#captive pursuit

[sshbpodcast]

Character Spotlight: Miles O’Brien

By Ames

Though he was introduced in The Next Generation (in the pilot episode, no less!), Miles Edward O’Brien doesn’t really get to stretch his legs until he gets promoted to chief engineer in Deep Space Nine. Not much room in the transporter room, I’m afraid. As Star Trek’s most epitomic everyman, the chief isn’t some magic-powered alien or augmented human or even a pinnacle of futuristic ethics. Hell, it’s his flaws that make him more relatable than most other characters in the franchise, and he remains one of the most popular crewmembers all around!

Is it Colm Meaney’s approachable yet nuanced performance? Is it the strength of the writing of DS9? Or do we just love watching a grown man suffer in the way only O’Brien can? Find out below as your hosts of A Star to Steer Her By shine this week’s spotlight on the chief, and listen to this week’s banter over on the podcast (beam over to 55:13). Jaysus!

[Images © CBS/Paramount]

Best moments

They say you will be doing this manually, sir. No automation.  O’Brien shows up in the first TNG episode, “Encounter at Farpoint,” though he doesn’t get a name yet. And even though Picard orders Riker to reattach the saucer section as a test of his skills, frankly O’Brien does almost all of the work. Riker really only tells O’Brien to reattach the two sections and he just goes and does it while Riker gets all the credit. No respect, I tell ya!

The minstrel boy to the war has gone For most of TNG, O’Brien is stuck in the transporter room, but he gets to use those abilities to beam over to the Phoenix in “The Wounded”! Even through shields! Now that’s impressive on its own, but there’s more. Despite his predilection towards hating the spoonheads, he talks Captain Maxwell out of destroying a Cardassian supply vessel and surely inciting another war.

I’ve been doing this for twenty-two years and I haven’t lost anybody yet One more great use of transporter chief O’Brien comes when Barclay is exhibiting transporterphobia in “Realm of Fear.” Though most of the crew view Barclay’s eccentricities as irrational, O’Brien remains understanding and patient throughout, and works with Reg to figure out what’s really going on in the pattern buffer and save the crewmen trapped in there.

Now you are Tosk as well, O’Brien Our overall favorite Miles moment from the show is probably how he stands up for Tosk in “Captive Pursuit” and helps him escape from his hunters. In one of our best examples showcasing when it’s a good idea to disobey the Prime Directive, O’Brien makes a statement by taking off his combadge to go do what’s right, saving the life of a subjugated person.

I’ve met some Cardassians I didn’t like, and I’ve met some I did O’Brien starts off “Cardassians” being racist about letting Rugal play with Molly or share their table, but it’s commendable how he warms up to the boy. They find common ground. Granted, it’s in how much they hate Cardassia, but it’s something. But it’s truly a great moment when he bonds with Rugal: someone who’s had no choice in life and whose future is being decided for him.

I want to die on my feet Here’s a quick badass moment from O’Brien. When he’s already dying from the bioweapon in “Armageddon Game” and the T'Lani and the Kelleruns are about the execute him to get rid of all people with knowledge of the harvesters, Miles requests that they allow him the dignity of dying on his feet instead of slumped in his own filth. There’s something powerful about that.

He’s their commander. They trusted him. He can’t leave them. This one’s controversial since “Hippocratic Oath” is so multifaceted in a lot of ways. Last time, we commended Julian for his humanitarian (Jem’Hadaritarian?) attempts to save our Dominion enemies from their ketracel-white addiction. Well, O’Brien is there to save Bashir from himself when the doctor’s attempts fail and a bunch of rabid alien soldiers are ready to tear the humans apart.

That boy’s life is in our hands and I won’t let anybody give up on him O’Brien’s friendship with Quique Muniz culminates in some beautiful scenes in “The Ship.” Muniz is dying a whole lot and O’Brien never gives up on him, even battling (verbally and physically) with Worf over how to handle his approaching death. And when the inevitable does occur, it’s all the more heartbreaking when Worf joins in the ritual ak’voh.

