo’s sleeve.

“Let her out. She’s the victor.” Coryo repeated Y/N’s words as he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. It fell, creating a loud clanging noise.

“Lucy!” Y/N exclaimed as the brunette girl exited the broken down arena. She hugged Lucy Gray while Coryo lingered behind, far enough to not understand what Lucy Gray was whispering to Y/N.

“Y/N, you have to run away with me. Please. It’s not safe for you here. You may think you know these people but you don’t. He’s going to kill you one day or another.” Lucy Gray gripped Y/N tightly, begging her. She saw the darkness in Coryo, even if nobody else could.

“Good job.” Coryo said as he walked closer, interrupting Lucy Gray. He pat her on the back but the gesture felt almost like a warning. Before their conversation could continue further, Y/N heard her father call out her name.

Lucy Gray’s victory would ensure Coryo the Plinth Prize, making him realize that maybe Lucy Gray surviving wasn’t such a bad thing after all. The rewards, however, were short-lived when Coryo was accused of cheating by Dean Highbottom. Of course, it wasn’t him, it was Y/N. But Coryo would never admit that.

He was given two options. Either enrol as a peacekeeper or be exposed. He had to choose the first to escape being disgraced. He had clawed his way to the top with what little he had and he’d rather die than let go of it.

Lucy Gray and Y/N had long split ways but Coryo saw the way she searched for the brunette in every crowd. He knew they exchanged letters. He knew everything about Y/N, not because he was a creepy stalker but because Y/N willingly shared information.

Coryo knew her favorite color, her favorite pair of shoes, her favourite skirt.

He knew how she hated drinking a carbonated beverage after eating spice.

He knew Y/N down to every minor detail. All her hobbies, all the useless details she spilled to him, all her dark secrets.

He knew she had blood on her hands, having killed during the Dark Days out of pure necessity after being attacked.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself? There’s no maids to do your bidding.” Y/N adjusted Coryo’s shirt out of instinct.

“I’ll be fine.” He reassured her for the seventh time just as he had done with Tigris.

“No offence, Coriolanus, but you don’t belong out there. I give it three months tops before you lose your mind.” Y/N joked. He quietly laughed, tapping her chin. He would have grabbed it and kissed Y/N if it hadn’t been for the fact that she was hopelessly in love with a district girl.

Coryo knew that until Lucy Gray was out of the picture for good, Y/N would never kiss him back.

“I’ll write to you.” Coryo said, determined to overflow Y/N’s mailbox with letters from him instead of Lucy Gray.

“Good luck, Coryo. I’ll be here waiting for you. And tell her I say hi.”

Coryo nodded. He refused to relay the message but Y/N didn’t need to know that. Coryo planned to make Lucy Gray believe Y/N had forgotten her. He didn’t care what he had to do; steal Lucy Gray’s mail, whisper fake words to her, even forge a letter. He’d do it all to ensure Y/N was his to keep.

Days as a peacemaker weren’t easy. Despite having more food than he had in the Capitol, the work was laborious. Coryo didn’t even get a chance to stumble into Lucy Gray. He was losing his mind, just like Y/N predicted. He might’ve committed suicide if it hadn’t been for Sejanus Plinth, his good friend from the Academy, suddenly showing up.

The twisted events after Sejanus’ arrival shook Coryo. He had found Lucy Gray with her old lover, Billy Taupe, constantly trailing behind her. She sang at a bar of sorts, her voice echoing off the walls. Coryo had attended one of her performances for Y/N’s sake, not expecting Lucy Gray’s song to feel so targeting.

“When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night.” Lucy Gray locked eyes with Coryo as she sang, making him feel a little uncomfortable. He had a theory as to who this song was based around. “With your head in your hands, you're nothing more than his wife. And when you think about me, all of those years ago, you're standing face to face with I told you so.”

To make matters even worse, Sejanus was acting rather suspicious, always whispering with Billy Taupe like they were planning something. Coryo’s suspicion was proven true when Sejanus revealed his plan to flee North.

The first to die was Mayfair Lipp, the mayor’s daughter who had stumbled across a meeting and threatened to rat them out. Coryo had shot her.

And when Billy Taupe threatened to shoot Lucy Gray, Spruce shot him.

Sejanus was next, hung for treason and rebellion. Coryo could still hear the jabberjays repeating his last words, driving him insane. He still had one more person to deal with before he could be transported to District Two for elite training. And that was none other than Lucy Gray. As long as her name existed, Y/N would never truely be Coryo’s.

Lucy Gray escaped the bullets shot at her but Coryo knew she wouldn’t dare return. All he had to do now was wipe away her existence, brushing her off as a mere ghost.

Coryo returned to Panem crueler than he had left. The bloody stains on his hands deepened in color as he secretly poisoned Dean Highbottom, only adding to his rising kill count.

He had created the life he knew he deserved. He was powerful, respected, and known so it was not a surprise when the L/N’s reached out to him with an offer for an arranged marriage. Y/N never spoke about it to him but he knew she would prefer him over a complete stranger.

It was late at night when there was an abrupt knock on the door. Coryo had just gotten back from a long day of studying, barely having the chance to pull his long coat off. He slowly opened the door, peeking past the smooth wood to see who was outside. He raised an eyebrow in surprise when he saw Y/N. She had a bleeding head, blood dripping from the various cuts on her face.

“Can I come in?” She asked but Coryo was already stepping aside and opening the door wider.

“Sorry if the house is messy. We’re renovating.” He lied through his teeth as he pressed a cool towel to Y/N’s head to stop the stinging.

“I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.” She replied. Y/N didn’t even need to think to assume that Coryo was telling the truth. She believed every lie he carefully fed her.

“I always thought I lived in a house with an angry man… turns out it was my mother.” Y/N uttered, leaning against Coryo for support. It was no secret that Y/N’s mother was anything but kind. She pushed Y/N and her father past their limits.

And she always blamed Y/N for what seemed like the fun of it. The fights were usually only verbal but it had gotten of hand this time and shards of glass were now embedded into Y/N’s skin.

Coryo didn’t sleep much that night, too busy overlooking Y/N’s condition. She was bruised and battered, it had taken an hour to pull the shards of glass out even with Tigris’ help. Y/N was sleeping soundly now, her hand wrapped around Coryo’s wrist to comfort herself.

Lucy Gray couldn’t hurt him anymore. He had gotten what he wanted and he refused to let go of it until his dying breath.

Their wedding was grand and over the top, regarded as Panem’s greatest event. Coryo made sure the wedding distracted Y/N from thinking about Lucy Gray, which he knew she did. He would catch her reading their old letters which she kept hidden in a box. Y/N was under the impression that Lucy Gray had fled somewhere so nobody could find her. Of course, that was a letter orchestrated by Coryo.

With Coryo working alongside the Gamemakers and becoming a favoured candidate for presidency and Y/N’s position as a revered lawyer, the couple lived a good life. Coryo would never again know poverty and hunger. He would never have to eat those awful Lima beans again.

Coryo was so focused on his future and keeping his life the way it was now that he failed to notice the cracks in his marriage until he and Y/N no longer ate in the same room or spent any time together. Yet even then, he barely acknowledged it, his ambition pushing him forward.

Every word he uttered to Y/N was laced with poison, for he was beginning to resent her. She made him vulnerable and weak, the two flaws Coryo hated the most.

Their house was no longer happy, it felt like walking on eggshells and thin ice. Every week was filled with a new argument. Perhaps Y/N was starting to loathe him too because she never spoke when he was around, only sending him a harsh glare.

“You remind Lady Snow of her mother.” One of the many maids spoke as she adjusted Coryo’s pillow. He had fallen ill but Y/N never visited him. He could see why now.

Y/N hated her mother after the night she had thrown a vase at her head. She had married Coryo to get away from her mother, yet another version of abuse continued to plague her.

It was about a year after their marriage when Y/N became pregnant.

Coryo was still hard at work with his new job of president, which stressed both him and Y/N. Y/N was expected to be the perfect wife in front of other political women; never mad, never sad, never showing any emotion. It got to the point that she had to take prescribed medicine to calm down her rising anxiety.

Coryo was often out late, leaving Y/N to tend to the house and everything else herself. She ate dinner alone, looked at her work documents alone, slept alone. It felt like her husband was no longer in her life because he left early in the morning and never returned until midnight.

Sometimes she’d stay up just to feel the mattress dip as Coryo climbed into bed, his hand resting on Y/N’s waist for a split second before he retracted.

She often found herself waking up at three in the morning, haunted by nightmares of Lucy Gray. Y/N placed her head in her hands like she always did, letting a shaky breath pass her lips. Lucy Gray was right, she was nothing more than Coryo’s wife, if she was even that to him now.

Y/N was, to put it lightly, exhausted in every aspect a person could be. Her numerous medicated pills prescribed to her for various mental issues were giving her a headache and she couldn’t even recall the last time she had spoken to Coryo. She thought that since she and Coryo had gotten along so well before his peacekeeping training that their marriage would be similar to that. But it seems something in District Twelve had changed him for the worst.

“How is my baby?” Y/N asked the doctor, her hands clasp together on her lap. “You said last time he was doing good. How is he now?” She softly smiled, something she hadn’t done in a while. When the doctor hesitated, her smile faltered. “He’s still doing good… right?”

The doctor silently removed his glasses. “I’m sorry.” He uttered, shaking his head.

The death of her baby was all her fault. It was the pills and the constant stress no doubt. Y/N walked through the street, feeling numb. She crashed into various people but she couldn’t hear their angry shouts, the ringing in her ears was too loud.

She returned back to the house, fully prepared to lock herself in her room and break down. Maybe even take all her pills in a desperate attempt to join her baby. She wasn’t expecting Coriolanus Snow, her absent husband, to be perched on the sofa with a wad of newspaper in his hands.

“How was your appointment?” Coryo questioned as he flipped the page of his newspaper, not bothering to look up at his wife. This was the first time he had spoken to her in a week. He hardly ever came out of his room to eat with her anymore.

When there was no reply, that was when Coryo finally lifted his head to glance at his wife’s tear-stained face. His gaze studied her blood-shot eyes, her trembling lip, and the way she held a hand over her belly like she was trying to protect the baby. He pieced it all together.

“The baby…” Y/N muttered, pausing her words as she took a shaky step forward. She barely caught herself. “It…”

She didn’t have to continue before Coryo quickly stood up, casting his now abandoned newspaper to the side. His eyes were cold and unwavering and for a minute, Y/N thought he was going to strike her for being so careless of his heir. She flinched as he took quick strides towards her, expecting a slap.

“The baby… the doctors said it…” She couldn’t say it, she refused to say it. She had one job; take care of a baby and she failed at that.

Coryo didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Y/N’s shaking form. It was the first time he had hugged her in months, maybe even years. Y/N couldn’t quite remember.

“We’ll try again.” Coryo spoke as Y/N finally allowed herself to break down in his arms. He held her like he used to before their marriage became a mess. She missed the feeling of his arms around her. She missed him.

Coryo could feel Y/N’s tears wet his shirt and her sobs rack her body. He pressed a hesitant kiss to her head. “We’ll try again when you recover from this… I’ll give you the daughter you’ve always wanted.”

THG TAG LIST (comment to be added) : @bianca4ukiss

[kutputli]

Louis the "Pimp": A Rebuke and Rebuttal

OK, IWTV fandom, I have been made aware that some (many) of you are genuinely not aware of some of the anti sex work implications of your statements around Louis and pimping, so -

First of all, some ground level assumptions: I am assuming we are all pro sex workers here. Which means that we all believe in the right for adults to consent to commercial sexualised labour, and to demand ethical working conditions just like any other worker. Sex work is work etc.

Now, that stance can and must coexist with the acknowledgement that sex work has both historically and currently been coerced from marginalised communities. In my part of the world, hereditary caste based sexual enslavement is an on-going atrocity, and similarly, in the United States Black enslaved people was disproportionatey victims of commercialised sexual abuse. (This is RELEVENT to Armand and Louis so it behoves everyone to inform themselves about these realities.)

What I'm saying now comes from the scholarship and testimonies of sex workers themselves, who have always been at the forefront of advocating for themselves as communities and unions. You can and should read through the publications of the Global Network of Sex Work Projects to ground yourself in these perspectives.

The idea that its ok to be a sex worker, but that a client or a pimp or a brothel owner deserves contempt, shaming or derison is an old one, associated with the dichotomy of pitable fallen women vs dispicable emasculated men (emasculated because of the patriarchal shame of a) paying for sex and b) living off of a woman's labour). This has manifested in what is known as the Nordic model (or, hypocritically, the Equality Model) of Prostitution, where sex workers themselves are deemed nominally free to practise their trade, but clients and third parties (pimps, managers, brothel owners) are criminalised. There is unambiguous peer-reviewed data showing the failure of this approach to protecting sex workers from harm, and almost every sex worker union has denounced it.

So now let's talk about this cultural and legal contempt and criminalisation of the third party, and specifically, the pimp figure. Unlike the brothel owner, the pimp is more often from a similar class and identity as the sex worker, often sharing the same living and working spaces. Pimps are often sex workers allies and collegeaues. They provide an interface between the client and the sex worker that can help screen them for safety and security, and the remove the additional burden of soliciting and marketing from the sex worker's labour.

And because it is important to talk about specifics, a pimp in marginalised communities of sex workers is often a brother, a father, or a lover to the sex worker who faces the same casteism, racism and classism that she does. He is often the father of the sex worker's child. In India, for example, even though prostitution itself is not criminal, any adult male living with a prostitute is assumed to be guilty of being a pimp unless he can prove otherwise, and can face imprisonment of up to 2 years with a fine. One of the demands of unionised sex workers, including those in India, has been to decriminalised pimping along with sex work, not just because pimps make it safer and easier for sex workers to get clients without having to actively solicit, but also because such criminalisation actively harms family units.

Of course, there are pimps who can be abusive and exploitative. This is true of any professional relationship, and this is also true of people in romantic and sexual relationships (like marriage). But to deem a pimp inherently as an abuser carries a lot of anti sex work and racist and classist baggage with it.

Why racist (and classist and casteist etc)? Because the men with capital were (and are) not often pimps. They are landlords and investors, who ran brothels and saloons and massage parlours and dance bars and other sites where sexual labour was commercialised. To denigrate a man for being a pimp as somehow worse than being the owner of a sweatshop or farm is a way of jeering at the men who have not been able to buy themselves the luxury of distance from the exploitation they profit from. And the men of capital were and are, overwhelmingly, those from the dominant identity (White. Savarna. etc.)

So NOW, with all that necessary context in mind, let's talk about Louis and what it means when fandom firstly calls him a pimp, and then second sneers at him for his perceived behavior as one.

You know who first calls Louis a pimp?

Daniel Molloy, a white man being the brash, confrontational journalist that he has the luxury of being.

Louis accurately describes his profession managing and operating a diversified portfolio of entireprises. This translates to investing his family's sizeable trust into real estate (he owns 8 out of 24 buildings on Liberty Street) and running establishments that make money from selling liquor, organised gambling and sex work. Just as not many Black men would have been in a position of power to make a profit from a sugar plantation as Louis' great grandfather did, not many Black men would have had the capital (and the business acumen) to own and operate a series of businesses that included sex work. Infact we see him collecting his profits from a white man who was closer to the pimp role - Finn.

Reducing this to calling him a pimp is the first of many racist microaggressions we will watch Daniel make. As someone who indulged in some kind of sex work himself, one might say some of Daniel's hostility is self-loathing. Nonetheless, there is a racialised element in his contempt towards both Louis and Armand that, I would theorise, comes from the distinction made between a white, educated man choosing to recreationally whore himself for drugs, and a Black man who earned a living from other people's sex work, or a Brown man who is perceived as a rent boy.

We then get to the idea of denigrating Louis' pimp-like behavior. First of all, let's look at Louis as the employer and manager of sex workers. Everything we have seen about him shows him to be courteous, considerate, and professional. His guilt at the entire situation of how sex work operates aside (and we can agree that it must have been exploitative and even abusive in general, and that he was complicit in such a system, as any capitalist is) - MOST importantly, we never see Louis doing the thing that patriarchy really resents a pimp for - sampling the goods for free. We never see him use his power over the sex workers he employs to get favours.

In fact he makes it clear that he visits Miss Lily precisely because she is part of a different establishment, and that both of them being Black in a majority white situation places them on a more equal footing. Watching Louis with Miss Lily, both is how he is with her sexually as well as socially, gives you the clearest evidence of how he behaves around sex workers he is having a relationship with. (Contrast that to Lestat, who buys her time and body as an act of one-upmanship with no concern for her preference, and then who kills her out of jealousy.)

So - Was Louis a pimp? No. Was Louis an abusive pimp? Also No.

Then why does the fandom continue to deploy this term in relationship to him?

It's racism, your honour. (The answer is almost always racism.)

To unpack this, lets jump forward from the 1910s where, again I remind you - very very few Black men in the United States were in any position to operate as fashionable brother owners with wealth to spare.

We now move to the 1980s, when one (but not the only!) sub-genre of rap was evolving - gangsta rap. In this sub-genre, Black musical artists like Too Short and Ice T were creating and more pertinently making accessible to white America, the signifier of the Black pimp figure. This drew from 1960s Black culture-making around West Coast pimps like Iceberg Slim, but also from an older storytelling tradition that linked the figure of the pimp with the archetype of the trickster. I'm not going to cite the wealth of literature you can find that theorises this, (nor defensively provide the mass of nuanced critique that Black feminists have offered) because the limited point I wish to make is -

When white America began enjoying (and appropriating) rap and hip-hop culture, one of the tropes it started perpetuating with the shallowest of understanding of its origins, was that of the specifically Black pimp. A figure who displayed wealth, but without (white-signifying) class, who was sexually active in a racialised hypermasculine way, but both a threat to women and contemptibly a leech off them.

THIS is the pimp archetype that is being evoked when fandom talks about Louis's 'pimp'ness.

It is racist. It is ahistorical and canonically unfactual.

It is also needlessly contemptuous of the sex workers (labourers and third parties alike) who are part of the community here on tumblr, so often praised as one of the spaces that is friendly to them.

Maybe think about all of that the next time you choose to use the word 'pimp'.

[elzdaizy]

Trouble After Paradise (Part 1)

Warnings: lots of angst, conflict, explicit language.

Summary of short story: Reader and Harry have returned from their honeymoon to a harsh reality and their first huge hurdle as a married couple.

A/N: This is 1 of 3 parts. Enjoy! Just a little short story idea i had and wanted to share with you all.

It’s been four weeks since you returned home from your honeymoon in Costa Rica and you’ve found yourself reminiscing constantly on that magical holiday.

To say the least, things have took a turn for the worst since you and Harry got home.

You were bombarded with mountains of piles of work to get through because there was no one to fill your position whilst you’d taken the month off leading up to your wedding, including the honeymoon.

Harry had started filming his next movie, one that was mentally draining due to his character being a very unwell mental patient at a psychiatric hospital.

You worked from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon in the office but always brought home some work to do which kept you busy until about eight at night when you’d get into bed.

Weekends were exhausting as well, you were catching up with friends and family after basically being off the grid throughout the week.

Harry’s shooting location, thankfully, was only a few hours away up north in Manchester so he managed to be home often between breaks but unfortunately meant that he wasn’t home with you for periods of times.

He tries his best to be at home with you on the weekends but his schedule doesn’t work that way all the time. On average you probably see each other a total of two days out of the week and it’s been this way the past four weeks.

You’ve both been so busy, you’ve barely had the time to live life together as a married couple. There’s a tension building full of stress and exhaustion on both ends of your marriage. You find yourselves bickering when you’re together and getting on each other’s nerves more than ever before.

You know it’s because you’re equally annoyed with yourselves and each other with the current situation.

It’s 8pm on a Friday night and Harry called you earlier that morning to let you know he’s coming home today at around 6:30pm and will be able to stay the full week until he’s off again. He asked for you to pick him up from the station because he had booked a meal at The Ivy for 8pm. You of course said yes. You were so excited to hear the news, you felt tears well up in your eyes. “I really can’t wait, I miss you so much.” You replied before you both said your goodbyes and I love you’s before hanging up.

What you didn’t know was that working would be busier than ever that Friday and now you’re still in the office trying to hurry up and finish off one last piece of paper work to be sent off to your client before the weekend. Your phone had died two hours ago and Harry hadn’t contacted you before it died so you weren’t too concerned that he would’ve tried to since then.

You could cry out of frustration. You purposely stayed back to get all this extra work done so you could book off Monday and Tuesday to extend your weekend to spend some time with your husband.

Half an hour later, you finally send the email and pack up your stuff. You race to your car and make your way home. The door is unlocked when you go to turn the key and your heart skips a beat when you realise that Harry must be home.

The lights are all off downstairs which is odd so you make your way upstairs to your bedroom to find Harry sat on the edge of the bed in just his underwear and his phone in his hands.

“Hi, baby.” You softly speak up as you walk through the door and put your bag and coat over the chair in the corner of the room.

Harry glances at you over his shoulder briefly without so much as a tiny acknowledgment of your presence before looking back to his phone.

You frown, thinking his behaviour seems a bit off. The energy in the room seems low and you can sense he’s not in a good mood.

You walk over to him, a hand on his shoulder and the other hand reaching to lift his head by tilting his chin in your direction for him to look up at you. As soon as you try to lean forward to place a kiss to his lips he yanks his head away from your touch and rolls his eyes, letting out a huff.

You step back, very offended and extremely hurt by his cold actions.