This is how an engineer plays kotra You don’t see a lot of scenes between Garak and O’Brien throughout the show. Now some of that is probably that they don’t like sharing Julian’s attention, but the rest is that there’s no trust between the Cardassian spy and the hero of Setlik Three. We get to see them stand off in “Empok Nor” and O’Brien impresses by outsmarting the homicidal Garak using his engineering skills!

Good cat, Chester! Even when infiltrating the Orion Syndicate (for reasons), O’Brien tries to do the right thing. He tries to tip Bilby off in “Honor Among Thieves” when he has entrapped him, though that does neither of them any good. But even more importantly, Miles agrees to take in Chester, who is a pretty cat and a good cat, and your SSHB hosts here have to give him credit for that.

The cause of death was the Orion Syndicate In fact, O’Brien was so dedicated to his sorta father figure that when Bilby’s widow has vanished in “Prodigal Daughter,” he goes looking for her. Without asking or informing anyone, which probably wasn’t the brightest move, but this is Miles we’re talking about. And without him, we’d never have solved her murder case at the hands of Ezri’s messed up family’s business.

You gotta friend in me Just as we did in the Julian spotlight, we’ve got to close out on O’Brien’s sweet friendship with the good doctor. Bashir, who never looks before he leaps, frequently finds himself needing the constant support and level head of someone like Miles when he does asinine things like leap into Sloan’s head in “Extreme Measures,” even when it’s a bad idea, as we've discussed before.

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Worst moments

Don’t phaser the messenger I’ll avoid citing marriage to Keiko as a Worst Moment because that’s mean, but the way they got married in “Data’s Day” was painful to watch. The audience’s first impression of their relationship is one in which both parties refuse to communicate over something as important as their marriage, and make Data (of all people!) act as their middleman. What a terrible start!

Sweetheart, I’m not a fish Don’t worry, there’s more to drag about how Miles and Keiko’s relationship was depicted in TNG. In the very next episode, “The Wounded,” we see just how they clearly didn’t know each other before deciding to get hitched. Neither likes how each other eats. Guys, you can hate each other’s food because, ya know what, food replicators exist! Order your own potato casserole!

I hate what I became because of you We give Miles a lot of grief on the podcast for his systematic racism. Which is fair – he certainly is quick to hate on other races on occasion. We see this explored interestingly in “The Wounded,” for which we already gave him credit for transcending his racism above, but not before he snaps at Daro and blames the Cardassians for Maxwell’s actions before knowing if he was even right or not.

Grapevine says Chief O’Brien and the missus are having problems But let’s move on to when Miles makes it to the main credits in DS9. As expected, we’re starting off with more Keiko drama. We learn in “A Man Alone” that Keiko was none too pleased about being uprooted (cuz she’s a botanist, get it?) from the Enterprise, and they argue about it publicly at Quark’s. In front of everyone. Do they never communicate before major life changes?

I suppose you’d be happier if I was miserable? I’m sorry that there’s more Keiko drama to include. I didn’t do this on purpose. In “Fascination,” Keiko is finally doing actual botany work and feeling useful doing a long term study on Bajor, and yet she and Miles end up fighting (again, in the middle of Quark’s!) about extending her assignment. And to make matters worse, Miles insinuates she’s having an affair! Dude! Stop.

They call me Smiley Smiley O’Brien is almost indistinguishable from our universe’s Miles (they’re both inherently good guys who suffer enormously), so I’d say it’s safe to include kidnapping Sisko in “Through the Looking Glass” and coercing him into pretending to be mirror Sisko on the naughty list. What a bold move! The Terran Resistance is lucky to have him even if we the audience are getting sick of mirror land.

They’re killers. That’s all they know how to do. Jake may have included saving Dr. Bashir in “Hippocratic Oath” on his Best Moments list, but we’ve also got to reprimand O’Brien for sabotaging Julian’s attempt to cure the Jem’Hadars’ addiction. It’s not just in order to save his friend’s life. Miles states up and down that Goran’Agar is not to be trusted because he’s a Jem’Hadar and starts spewing all the old propaganda again, like a racist.