“Fuck you, then.” You throw your hands up and storm away to head downstairs to the kitchen. You’re literally trying so hard not to break down and cry right now so you’re pacing around your kitchen, breathing heavily for a few moments then deciding to pour yourself a large glass of wine.

You almost down the first glass. The second one being poured less than five minutes later. You’re just stood by your kitchen island with a glass of wine in one hand and thoughts racing around your mind as you try to figure out why your husband seems to despise you at the moment.

You soon realise it could possibly be the fact that your phone was dead and maybe he was trying to get ahold of you.

You start to feel a pit of guilt in your stomach when you take your phone from your pocket and plug it into the charger point next to your toaster.

You finish your second glass of wine once your phone switches on and your eyes widen when you notice the ten missed calls and five unread messages from Harry.

You read the texts carefully one at a time.

From Harry:

6:09pm - l’m fifteen minutes away from the station if you want to set off now. Love you. Xx

6:30pm - Where are you? I’m waiting near the security box until you’re here. Xx

6:53pm - I’ve rung you five times and you’re not answering so I’m making my own way home now.

7:26pm - Why aren’t you answering and why aren’t you at home? You do realise we have to be at The Ivy in half an hour.

8:03pm - cancelled the booking. If you read this before you come home - don’t bother me when you get in, I can’t be arsed with this tonight.

You heart feels like it’s going to stop. You have never felt more terrible in your life. You feel like a punch to the gut is what you deserve right now and nothing less. And to think, you literally just spat in his face and said fuck you to him, still not realising what you’d done.

You were so fixated on wanting to spend the week with Harry that you’d completely forgotten about picking him up and going out for dinner tonight.

You were a little drunk and very upset with yourself so of course the only thing currently you did was start to cry. You sat on a stool at your island, lent your elbows on the countertop, put your face in your hands and sobbed. Sobbed for your husband and how upset he must be feeling. Sobbed at the realisation of how much you hurt him and let him down. You felt like a failure.

After about thirty minutes of letting your feelings flow out of your system uncontrollably, you composed yourself and prepared yourself to go and apologise profusely. You’d gone over what to say in your head a million times and nothing sounded good enough but you know the least he deserves is an apology rather than an explanation or excuse right now.

Your face is puffy and red from the crying as you shakily walk up the stairs to your room and find Harry is now laying under the covers with the tv on, watching a movie with a deep frown on his face. As if he’s in deep thought rather than paying attention to the screen.

You push the door open gently and let yourself in. Basically walking with your tail between your legs, you can barely look at him as you sit on the bottom corner of the bed on your side. You couldn’t be further away from him on the bed if you tried.

“Harry, I’m so sorry.” You croak. Lips quivering as you fight the urge to break down crying again. You finally look at him after your first attempt at the beginning of a long apology. He’s ignoring you. Keeping his eyes fixed on the screen and his arms crossed over his chest.

You decide to keep speaking, “I completely understand why you’re angry and I don’t want to give myself any excuses for-.”

He reaches for the remote and turns up the volume to drown out your voice.

You let out a shaky sigh. A tear slipping down your cheek. “I didn’t ignore you on purpose- look, can you please just say something?” You beg pathetically and Harry’s head turns as his eyes look at you with anger.

“Told you I can’t be fucked with this tonight just leave me alone, please.” He sighs in annoyance before completely turning his back to you as he lays on his side.

You really don’t know what to say now. You didn’t expect this reaction from him. He’s never been this angry with you before and it’s terrifying you slightly because you really can’t cope with it. You don’t even care if he shouts at this point, you just want more of a reaction from him.

He has every right to feel the way he does, you know that. You hate going to sleep on bad terms though. You both agreed to always resolve conflicts before getting into bed because you never wanted to be that couple that gets into fights and makes one or the other sleep on the sofa.

It seems like it’s going to be that way tonight though. You don’t want to say another word because you don’t want to make it worse. Even though you know you won’t get much sleep, you decide to go sleep downstairs on the couch. You could go sleep in the spare room but you need a tv to distract you from your racing thoughts so the living room it is.

You get up from the bed, go take a quick shower and change into your pyjamas before grabbing your pillow from your side of the bed and walking towards the door.

“Goodnight, Harry. I love you.” You say to him softly before closing the door behind yourself and making your way downstairs.

You turn on a shitty reality show to fall asleep too. It takes a few hours but eventually you drift off.

The next morning you’re awoken by the sound of the blender rattling off in the kitchen. You feel at peace for a split second as your groggy memory clears up as your consciousness comes back, along with the awful events of last night. You grimace start yourself as you sit up on the couch and turn around to see Harry standing in the kitchen, making himself a smoothie, dressed in his running gear.

It mustn’t be any later than 6am because he only likes going running at the crack of dawn. He hasn’t noticed that you’re awake yet but you know he’s still fuming by the look on his face.

Now that you’re not intoxicated and knowing it’s a new day, you’re determined to resolve this issue very soon. You don’t want to waste any more of the short time you two have together for the next four days being bitter.

You get up from the couch and stretch before walking over to the kitchen island and taking a seat on the stool you were sobbing on last night.

“Morning.” You say with a tired voice as Harry still hasn’t acknowledged you whilst he’s cleaning up some dishes. You’re both facing each other on opposite sides of the island.

Harry looks up at you frowning and doesn’t reply so you take it as your queue to go in strong with all guns blazing.

“Can we please talk about this now?” You plead. Harry just deadpans and looks at you with a look that tells you no as he picks up his AirPods and puts them in as he makes his way to the door to go on his run.

“What the actual fuck! This is an actual fucking nightmare.” You frustratingly shout to no one but yourself after Harry closes the door on his way out.

[grandeoatmilklatte]

Little Snake 🐍 (Ominis x F!MC)

This is based off a weird little head cannon I had in my head and in my drafts for a while, but I never got around to writing anything for it. There was chatter about starting a weekly prompt in the Ominis server I'm in. The theme was supposed to be "family" so I thought it was a great opportunity to finally post this. This is definitely gonna be another "not for everyone" fic and I apologize for that! I have plans for a dark!Omi fic soon enough, cause I've been on a dark!Omi kick lately. But for now, enjoy!

Little Snake - Ominis x F!MC - 3k words || Summary: After two years of marriage, MC and Ominis are ready to start a family together, but they learn about their new bundle of joy in an unconventional way.

Warnings: NSFW/18+ - Characters are aged up and married - Minors DNI || parseltongue k!nk || slight br33ding k!nk || slight dominis || Pr3gnancy talk || Slight angst and slight fluff || this fic has a little bit of everything basically || Also yes, I know it doesn't happen that fast in reality, but this is fiction.

______________________________

With the last utensil placed in its spot on the table, everything was set up for tonight. MC took a step back to admire her handiwork before she’d need to rush upstairs to get showered and dressed, desperate to be ready for when Ominis arrived home.  

Today was their two year wedding anniversary, and she was eager to celebrate. They didn’t do much celebrating their first year, with Ominis starting a new job with the ministry, coupled with the constant fear of being discovered by his parents. They weren’t supposed to be together let alone married, due to their conflicting blood statuses. So they eloped, running away and finding a new place to call home, which they fortified with a variety of protection charms. It still didn’t feel like enough, and a year later, they still had their worries. But they were now going on two years without having been found, and they had finally begun to relax a bit. 

She was hopeful that tonight the conversation of their future would go better than it did the first year. When they were wed, Ominis was receptive to the idea of children, much to the surprise of his wife. Ominis believed it would be a great opportunity to raise a Slytherin heir who knew nothing of dark magic and their family’s dark history. Although, he still remained fearful of being discovered by his family.  On their one year, she had brought the topic up, much to the dissatisfaction of Ominis. The conversation got heated, and ended in an argument. Although the argument was resolved quickly, feelings were hurt nonetheless. Ominis did still want a child, but his fear was still very present. So she dropped it, a sadness taking over her as she longed for motherhood, but she let it go, understanding fully why her husband felt the way he did, and deciding to bring it up again a year later, when they felt safer. 

—————————

An hour later, she was showered and dressed, opting for a silky black dress that hugged her curves, an equally flattering set of black lacy lingerie underneath it. It may seem silly for her to care this much about her appearance, since Ominis couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. She briefly began to fantasize about it - Ominis’s hands roaming her body. Feeling the silky fabric between his fingers before slowly sliding the garment off to be met with the lacy fabric of the lingerie, followed by the feeling of her bare skin. She felt a heat begin to rise through her, and had just slipped her hand between her legs when she heard the sound of the front door opening. 

They greeted each other, their lips meeting in a heated exchange. Ominis’s hands came up to her waist, taking in the fabric of her dress just as she had fantasized. He pulled away to catch his breath. “Hello, darling! I missed you today. Seemed like you got dressed up for me.” He said the last part with a sultry tone to his voice as his hands squeezed her hips. 

“I did. And if you like the dress, you should feel what’s underneath it!” Her voice was equally as sultry. Ominis let out a dark chuckle as he pulled her back in for a kiss, backing her into a nearby wall. They moaned against each other’s lips as arousal began to creep up on them both, Ominis’s hand still rested on her hip, while the other worked its way up her thigh, hiking up her dress in the process.

But unfortunately for her, she was hit with a realization. “Ominis, wait! I made us dinner! Let’s pick this up later.” 

________________________

After a multi-course dinner with a variety of Ominis’s favorite meals, the couple were snuggled on their loveseat in front of their fireplace, his arm wrapped around her waist, her head resting on his chest. 

“Ominis…” she started, sitting up to look directly at him. “I was…hoping we could talk…”

Ominis sighed in reply, fully aware of where this conversation was going. “Darling. We’ve been lucky for two years. Should we really be pushing our luck? A child will only make it harder for us to stay safe. I’m not sure if we should do this.” 

Her heart ached at his words, tears starting to form in her eyes. Without another word she got up, dismissing herself and heading upstairs to their bedroom. She could hear Ominis calling out to her, but she ignored him, throwing herself face first onto the bed, her pillow quickly becoming damp from her tears. It only took a few minutes before Ominis came up to join her, sitting himself on the bed next to her, stroking her hair as she sobbed. 

“My love, please. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I know you want a child, and believe me I do too. I just want our child to be safe. I never wanted this life for you. To have to live in fear of my family. I wish we could just start our family without any worries.” She could hear Ominis’s voice hitching, as if he was on the verge of tears himself. She sat up and hugged his back, resting her chin on his shoulder. 

“Darling. I willingly chose this life, because I chose you. I’d choose being on the run for the rest of my life with you rather than living in safety without you. I know the risks. But I believe we’ll be okay. If they were going to find us, they would have already. And if they do, I’ll stop at nothing to keep my family safe, you and our little snake.” She nuzzled into his neck, planting soft kisses on his skin. 

Ominis turned to face his wife’s direction. “As would I. I’d do anything to keep you safe. I’d go so far as to cast an unforgivable curse if need be to keep you safe, same goes for our child. Though I pray that day never comes, we must always be ready if it ever does.” 

Her hands came up to either side of his face. She stared lovingly into his milky blue eyes, the eyes that captivated her the first time she met him under the blue glow of the lake that poured into the windows of the Slytherin common room. From that moment on, she loved Ominis, and would do anything for him. “I know, darling. And even knowing that, I still want this. I want this with you.” 

Ominis thought for a moment before reaching for his wife’s hands. They were small and soft under his own, and he began to rub small circles into her palm with his thumb. 

“Then we shall. We’ll start a family. But promise me something - our child will not be raised as a typical Gaunt. They’ll grow up a kind Slytherin, no dark magic, no pureblood supremacy, none of it. My hope is that they won’t even be sorted into Slytherin when the time comes with how different from my family we’ll raise them. But, let's have tonight for ourselves. No more fighting, no more talk of children, just us. We’ll start this process tomorrow. Natty still works as a nurse, correct? I’ll take you to her, make sure you’re healthy and get you all the fertility potions you need. Take your birth control potion tonight, but starting tomorrow, you won’t need it anymore.”

Her eyes began to sting as tears formed in them. She threw her arms around Ominis and kissed him softly and lovingly. The kiss quickly turned passionate as Ominis returned her enthusiasm. His hands found their way to his wife’s waist before he lightly pushed her to lay on her back on the bed. He made quick work of his own clothes, stripping down completely before his hands glided up her satin dress once more, pulling it over her head with ease. Finally his hands got to meet the promised lingerie, as his fingers grazed across the lacy fabric. He took a moment to enjoy the feel of the material before removing it as well. 

He wasted no time spreading her legs and plunging in. She let out a symphony of moans as his tongue circled her clit and his fingers slid inside of her. Ominis groaned against her, still not having gotten used to her taste after all these years together. Even after she had prepared the most delicious dinner he’d ever had tonight, he still preferred the taste of her sweet nectar over anything. Her walls began to tighten around his fingers and he took that as his cue, speeding up his pumping, while still continuing to suck and lick at her. Her hands had already come down into his hair, and her grip tightened as she came, a scream of his name falling from her lips. 

After allowing her a few moments to come down from her high, Ominis sat up on his knees. “Turn around, my love. Get on your hands and knees” his voice was low and laced with lust. She did as she was told, and Ominis used his hands to line himself up with her body. He gripped her hip with one hand, and gripped his cock in the other, taking a deep breath before pushing himself into her. She let out a moan at the stretch, but her body welcomed him as it always did. His pace was steady, as he slammed into her, pulling out slowly and almost all the way before slamming back into her. Her arms began to feel weak, so she got down to her elbows, which allowed Ominis to go deeper into her, much to his satisfaction. 

“You want me deeper inside of you, huh? Such a sweet little whore for me. So desperate and so needy for my cock!”

Ominis had spoken, except it wasn’t words that came out of him, but several long, drawn out hissing sounds. He had a delicious habit of speaking to his wife in parseltongue when he was especially aroused, and she let out a moan in appreciation, eager to hear more of it. He continued to fuck her, his hand reaching up into her hair to pull her body slightly up. 

“Oh, such a naughty girl. You love when I speak to you like this. I know you can come just from it. Come for me, darling. You’re so close I can feel it!” 

She was panting hard as Ominis picked up his pace. She had no idea what he had said, and she never did, but she felt her walls tighten once again as her second orgasm approached. With another scream of his name, she came. But he didn’t give her any time to recover this time, his pace getting even rougher as he chased his own release. It hit a few moments later as his body tensed up and he released into her with a whimper of her name. She let out a soft sigh as he filled her, feeling his cock throbbing within her. She wished that this was the moment he was impregnating her, but that would have to wait. And she could wait. He was ready for it, they both were, and she would be happy whenever it happened. 

Once the two of them had caught their breaths and cleaned themselves up, they snuggled up in their bed, arms wrapped around each other, her head resting on his chest as his fingers absentmindedly twirled strands of her hair. Her ears filled with the steady sound of his heart beat, and it relaxed her, knowing how it beat for her. 

“I love you darling.” Ominis said as he continued to play with her hair. “…and I can’t wait for our future together.” 

She sat up, planting a soft kiss on his lips before bringing her head back to its position on his chest. “I love you too! Happy anniversary my love!” 

“Happy anniversary.” He whispered, his voice sleepy as he succumbed to his tiredness. 

________________

The promise of visiting Natty did not come that week, as Ominis was given an assignment the following day at work that took up most of his day. By the time he arrived home, the pair were too tired to go anywhere and too tired to even try. MC was a little disappointed, but not upset, as she understood the stress of Ominis’s job. Ominis on the other hand was not particularly happy about his predicament, having already gotten excited about the prospect of a baby. 

A week and a half after their anniversary, after a particularly grueling day, Ominis stormed into their home, finding his wife tending to the kitchen. He said nothing to her, but immediately grabbed her, slamming his lips into hers in a heated kiss. “Get upstairs now, we’re doing this. Tonight.”

“But Ominis, I thought you wanted to go see Natty about-“

“Oh fuck that! I’m tired of waiting! Upstairs. NOW.”

She felt her arousal hit her hard, she loved when Ominis was aggressive with her. She took his hand and they dashed upstairs, undressing at a tremendous speed. She threw herself on to the bed and immediately spread her legs, eager for Ominis to take her. 

And he did. He slid into her with ease, jumping straight into a rough pace. All Ominis wanted to do was fuck his frustration with his job out on her, while fucking a baby into her.

“Such a good girl! You sound so pretty moaning for me, begging me to keep going. Moan louder for me! I want to hear you sssscream for me.”

She obeyed his command, screaming his name and moaning, her moans being her encouragement for him to continue. 

“Sssso perfect. You take my cock so well, darling! Such a pretty little whore. You love this don’t you? You love when I fuck you like this.”

Her mind was completely blank and blissed out as he continued his ruining of her. She struggled for several minutes to form a coherent sentence before she spoke. 

“Yesss! I love the way you fuck me, darling! It feels ssso good! I love being a good little whore for you.”

Ominis’s eyes grew wide as he stopped in his tracks and pulled out of her, sitting back on his knees. He was unsure if he actually heard what he just heard, or if he was losing his mind. 

“My love, did you just…speak parseltongue?” His voice laced with concern.

She sat up and looked at him, confused. “What? I don’t know how to speak parseltongue?”

“I just spoke to you in parseltongue, TWICE, and you responded IN PARSELTONGUE. Did you understand what I said to you?”

“Yes but, I’m pretty sure you spoke in English because there’s no way I know parseltongue. You said it yourself. It’s a language only heirs of Slytherin know, and I am not an heir of Slytherin and you’ve never taught me it, so it’s impossible.”

“If you can understand this, tell me.”

Without thinking, she responded to her husband, but instead of her normal voice falling from her lips, a string of hisses fell instead, she didn’t feel in control of her own mouth. She gasped as her hands shot up to her mouth, fear painting her face. 

“Ominis?” She spoke, almost on the verge of tears, but in English this time. “What’s happening?”

Ominis sat in thought, taking his wife’s hands and squeezing them before realization hit him. He spoke slowly. 

“You're not an heir of Slytherin, but our child would be...”

Her jaw practically hit the floor as the realization hit her as well. The pair seemed to share a moment of legilimency as they both wordlessly shot up from the bed, dressed, and dashed out the door, apparating as soon as they crossed the threshold outside their home. 

When they landed, she took a hold of her husband’s hand and dragged him up to the home they had landed nearby. She tried to keep her knocking as non-aggressive as possible, but it was difficult with how her hands were shaking. Natty opened the door to find one of her closest friends, unable to contain her emotion any longer as tears of joy began to fall from her eyes.

“Natty, I need you to check me over, I think I might be pregnant!”

_______________________

A half hour later, the three of them were on the couch of Natty’s living room, Natty having made them tea to calm them down. MC’s empty teacup was in Natty’s hands as she examined the tea leaves left behind. 

“Oh MC! This is wonderful news! You are indeed with child! You’re incredibly early in the process, however. Your baby only appears to be a few days old, how did you even know?”

She watched as her excited husband, who had tears running down his cheeks, took in a deep breath, preparing himself for the reveal of his family’s ability that she now possessed because their child did. An ability that she would continue to possess throughout the duration of her pregnancy. But she knew better, fully aware her husband wasn’t fond of having this talent outside of their bedroom activities. 

“I just had a hunch.” She smiled, wiping her own tears from her eyes.

_________________________

Once they were back in their bed, they laid wrapped in each other’s arms. She sat up slightly, staring into her husband’s blue eyes, still wet with tears. “I can’t believe this is actually happening” She whispered, planting a quick peck on his lips. 

Ominis let out a soft sigh. “I can’t wait, but promise me, darling. If our little snake ever inquires about how you came to discover you were pregnant, PLEASE lie to them.” 

They both giggled in unison as she nuzzled into him, bidding each other goodnight and falling asleep, one of Ominis’s hands wrapped around his wife, and the other resting on her stomach.

______________________

[bookshelfdreams]

Favourite german colloquialisms and idioms

Ein Freund zum Pferdestehlen (lit: a friend to steal horses with) A reliable, loyal, and trustworthy friend, someone you can depend on 100%

Mit jemandem ein Hühnchen zu rupfen haben (lit: to have a chicken to pluck with someone) to have an unfinished argument/dispute/disagreement with someone that one will finish as soon as they see the person again, who will then probably "experience their blue miracle" (sein/ihr blaues Wunder erleben): get their ass handed to them.

Die Sau rauslassen (lit: to let the sow loose) To throw down at a party

Sows are generally an intensifier. Either in wie Sau (as fuck), the adverb saumäßig, or just add the prefix sau- to an adjective of your choice.