Just leave a Yelp review, dude While it’s always sadistically fun to watch O’Brien suffer (Colm Meaney does it so well!), it’s also rough to see just how poorly he recovers in an episode like “Hard Time.” Miles is suffering hard from PTSD and guilt and he takes it by attacking Quark. Even worse, he nearly beats Molly when she’s annoying him, which is shocking coming from Miles. Please, seek professional help.

All the time you were holding out on me Later in “Hard Time,” we learn what was on Miles’s conscience the whole time. While in his memory jail, he gets paranoid enough of his cellmate Ee’Char that he murders him in cold blood over a couple orts of food that Ee’Char wasn’t even hoarding for himself. Even though none of it was real, the knowledge that Miles could be pushed to kill an innocent man is a huge blow for him.

It gets worse. There’s a view. We ragged on this plotline in the Kira spotlight as well, but there’s enough discomfort to go around. Those weird, unnecessary feelings Miles develops for a pregnant Kira in “Looking for par'Mach in All the Wrong Places” are just a bad plot device. It feels forced to make two people get romantically awkward just because they’re in proximity with each other. Just lazy.

There’s no hiding from the Syndicate Does it make a ton of sense to force O’Brien to infiltrate the Orion Syndicate in “Honor Among Thieves”? Especially in the middle of the Dominion War? Maybe not, but he does a decent job winning the trust of Liam Bilby using his engineering skills and general good nature. In fact, he does such a good job that he certainly gets Bilby killed in Starfleet’s scheme, like a little rat.

Molly and the Hendersons It is just deplorable how “Time’s Orphan” treats the developmentally stunted Molly O’Brien, and the most shame belongs to Miles and Keiko. What parent would give up on their trauma-ridden child after just a few days and release her into the dangerous wild to live like an animal? I am appalled that not once did anyone float another option to aid in Molly’s rehabilitation, but even more appalled that getting rid of her was the proposed solution.

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And that’s the way the Alamo crumbles. Keep your eyes here for more character spotlights! DS9 certainly has a lot more to cover, so make sure you’re subscribed to our Tumblr, follow along with us on the podcast over on SoundCloud or wherever you get your podcasts, sing us an Irish ballad on Facebook and Twitter, and replicate up a nice potato casserole!

[aquamonstra]

Me watching DS9: So..... Is Miles going to kiss this lizard man or what??

[kiranerysismyhero]

showed a friend Captive Pursuit today and he Also thought Tosk and O'Brien should kiss

i feel validated

[walkingstackofbooks]

Oh man, DS9 1x5 Captive Pursuit is One Hell Of An Episode, can't believe it hits that hard for s1.

O'Brien is just the sweetest in this episode, the way he calls Tosk friend right form the start just melts my heart <3

And Odo going to call security on O'Brien once he'd helped Tosk escape, and Sisko going "There's no hurry..." and Odo walking the slowest he possibly could and positively posing in the lift - *chef's kiss*, hilarious, this is the best TV show

Then the ending, Sisko dressing down O'Brien 'cause he has to, and then the camera panning to him at the end with a smirk that ABSOLUTELY says "I've got the best staff in the Federation" is laso perfection and I love it a lot.

Note/Question though - Tosk REALLY reminds me of the Jem'Hadar in his design and look, and in that he was genetically engineered to fight, he can turn invisible. Was he some sort of prototype, is there any link there you guys know of?

[episodicnostalgia]

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, 105 (Jan. 31, 1993) - "Captive Pursuit"

The Breakdown

O’Brien goes rogue!

Chief O’Brien saves a visitor from the Gamma Quadrant  (known as Tosk) from blowing up in his ship.  Although Tosk seems pleasant enough (if a bit socially awkward), his behaviour suggests he’s running from someone, and also he tries to steal weapons which is a little hard to overlook. And wouldn’t you know it, he actually IS running from some assholes who are hunting him for sport.

It turns out the hunters genetically breed their prey and set them loose as a part of a sacred ritual, and boy do they take it seriously.  Apparently, finding their prey caught in the brig makes them so unhappy that they elect to do the worst thing imaginable… bring Tosk home and SHAME AND MOCK HIM ruthlessly until the day he dies. In fairness, that does seem pretty lame, since Tosk also refuses to seek asylum. He’s actually super on board with being hunted and thinks he deserves his punishment which he dreads only slightly less than being remembered as a coward.  As you can see, it’s not super fucked up at all.