Auf dem Teppich bleiben (lit: to stay on the carpet) to quit being overdramatic, to stay grounded in reality and not let emotions take over a debate. Same meaning: Die Kirche im Dorf lassen (lit: to leave the church in the village)

Das geflügelte Wort (lit: the winged word) Figure of speech, idiom

Sich etwas ans Bein binden (lit: to tie something to one’s leg) To burden oneself with something that’s more trouble than it’s worth

Das Leben ist kein Ponyhof (lit: life is no pony farm) Life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows

Jemandem den Marsch blasen (lit: to blow the march for someone) to scold someone very harshly. Also: jemandem die Meinung geigen (to play someone one’s opinion on the violin), jemanden anscheißen (to shit on someone)

Auch ein blindes Huhn findet mal ein Korn (lit: even a blind chicken  sometimes finds a seed) A stopped clock is right twice a day

Backfisch (m.) (lit: baked fish) teenage girl; this one's a bit old-fashioned

Nicht alle Tassen im Schrank haben (lit: to miss some cups from the cupboard) To be crazy, insane, idiotic. The things people can miss to express this sentiment are quite diverse (and this is something people really like to get creative with): needles from the fir tree, battens from the fence, lightbulbs from the chandelier, cookies from the jar…

Die Radieschen von unten ansehen (lit: to view radishes from below) To be dead. Variations exist with almost any plant imaginable, most notably tulips and grass

Was die Sonne nicht heilt, deckt die Erde zu (lit: what the sun can’t heal, the earth shall cover) This health problem will either resolve itself or the speaker will die from it, in any case it will be over eventually

Da warst du noch Quark im Schaufenster (lit: Back then you were curd in the shop window) Back then, you weren’t even conceived

Eine (neue) Sau durchs Dorf treiben (lit: to drive a (new) sow through the village) to manufacture short-lived public outrage that will soon be replaced by a new scandal

Hanswurst (m) (lit: Hans Sausage) a ridiculous, funny person, fool, clown (but not an actual clown from the circus)

Man hat schon Pferde (vor der Apotheke) kotzen sehen (lit: horses have been seen vomiting (in front of the pharmacy)) stranger things have happened

wilde Ehe (lit: wild marriage) to live together/have a family together without being actually married

Bauernfänger (m.) (lit: farmer catcher) Conman. Not to be confused with:

Rattenfänger (m.) (lit: rat catcher) political agitator, demagogue

Noch feucht hinter den Ohren sein (lit: to be still wet behind the ears) to be inexperienced/a newbie

Du hast wohl den Schuss nicht gehört (lit: Have you not heard the shot?) Are you out of your fucking mind?

Da sind Hopfen und Malz verloren (lit: hops and malt are lost here) A hopeless case

Völkerverständigung (f.) (lit: understanding between peoples/nations) Getting to know people from other nations, making an effort to understand their culture and showing them yours in turn. The building of international relationships based on mutual respect and equality. Diplomacy. Also: Völkerfreundschaft (friendship between peoples/nations)

Sich den Arsch aufreißen (lit: to rip one’s ass open) to work very hard

Es ist noch kein Meister vom Himmel gefallen (lit: no master has fallen from the sky yet) nobody is born an expert; keep trying and you’ll get there!

Mach mal die Augen zu, dann siehst du was deine ist (lit: close your eyes then you’ll see what’s yours) I heard this a lot as a child and now I never feel entitled to anything, ever

Da geht mir das Messer in der Tasche auf (lit: this opens the knife in my pocket) I think this is infuriating and I’m about to figuratively stab you (loads of expressions for this sentiment but this is my fave)

Kinderstube (f) (lit: children’s chamber) upbringing, education. Someone who doesn’t have Kinderstube has no manners

Waisenknabe / Chorknabe (m) (lit: orphan boy / choir boy) someone who is innocent, virtuous, well-behaved and an all-around lovely person. Often used ironically.

Maulaffen feilhalten (lit: to sell mouth monkeys) to stand around gaping with your mouth open instead of doing something useful

Ach du grüne Neune/liebes Lieschen (lit: oh you green nine/dear Lieschen) oh my!

Käseblatt (n) (lit: cheese sheet) a newspaper of very poor journalistic quality

Jemandem ein X für ein U vormachen (lit: to try to sell an X as a U) To scam or trick someone. Same meaning: Jemanden über den Tisch ziehen (to drag someone over the table). Not to be confused with:

Jemanden/etwas durch den Kakao ziehen - (lit: to drag someone/something through the cocoa) To make fun of or parody someone/something

Steckenpferd (m.) (lit: stick horse) hobby

Da will man nicht tot überm Zaun hängen (lit:  where one doesn’t want to hang dead over the fence) Just to make sure you know exactly how awful this town/village and its inhabitants are

Schnapsidee (f) (lit: schnapps idea) an idea that only a very drunk person would conceive of or consider good

Held im Erdbeerfeld (lit: hero in the strawberry field) Someone who sees themself as a great hero without any real skills/achievements to back this up

Leben wie Gott in Frankreich (lit: to live like God in France) to live the high life

[cryinginmyroomsposts]

Svt as specific tropes cuz I am in a writer's block

a/n: these are purely personal opinions/ imagines. not proofread!

Scoups: enemies to lovers (I'm talking dagger to the throat enemies to "who hurt you" pipeline. scoups and his competitive petty ass would be perfect with an equally competitive and hot-headed oc. I'm talking sizzling chemistry, extreme frustration to tooth-rotting fluff)

Jeonghan: Frenemies to angst to friends to lovers (light-hearted frenemies until one day Jeonghan takes the joke a little too far which leads to angst and years of no-contact. A chance encounter during lowest times leading to a soft adult friendship evolving to a soft and chaotic lovers pipeline)

Joshua: strangers to comfort person to lover (he gives me a feel-good coming of age feels so I'll take a storyline with the heartbroken or worn down oc finding comfort in Shua who could be a stranger or a kind colleague. a full "we helped heal each other" and then moving away due to circumstances only to realise that you need your comfort person)

Jun: holiday romance (nana tour Jun vibes. two strangers in a random city who decide to spend a week having the utmost fun and never meet again... but of course fate brings them together and the angst of reality to eventually finding a balance in the paradise of their holiday whirlwind and reality... it's giving romcom)

Woozi: Best Friends pining for decades (A very soulmate-ish friendship. Woozi and oc are so extremely obvious about their feelings but are oblivious to the reciprocation- it's also obvious to everyone around them. The angst of "what-ifs", and ofcourse songs written abt the feelings, to angry confessions and happy endings. this one includes a lotttt of angst and dozens of bangers mixed with peak domestic behaviour and two ppl so attuned to each other like old married couples)

Hoshi: Accidental dance partners Hoshi and oc (might sound basic but I'm a dancer and it's a very indulgent trope... so yeah! I'm thinking college team dancers in competing teams are forced to pair up for a competition. Out-of-the-world chemistry- can't keep eyes and hands off each other, late night talks, "non-date" date nights and ofc anger issues(performers, duh!). Lots of parties, angst and eventually confessing. She falls first but he falls harder)

Wonwoo: second-chance romance (I think Wonwoo, I think angst(sorry wonu) and second chance. oc and wonu having whirlwind honeymoon phase until oc pushes him away. lots and lots of angst- confused wonu not knowing how to help oc. both of them miserable without the other... until Wonwoo can't take it anymore and makes oc lean on him for support. very gray and grounded in reality romance)

Dokyeom: Small-town romance (sunshine Lee Seokmin as a charming small-town business owner helping big-city-return troubled oc deal with life and falling in love? sign me up for the hallmark movie! Seokmin and his golden best boy smile healing hearts as always)

Mingyu: Arranged Marriage Trope (once again, a very self-indulgent imagination...Oc who doesn't believe in love after a heartbreak, Mingyu who accepted his destiny and never loved anyone. A very practical arranged marriage with both consenting parties. An agreement to stay "partners" and "friends" because they "Can't force feelings". Domestic life leads them to break every rule- written and unwritten... angst rising due to pasts and insecurity... oc's fear of abandonment, Mingyu's fear of attachment... a minor separation and major realisation... their very own happy ending at last! Mingyu Best Husband Agenda forever)

Minghao: Rival Artists with secret identities dating each other (Minghao dates the pretty stranger on a dating app, agree to keep things casual but lo behold they are falling fast and hard... all is well except both have secret identities as artists who are rivals. they love each other but hate the other's alter-ego... ofc this leads to miscommunication and angst, lost ways and breakups. but this is my imagination so they end up together after everything and conquer the art world)

Seungkwan: Celebrity Fake dating trope (Seungkwan would eat that shit up! Two A-list celebs: Seungkwan and oc, who appear together in a show and fans go crazy for their chemistry but they don't pay head. oc gets caught in a false accusation, needs a distraction- agencies make oc and Seungkwan fake date... on-camera they r perfect but off-cam it's all awkward... planned appearances to becoming friends, trauma bonding... sexual tension rises, life gets complicated, lots of angst later they end up dating happily)

Vernon: Falling without meeting each other (two online friends, fake names but authentic friendship across continents fall for each other without ever meeting other. against all odds they end up seeing each other eventually and staying together... this gives me old cinema vibes but in modern times, Vernon is so Vernon that only he'd be fitting)

Dino: High school fake dating (imagine Dino as Peter Kavinsky from To All The Boys I've Loved Before... a popular softie boy agreeing to fake date the silent girl, the only twist is Dino has been in love with her since middle school, he fell first and harder- a full simp! Very romcom coded angst and happy endings ofc- i just know Dino will make a perfect romcom male lead)

[radioactivewisdom]

The village cannot coexist alongside the nuclear family. Women often talk about how lonely being a wife and mother is, but that’s exactly the point. Isolation IS the purpose. Seclude two emotionally disturbed adults who will then groom their own children into being just like them. Parents are the first to snap at you “don’t tell me how to raise my kids!” Okay, then don’t expect me to help because all you really want is a free babysitter, and not just for the kids.

Single and childfree women face the most pressure to “help” families. In other words, be the heterosexually inspired breeding programs clean up crew. When mommy and daddy need to blow off steam they get to berate you. Legitimate involvement from villagers begins before children get here. They’d get to say “you’re in an unhealthy relationship and have no business bringing children into it” or “you’re already overwhelmed with one, don’t get pregnant again.” How well do you think that will go over? Even more so, you need to contribute more than having offspring. When was the last time a complaining set of parents cooked dinner for their aging neighbor? What about driving a sick coworker to a doctor’s appointment?

People, especially women are known for abandoning all others the moment they catch feelings. Once it’s legally binding and babies are born, you hardly see them again. This is yet another ploy to extract emotional labor from women. Which apparently is a major problem due to patriarchy, except when women do it to each other. The way coupled women feel as if they’re unappreciated and taken advantage of, is a single woman’s reality on all fronts. This world is already set up to benefit the nuclear family. Tax brakes and social validation aren’t enough. They should be able to have as many children as they want, regardless of the circumstances, and never struggle a day in their lives.

Raising children is hard when doing so on a planet filled to capacity with dumb degenerates, but whose fault is that? Generation after generation have done the same, have sex and reproduce without abandon, then scream about the consequences. The world is a scary place for children because of the families they’re born into. I’m not going to pitch in so a spineless mother can sign her daughter up for the same fate.

Family life is going exactly as planned, your happiness is supposed to come from filling a quota. Any other expectations came from your imagination. Marriage and reproduction have never been about romance and love. It’s about keeping up the flow of new bodies for political purposes, aka, natalism. If mommy and daddy need help, they can go to those just like themselves. Too bad the mythos of selflessness after parenthood is inaccurate, and they’d rather pop out another kid than help one that isn’t theirs.

All family units are out for themselves first, they admit this. They’re all after our planets limited resources and don’t seem to keen on sharing. Otherwise they’d already be attempting communal living and offering their help to each other free of cost. Why not split up the domestic duties equally instead of wasting time chastising women who freed themselves? If you want my help it’s going to come in the form of honesty. Until then, keep holding each other hostage under the guise of “family.” We all know what happened to women in the past who didn’t comply. The village serves one purpose, control.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

"His plaything"

Pairing: Prince Nuada x Fem. Reader (Human / Third person POV)

Themes: Dark | Smut

Warnings: Dark! Nuada | Dub-Con | Power imbalance dynamic | Degredation | Explicit language | Spanking | Penetrative sex | Rough Sex | Oral (Male receiving) | Cream pie | Angst

Word count: 1.6k words

Summary: Nuada searched for a means to satisfy his physical needs. The opportunity presented itself in one of the mortal servants made to serve at court.

Rating: 🔥🔥🔥| Minors DNI. You are responsible for the media you consume. | 18+

Rules and tag form here.

Nuada was a disciplined elf. He spent hours pouring over books and stone tablets in his lord father's great library. When he was not reading, he was sparring.

The crown prince was a warrior without peer, so the singers said. Even when he was but an elfling, it was said no match could be found for Nuada's gift with spears and swords. His father, the high king of all elves, considered him to be the greatest warrior of their people. And the most accomplished. The prince was not just gifted with the blade and well-read; he was also skilled in craftmanship and music and even dancing. It was a strange thing indeed, to see such a brutal warrior glide across a hall like a feather on the wind.

Handsome and charming and dangerous in equal measure, the prince never wanted for company. Nuada was always surrounded by beautiful maidens, all of them vying for his attention. He was unwed, you see, and was expected to take a wife. That was one of his duties: to marry a maiden of the highest birth and produce an heir. The prince understood this. He was more than willing to pledge himself to marriage, but he just needed time to find a bride worthy of him. Until then, he decided, he would find other means to satisfy his needs, for he was a warrior, and as disciplined as he was, he had a warrior's many appetites.

Of course, it must be said that the prince would never sate his hunger by taking another elf to bed. Oh no. Nuada abhorred the very notion of sullying one of his own people that way, no matter how lowborn the elf in question may be. He turned his eyes to the servants instead. They were all mortal hostages taken by his lord father after a great and terrible war. King Balor tolerated them as well as he could manage, and turned a blind eye to how they were treated, provided certain decencies were observed. Those decencies were simple enough: No torture. No working servants to death. No forced couplings. Alas, these edicts had many and more cracks to find if one knew how to find them.

And Nuada found one precisely to his liking.

"Why are you whimpering, little mortal? He grunted. "I thought a good little whore like you wanted nothing less than being bedded by the crown prince Bethmoora."

Whore. That was the choice word he called her, among other things. And yes, y/n did desire the crown prince ever since the moment she first saw him. Her dreams had been haunted by sweet and tender visions of him wooing her before bedding her. She thought that should her dream ever become reality, he would be as generous and courteous and gentle with her as he was with the ladies of his father's court. Such blissful ignorance only lasted until he caught her looking one night while serving his dinner. The prince only waited till his guests took their leave of him before asking her to sink to her knees. He had caressed her cheek, almost in affection, and insisted she open her mouth for him. Not knowing what was expected of her, y/n obeyed. So much had changed since then.

She jolted when he slapped her thigh. His hand was large and had been roughened by centuries of fighting and wielding weapons. It left a mark all of its own. He slapped her thigh again and dug his nails into her flesh. Y/n licked her lips. The prince was expecting an answer.

"I whimper out of pleasure, your highness," she replied as fast as she could, hoping it would please him. She may have felt some pleasure; it was true, but it was so little. The prince would slake his lust upon her body and chase his release, and show little care for her own. As soon as he was satisfied, Nuada would order her to dress and leave.

"You are not lying to me, yes? You do know what happens when people lie to me, yes?"

"I know, your highness. I am not lying, your highness."

Nuada grunted and grabbed her hips, muttering indencies in her ear the entire time. His hands left bruises wherever they touched. Sometime he held her so hard her body would be sore for several days after. Then there were the things he called her, not caring about how they might make her feel. Y/n would not have minded any of it had he shown any interest in her during the act. Or showed concern for her after it.

"Such a good little whore," he said, picking up his tortuous pace and thrusting even harder, filling her as deeply as he could. His nails dug into delicate skin, leaving bruises in their wake. "But you must be fucking silent. I like you that way. Is that understood?"

"Yes, your highness." Y/n lowered her arms and rested her head against the pillows. That allowed the prince to find another angle. He rammed her and found a new place that made her moan long and deep.

"I said be silent!" He barked at her and soon lost himself in her flesh. Nuada moaned and grew drunk on the sound of his thighs slapping against hers. He chose well, he thought. Y/n was meek and discrete and obedient, a maiden who had not known the touch of men until him. She was so soft, her skin warm, and her cunt plush and sinful whenever it fluttered and tightened around his cock. Then there was that sweet little mouth of hers. Nuada enjoyed seeing it swollen and glistening with the remnants of his spend.

The bed creaked softly. Y/n bit her lip and buried her face in the pillows. A heady mixture of pleasure and pain overwhelmed her even as fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. They had sprung from the knowledge that she was a mere plaything to the prince, someone he could use and throw aside once someone worthy of him was in the offing. And there would be someone worthy. Nuada would take an elf-maid hailing from only the highest of births for a wife. She, on the other hand, was a mere mortal, the only child of a petty king who dared to march against King Balor.

"If only your pathetic father could see you now," Nuada grunts and stops just long enough to reach over to gather her wrists. One hand tightens over them, keeping them behind her back. The other curled around her hair. He tugged hard whenever he sheathed himself in her. "A slut servicing her master."

Her father had been allowed to live on the condition that she be sent to court as a hostage. He had no say in where she was placed or whom she had to serve. He was not allowed to know, either. Perhaps this was a mercy.

The air grew thick and heated. The room felt uncommonly warm. Y/n's neck ached from Nuada tugging her hair. Her entire body trembled with each violent thrust. Tiny beads of sweat formed over her skin. Her breath had reduced to shallow gasps and pants. A sweet tension gathered in her core. She was close. So close. But the question remained: will the prince let her have her pleasure just this once?

That was not to be. Nuada felt the coiling in his belly. He was on the precipice of his release, and he had no intention of spilling his seed in y/n's slick heat. As glorious as that would be, he did not wish to risk planting a halfling bastard in y/n's belly. The elves were the children of the earth. The golden blood of the true ancients and the elder gods flowed strong in their veins, and Nauda would never dream of mingling his blood with that of a lesser creature. He drew back and got out of bed, pulling y/n with him as he did. She knew what was to happen next and did well to hide the sadness welling within her.

"Open," he commanded, after she settled on her knees.

Y/n obeyed, letting her mouth go slack while he sank his length all the way in. She kept still while he set the pace, her breath filled with the clean scent of him. His cock was warm and heavy on her tongue. Y/n tightened her lips just enough, just as he taught her the first night. He moaned. She opened her eyes. His head was thrown back, and his mouth was slightly parted. Nuada moved, fucking her mouth and grunting whenever that sinful tongue of hers glided along his member. He sighed wistfully, grabbed at her hair, and went faster and deeper, delighting in the little gagging sounds she made. All y/n could do was keep her hands on her thighs and let Nuada enjoy himself. She was not allowed to touch him during the act or speak to him unless spoken to. He delighted in that too, for he believed that was where mortals like her belonged. Silent and by the feet of their betters.

A few more moments were all it took. "Fuck," Nuada muttered while his cock throbbed and twitched and a warm torrent of his spend spilled onto y/n's tongue. He pressed himself hard against her lips while still riding the high of his orgasm, groaning one last time before finally pulling his cock out of her mouth. The prince ran a thumb over the servant girl's lips, pleased to find them glistening and swollen as always.

"Swallow," he commanded, and brushed a thumb over her tears. He brought it to his mouth, as if to savor the taste. "Swallow my spend like the good whore that you are."

Y/n obeyed, trying not wrinkle her face when the salty essence of him washed down her throat. She knew Nuada would not let her leave until she had swallowed every last drop. Nuada grunted in approval when she opened her mouth and he found it empty. He lifted y/n to her feet and kissed her hard on the lips, his fingers digging into her skin. When he pulled away his eyes glinted in savage triumph.

"Get dressed, and then get out," he said without even looking at her. "I have had my fill of you this night."

Y/n gathered her clothes. Her fingers trembled, as if they had all turned to thumbs. She fumbled with the lacing on her dress, the ties of her neat little apron. She glanced at him. Many a turn of the moon had come and gone since their first coupling, and the prince could not bring himself to even pretend to show her a shred of kindness and respect. Y/n sniffled and looked away.

Nuada made a sound of disgust. "Spare me the sad little doe eyes. I will not fall for it. Now get out and get one of the others to draw me a bath."

Y/n slipped into her shoes and fled into the cold and empty darkness, finding it a welcome relief to the prince's company.

[perpetual-ash]

one end is one empire: monogamy in the nine houses

in Harrow The Ninth we are told the origins of lyctorhood lie in research conducted by john's disciples in the hopes of establishing how best to serve alongside their lord without needing him to confer immortality—those who became the first adepts and first cavaliers, then the first lyctors. we know that ultimately the design of lyctorhood was, in reality, a way for john to ensure his loved ones would be something he could touch, for them to become his hands and his fingers. the disciples' collective legacy lived on in two ways: the fruits of the lyctoral process, his saints, and the institution of the cavalier-necromancer bond throughout the nine houses.

as we see specifically highlighted in A Sermon on Cavaliers and Necromancers, this bond is a cultural fixture of house society and is emphasised not only as “one flesh, one end” but also as the essential equation of “the one binds to the other”; the sanctity of this bond lies in the framing of the two as being complementary halves, necromancer and cavalier forming one, and this sanctity being threatened by the disruption of the essential equation of one necromancer and one cavalier. a single cavalier paired with multiple adepts is placed under the logistical burden of supplying thanergy to, and protecting, multiple individuals whilst an abundance of cavaliers would leave the necromancer ill-equipped to perform necromantic feats that require intimate understanding of another's thanergy. the complementary difference of each is also their undoing as individuals: the necromancer's art is impossible without a swordswoman, and they are rejected by thalergy planets, while a lone cavalier without the care or craft of an adept is vulnerable “amid the bullet-filled barbarism of other planets”.

the bond is characterised as a joining of complementary halves, a union of the two incomplete to form a whole one. its nature is defind by each using “one flesh, one end” as a maxim for their passion for each other; the other is their ideal and their completeness. it is said to be the underpinning of house society—without the acknowledgement of the cavalier and necromancer's duties to each other, the sanctity of one binding to the other being upheld, and the continued reproduction of the bond the houses will fail in their mission to uphold the values of the god who became man and man who became god.

“Those who hold the sword must hold it for the necromancer. Those who were born with thanergetic nervous systems ply their art only by the grace of the sword. The necromancer is weak, and the sword is strong. The sword is weak, and the necromancer is strong. Our pleasure at the bond unbroken between necromancer and cavalier is a Nine Houses acknowledgement of the equality granted to us by God.” — Tamsyn Muir, A Sermon on Cavaliers and Necromancers

lyctorhood: the marriage of flesh and spirit

though it is made clear throughout the series that literal marriage of the two is considered to be taboo, grotesque and even traitorous to the ideals of the necrolord prime—in harrow the ninth, it is explicitly said that there are many strictures against a necromancer marrying their own cavalier—the bond between the necromancer and cavalier itself is an overt parallel to the christian concept of marriage: it is the joining of two incomplete, complementary halves to become one flesh in the name of god. house society is divided into adepts and non-adepts: those who bear necromantic characteristics that make them resemble the emperor, and those who do not, but can join with those that do and become as one flesh—one in his image, and one who can join with those that resemble him.

despite their supposed nature as complementary halves, incomplete as individuals, it is also made clear that the taboo against marriage and romantic entanglement is one born out of the necessity of keeping the bond a meeting of complementary forces united in the name of god rather than a codependent loss of self. the erasure of the difference between them violates the sanctity of their bond, diminishes each before society and god: the two are united as one flesh, but must remain unfused and defined as halves. the joining of necromancer and cavalier is one that necessitates their continued division.

She didn’t have to tell me in so many words what we both knew, that the relationship between cavalier and necromancer could so easily curdle into codependency . . . a loss of self on both sides. An obsessive fusion of halves, not two complementary forces. —Tamsyn Muir, As Yet Unsent

the reality of this, of course, is that the loss of self on both sides is an unequal one: the adept resembles john where her swordswoman doesn't, is the one to serve as her house's heir as opposed to the heir's bodyguard and representative in duels. the eighth—illustrated as the most devout and orthodox of the houses—is the one that best illustrates this imbalance through their use of soul siphoning, a temporary displacement of the cavaliers soul for the deriving of power through the ensuing void. the difference between necromancer and cavalier is their strength, and to forget it is to become diminished, their complementary forces lost to obsessive fusion.

the cavalier's role in the lyctoral model is to be consumed, to become the furnace of their necromancer's lyctorhood. the body of a cavalier is a means to an end, the swordhand that is discarded once a necromancer can take up the weapon in their own, and their soul is a source of perpetual thanergy and a securement of legacy, immortality. a cavalier is trained to follow a half-step behind and wait upon their adept, to die for them if needs must, and is conditioned to accept that their duty is a sacrificial one. the cavalier facilitates the art and legacy of the adept; the adept is born into the art, and the cavalier is born into service in the name of that art.

the necromancer's role in the lyctoral model is to consume, to ply the art with the aid of their cavalier and to burn the cavalier to fuel the formation of their legacy, a literal immortality of self. their necromantic characteristics are seen to make them more like the emperor, as per A Sermon on Necromancers and Cavaliers, and drives expectant parents to concern themselves with ensuring that their children are born on a thanergetic planet or in proximity to thanergetic grave dirt. each house is ruled by a necromantic scion. the equality of cavalier and necromancer may be spoken of at length, but the supremacy of the necromancer in society is clear; the adept knows the art, is closer to god, due to being born with a gift only found on thanergetic worlds, the emperor's dominion. it is the necromancer who becomes the lyctor, and the cavalier who serves as their furnace.

you cannot separate the concept of lyctorhood from john and alecto, nor the concept of necromancer and cavalier—both concepts originated with john and alecto. in fact, lyctorhood was conceived as an emulation of their bond: “You let us think we’d cracked it [...] You had already done it yourself. But you had done it perfectly!!” “Then, when the disciples come to you and say the word Lyctor, she does not understand that they want the thing you did to her—she watches as you watch … watch them misunderstand the process.”

when john created alecto—his cavalier, the first cavalier—he ate soil, wrenched a rib from his own body, and conjured a labyrinthe to house her in: partook in her flesh and imprisoned her in a body composed of a comminglement of hers and his, hid him in her and her in him. a marriage of flesh and spirit. similarly, the petty lysis we are familiar with requires the literal consumption of the cavalier's flesh and the integration of their soul with the necromancer.

Then the LORD God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.” — Genesis 2:18

those who hold the sword must hold it for the necromancer, just as the necromancer can only ply the art by the grace of the sword; a lyctor, a necromancer, can hold the sword for themselves, and ply the art by their own grace. a grace in the image of god.

john's saints invented the process that allowed them to go on to wield the sword and bring themselves closer to his image, but that process required the lives of their cavaliers. john ensured that it did. the echoes of this manipulation are what went on to form the basis for the necromancer-cavalier bond that permeates house society, and shaped the empire; just as he coerced his loved ones into becoming his fists and gestures, john instituted a societal binary composed of people in his image (necromancers) and a people who can live and die to serve them (cavaliers).

“But from the very beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.  ‘That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife and the two become one flesh.’ And so they are no longer two but one flesh. Therefore, what God has joined together, let no one separate.” — Mark 10:6-Mark 10:9

the monogamous implication of one end

as we have explored, the bond of necromancer and cavalier is one modelled on that of the lyctors, itself modelled on that of john and alecto, and serves the twofold purpose of compensating for the physical infirmity of the necromancer and facilitating lyctorhood—the cavalier's duties are that of bodily service and sacrifice. it is a joining of complementary halves, inadequate in their individuality, the necromancer who resembles john and the cavalier who serves them and dies for them; it is defined by an essential equation, the one binding to the other—one flesh, one end, one empire.

in this way, it is a union that parallels the christian marriage in a number of respects: it is founded on the belief in an oppositional delineation of peoples into two immutable categories, benefits one of these to the detriment of the other in accordance with the will of god—specifically the category said to resemble him most closely, ensures that the beneficiary's legacy may continue through their union and the bodily labour of the other, and the arrangement is thought to be foundational to and uphold the godliness of the society. to sour the sanctity of marriage, of cavaliership, is to betray the ideals of god; the pursuit of true equality contradicts his design and is limited by societal strictures. their union is to each other, but they must not be codependent, must remain aligned with their roles, and must serve their emperor faithfully—to forget their difference and their roles is to diminish themselves.

“Monogamy is formed, then, not as a relationship between just two people, but rather as a complex system of obligations and social and moral impositions - mainly governed by christian morality, in which the family is legitimized only by sacred marriage and by the values of capitalism, of propagating wealth from family generation to family generation and the maintenance of private properties – which has, as its scope, the guarantee of monopoly and concentration of wealth and power of the nobles to the detriment of division of inheritance with “bastard” children. In this way, it is clear that, even before capitalism, monogamy is necessary for the management and maintenance of this system, serving as a support for the reproduction of power mechanisms in the social body - especially in the beginning and expansion of the capitalist formation - mainly through the family. Capitalism invests itself in the life, affections and sexualities of the population in order to use them as State apparatuses for the maintenance of relations of production and power through compulsory monogamy.” — @zapatism, Capitalism and monogamy

the exploitative nature of christian monogamous marriage, its role in ensuring the supremacy of the man, how it ensures the propagation of his legacy, marriage's contribution to the maintenance of other social institutions such as the nuclear family, and the institution's legacy of socially coercive mononormativity are all literalised by lyctorhood throughout the series. the necromancer is male and cavalier female, both in the societal sense and in the biblical sense, and this dynamic is made clearest by how lyctorhood is perfectly emblematic of patriarchal monogamy, a social arrangement that benefits the necromancer and wholly subsumes the cavalier.

“It is based on the supremacy of the man, the express purpose being to produce children of undisputed paternity; such paternity is demanded because these children are later to come into their father’s property as his natural heirs. It is distinguished from pairing marriage by the much greater strength of the marriage tie, which can no longer be dissolved at either partner’s wish. As a rule, it is now only the man who can dissolve it, and put away his wife [...] The Greeks themselves put the matter quite frankly: the sole exclusive aims of monogamous marriage were to make the man supreme in the family, and to propagate, as the future heirs to his wealth, children indisputably his own. Otherwise, marriage was a burden, a duty which had to be performed, whether one liked it or not, to gods, state, and one’s ancestors.” — Frederick Engels, Origins of the Family, Private Property, and the State

gideon, camilla, and naberius all demonstrate how the cavalier is pushed to sacrifice and conditioned to accept the supremacy of their necromancer while their respective necromancers showcase how the necromancer is bred and coerced into accepting the expendability of their cavalier. gideon justifies her own suicide, camilla pleads with pyrrha to lie to palamedes about how their incomplete lysis is steadily killing her, and naberius is murdered by his own necromancer; ianthe justifies the murder of her own cavalier from birth as an acceptable payment made with the life of a man born to die for her ambitions, palamedes is forced to pursue a 'truer' form of lyctorhood in the hopes of preserving camilla, and harrowhark's refusal to accept gideon's life results in her own incomplete lysis that is reponded to via corrective violence performed by g1deon at the behest of john.

the violence we see play out throughout the series overtly demonstrates the way societally enforced monogamy can foster and justify abusive dynamics, extreme levels of codependence, and corrective violence in response to abnormality. simultaneously, we see how the conditions necessary for normalising the necromancer-cavalier within society are, at their core, eerily familar systems of oppression and the construction of false homogenities such as monogamy itself;¹ the continued reproduction on the bond, like so many false homogenities, is reliant on societally instituted exploitation, coercion, and corrective violence that will hit close to home for a queer audience.

the union of necromancer and cavalier is descended from lyctorhood and is akin to marriage in a mononormative society, while lyctorhood itself represents the very height of how christian marriage functions to reify male supremacy and it and the ideals that reinforce it (delineation of the population into two supposedly indelibly distinct, complementary, oppositional groups that are coerced into the formation of supposedly equal unions that favour one that is a beneficiary of widespread societal privilege) aid in the maintenace of patriarchy and the reproduction of normative arrangements that contribute to the continued existence of the systems individuals live under. cavaliership maintains necromancer supremacy just as christian ideas of monogamy and marriage maintain male supremacy. john gaius' post-resurrection reconstruction of christianity does not stop at imagery and terminology: he has recreated a distinctly christian take on patriarchy and monogamy, based on thanergetic nervous systems instead of sex.

Malachi 2:10

those born on the houses think themselves to be fundamentally different to those born outside them; within house society necromancers reign supreme, and cavaliers' status is married to that of their necromancer's. the prejudice we see directed toward zombies and wizards is onscreen and blatant, horrific at times, but justified by the nine houses being known for their imperialism and brutal tactics. the discrimination toward those who lay outside the houses is much less overt, but nonetheless felt. we know from the beginning of Gideon the Ninth that the empire has enemies yet they are not characterised, humanised, or acknowledged in much capacity—and this remains consistent throughout the series until Nona the Ninth.

it is here we see, in detail, the treatment of non-house citizens: frequent planetary resettlement, bombarding, brutal violence that churns out waves of traumatised refugees, and a complete lack of acknowledgement of their plights. they are beneath notice. we do not see them until we, the readers, are placed on the ground of one such occupied planet and privy to ianthe's boredom as she rattles off a laundry list of horrific implications regarding how any individual or group who violates these conditions renders the entire agreement null and void, and the population will consequently represent a legal entity that has damaged property, acted unlawfully, committed or been accessory to murder, and performed a coup.

the people born outside the empire are subject to continual mass punishment for being born on thalergy planets, for being the descendants of those who turned their back on earth, for resisting resettlement and occupation, for the crime of their existence. they are cattle, to be herded and exterminated with little fanfare. they are fundamentally different to those born on thanergetic planets; the necromancy-cavalier binary is what separates house citizens from animals.

"One flesh" is the underpinning of our whole Empire. We are born necromancers, or we are not; yet we are one. The non-necromancer will still have necromantic children. The necromancer will have parents who lacked the aptitude. The possibility is within us. We live under the thanergenic light of Dominicus, are born, grow, and die in his thanergetic Houses; the Resurrection made us so. We are fundamentally different to those born on thalergy planets outside the Empire. Our anxiety drives the expectant parent to arrange to give birth back home, or concern themselves with the baby's proximity to grave dirt sourced from home. Our necromantic characteristics make us more like the Emperor. As he was once man, and became God, and was God and became man, so were we dead and became alive; so were we alive and became dead. — Tamsyn Muir, A Sermon on Cavaliers and Necromancers

john is a queer indigenous man who has created a neochristofascist empire, locked in a state of perpetual warfare and expansion, that is geared toward the mobilisation of violence against a population in diaspora, in the name of vengeance for an indelible sin committed by their ancestors. those within this empire differentiate themselves from the barbaric people their society subjects to constant displacing violence via a belief in their closeness to god, a closeness based on their position in a social arrangement that closely adheres to christian patriarchy and mononormativity. he has implemented the kind of violence wielded against indigenous people the world over throughout history in the name of punishment; john has taken up the tools of christian hegemony to oppress the descendants of the trillionaires.

the root of the problem with the nine houses is that it is an empire with concentrated theocratic power fueled by exploitation, and that theocratic power is explicitly modelled on christianity and the patriarchy that implies. cavaliership is one such example of where that leads. john's aims may have been supposedly noble, but the material results of his actions are the recreation of the same systems of oppression that have been used against those like him for all of history, and the ones we chafe under even now. nobody with truly noble aims and a firm stance against oppression would take up the exact oppressive systems he was subject to and turn them against another; is vengeance a truly noble cause when it hinges on the same oppressions that led to the conditions of the inciting incident?

similarly, we see the ways these false homogenities are indeed false: the enactor of corrective violence—g1deon—is himself an incomplete lyctor and was romantically entangled with both wake and pyrrha; john could be similarly said to be a subversion of this monogamy, but i would argue his case is instead an illustration of male/necromancer supremacy—his affairs with his saints come after he uses his power over alecto, gained through their ur-necromancer/cavalier bond, to 'put away his wife' in the name of maintaining the approval of his lyctors. i can't really elaborate on this anymore beyond recommending @familyabolisher's analysis of how the multiplicity of cavalierhood as a subject position casts the spectre of potential incest where Kiriona and Alecto are concerned as it is very much in the same vein as this

[agentrouka-blog]

Sometimes I think GRRM is much more sensitive to Sansa than he is to Dany, regarding their dynamics with older men.

I think he's trying to say something about Dany by the way she perceives these men and their interactions, and not in an unsympathetic way.

The Stark children aren't somehow inherently better or "made different" than other characters in the series. We see them face horrible things, but often times we also see them magically spared from sharing a fate that is depicted happening to their mirrors. Take the miller's sons dying in the place of Bran and Rickon. Take the horrible tales of rape and murder that Arya only ever overhears. Take Lollys vs. Sansa during the riots. Some of it is happenstance, some of it is their noble status, some of it is prior relationships, some of it is simply plot armor.

But the key of their emotional resiliance lies in the fact that their parents loved them, modeled a reasonably stable and loving marriage, and raised them with attention and principles. They were not perfect by far, and utterly products of their time, but they were solid and they were present. The Stark children have a sense of how the world can work and they have a sense of self that is fairly secure, even through hardship.

Characters like Dany, or Tyrion, or Cersei, tend to become what they are because they are not spared in key ways. And they did not have that crucial foundation.

Dany is not raised lovingly. She is not spared marital rape. She has no home to cling to in her memories, no model of healthy family dynamics - and literally no one who ever bothers to try and genuinely help her for her own sake.

So she doesn't know what healthy dynamics are. Not true justice, not consent, not a relationship of equals, not genuine tenderness. She can't take refuge in her inner child, she killed her in chapter three. She has no healthy outlet for her grief and her rage. She has no concept of a happy future that isn't tied to power. She has no framework for a different reality. And that is what we see play out in her arc. And that is also why her relationships with men are depicted as they are. The misery she experiences in reality is unmitigated by even a sense of injustice and validation of her pain by anyone around her. So she erases that misery from her reality. She invents an uneasy pretense of equality based on her queenship and later her dragons that leaves her feeling empty and powerless without understanding why.

She may never ever understand why.

It's a tragedy. It's the tragedy, that, I think, GRRM is trying to tell through her. She should have been given help. Any scrap of love, and she may not have become what she did.

So when Sansa is spared and emotionally survives on a privilege of having been loved, we must also imbue her character with the obligation to pass it on, to show mercy, to love, to help. Same with the rest of the Starks.

And when they fail, like Robb did, they will not prosper.

[inthedreamatorium1]

Trying to decide what episode is my favorite is my Sophie's choice.

Episode 1 you have these two sweet and kind individuals who undergo a transformation and think they're now hot shit when in reality, they're still massive losers. Hashtag they tried.

Episode 2 we have so much flirting! On the promenade! At the market! At Bridgerton House! At the Full Moon Ball! The ton really are blind because how does no one see it. And then the kiss. THE KISS. *swoon*

Episode 3 we have yearning. All of the yearning. Colin not knowing what to do with himself because he can't stop yearning. He yearns when he's awake. He yearns when he's asleep. And when he's not yearning, he's saving Penelope from the world's slowest ballon and looks so sexy doing it. Everything that happens at the Innovations Ball is incredible. Colin fully leaning into what he's feeling, not denying that he loves Pen, trying (and failing) to be subtle about it with his mom, marching up to Pen to tell her how he feels but losing all train of thought because he looked at Pen's lips. And then the ending when he's watching Pen and LD dance? It's heartbreaking because we've all been there.

Episode 4 we have chaotic and brave Colin. A Colin who recalls a small moment where he thinks Pen might might have feelings for him too and makes the brave decision to try. Who has no idea that Pen feels the same way. Who knows he's risking their friendship but still needs to try. Who literally walks up to Pen and LD when they're dancing, interrupts them, and pleads with Pen not to marry him. Who literally runs after Pen's carriage, despite not knowing if she rejected LD's proposal or not. Who gets on his knees in front of her and confesses that he would literally die without her. Who just balls to the wall goes for it and kisses her and gives her her first sexual experience all while being respectful and checking boundaries and not at all thinking about his own pleasure because giving her pleasure is enough. Who adjusts her dress and hair when they arrive home and jumps out of the carriage already thinking they're going to be married. For God's sake, Penelope Featherington. Are you going to marry me or now? CHAOTIC COLIN FTW

Episode 5 has Colin standing up to Portia. It has Colin telling Pen he loves her. It has Colin expressing his desire for Pen and making her feel beautiful and powerful and confident. It has one of the most realistic love scenes EVER. It has the intensity of their engagement party with Pen's secret hanging over it. The first time I watched this episode, I was GAGGED.

Episode 6 has in love Polin. The engagement ring! The flirting across the church! Pen telling Colin that she's always loved him! Them dancing in the church! Pen allowing herself to enjoy the engagement and being swept up into the planning. Their dance at the Mondrich ball. AND COLIN FINDING OUT PEN IS LADY WHISTLEDOWN.

Episode 7 basically shows us in every way possible how much Colin is in love with Penelope. Despite being hurt and confused and angry, he loves her with everything he is. There is no Colin without Penelope. He worships her completely and that's what makes his distance so heartbreaking. Because he WANTS her so badly. But he refuses himself because he doesn't want to bring that anger and confusion and hurt into their marital bed. He won't give himself to her because it's not fair to either of them. Again, Colin is brave and honestly the best man ever. You never once not feel how much he loves her throughout this entire episode. Also the wedding dance? *dies*

Episode 8 is beautiful in that it allows Colin and Pen to come together as equals. Colin respecting Pen to let her take care of this herself. Pen giving space and agency to Colin's feelings, never once begging or promising him anything. They show up side-by-side, supporting one another completely, with no stipulations. They demonstrate how hard marriage is but when you love each other, you make the effort to make it work. And oh, did they. Colin's love speech to Pen left me in tears because who wouldn't want to be told how brilliant and brave they are? And who wouldn't want to be told that the light and energy you bring to the world is inspiring? If my only purpose in life is to love a woman as great as you, then I'll be a very fulfilled man indeed. Colin Bridgerton, you really have set the bar high for all men.

So yeah. I can't pick what my favorite episode is. Colin and Penelope's story is breathtakingly beautiful and every episode is so perfect.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

"Meghan was as blind to the reality of royal life as Harry was to the reality of life without them. Like I said yesterday, they sold each other a PR narrative that crumbled the second they said ‘I do,’ and they’ve been scrambling to keep those narratives going ever since."

Plus Meghan AND Harold wanting William& Kate's material life and status as opposed to the responsibilities. 

Partly because Harold was treated like William for a long time, probably more indulged than William for reasons everyone discusses ad nauseum, lines became blurred as to expectations.

According to SPARE, Harold convinced himself that if he got married, his life would get the same upgrades that William got upon marriage and possibly more because he believed that the family only handed out the goodies to the married ones because marriage was treated as a milestone telegraphing adulthood and maturity. That's the bill of goods he sold Markle as well as the mirage of being the most popular family member as he was = Queen and or ability to dictate family matters as Diana had succeeded in doing. 

The big problem with coveting WK's life, is that they don't see the work and patience that went into building that life. Kate lived in Nott Cottage for years and even added a newborn before she could move into the big apartment or Anmer. At best she decamped to her parents' home when it got too much.

The Sussexes tell us all about WK's luxurious apartment because they didn't bother to make Nott Cott a home for themselves even with royal collection furniture at their disposal which WK were also invited to use and they did/ do. 

Casa Montecito has really basic, ugly furniture from the little glimpses that they've shown with no attempt to make it cosy or luxurious or covetable. 

The respect that WK command now, took work and patience to build up. The Sussexes complain it isn't fair that they aren't equally respected while they do no work and tear down the little people give them for being royals. 

The list is endless as to why their vision failed, but primarily it's because they aren't prepared to work to realise the vision they covet and they have no plan B.