Since O’Brien has been paying attention while simultaneously possessing basic human empathy, he elects to break Tosk free so that he can return to being honourably hunted, which thankfully the Hunters begrudgingly accept (you can never fully win with these guys).  Sisko gives O’Brien a slap on the wrist but warns that if it ever happens again there will be a mild skewering involved (or something to that effect).

The Verdict

Star Trek is often at it’s best when the characters are made to weigh their ethics with against Starfleet orders. To be fair, that sentiment could be applied most stories in general, but Star Trek being the bastion of “positive Sci Fi” makes episodes like ‘Captive Pursuit’ stand out. I gotta say though, the stunt work is a bit clumsier than usual, probably borne out of necessity from the Hunter’s awkward (and kinda dumb looking) costumes. I also found Tosk a little overly robotic in many scenes, although his monologue to O’Brien in the brig is pretty strong. This almost could have been a 4-star episode, but doesn’t QUITE earn it for me.

3.5 stars (ouf of 5)

Stray Observations

 The GOAT O’Brien: This is DS9’s first proper spotlight on O’Brien, and it really serves to show what a vital addition he is to this series. No doubt his time on TNG helped, but my man Miles comes out swinging as a fully realized character in these early episodes; The only other full-time characters that achieve this are Odo and Quark, IMO.

“I guess that one got by us.” Sisko may be Starfleet but he ain’t no narc, and moments such as this foreshadow how flexible can be. But I like that he also put his foot down. O’Brien dishes out a lot of (mostly justified) sass, but Sisko has to have a line.

Bartender Quark: Quark may be in it for the money (and other profitable opportunities), but he’s always had a heart, and his interaction with O’Brien in this episode is a nice cursory introduction to this aspect of his character.

But seriously, the Hunters look pretty hokey. That’s not to say it doesn’t have it’s charm as a relic from a 30-year-old piece or television, but this was one of those times I found it distracting.

[fictionalred]

first "O'Brien must suffer" episode up next!

[violethyacinth]

Oh! O’Brien just said there’s 300 people on the station! Okay so it’s big but not, like, The Citadel in Mass Effect massive. I guess they did say it was a mining operation for the Cardassians so that makes sense!

I’m sure it’s just a result of the special effects for when this show came out but I’m having a difficult time understanding the scale of the station in Deep Space Nine. Sometimes they show the Enterprise and various war ships or transports docking onto various parts of DS9 but those ships look so huge in comparison to the station. But I would imagine a space station housing communities of this size and visitors would be way bigger?

I guess I also just have no clue how big the Enterprise actually is either, though. Keiko said there was a school and other families on the Enterprise so is it large in comparison to DS9?

[serickswrites]

Get in the Water

Warnings: pursuit, captivity, escape, gun, gunshot, left for dead

Whumpee didn't stop running. Couldn't stop. They had seen their opportunity for escape and they had taken it. Had taken it and hadn't stopped running.

They knew that if they reached the river they could find a boat and cross and then Whumper would have the rest of civilization to contend with. As it was, Whumpee knew that they could also run along the river to the next town. And then Whumper would have to give up their relentless pursuit.

And Whumper was relentless.

Whumpee could hear Whumper's angry shouts as they ran. Could hear their threats to make Whumpee's life a living hell. Could hear Whumper gaining on them.

But that didn't stop Whumpee.

They couldn't stop. They were almost to the river. They could even swim across. They just had to get away. They could hear the roar of the river. They were too far upstream to swim, the snow melt had made the current too strong.

With a sigh, Whumpee stopped running. They had time. They could look for a place to cross. Whumper was far behind them. Whumpee knew that if they crossed the river, Whumper would abandon their pursuit. Would give up and go back to their remote compound. They just had to find a way across.

Whumpee didn't even realize Whumper had caught them until the bullet ripped through their shoulder. The pain was all consuming. Whumpee screamed as they tumbled forward, feet slipping on the muddy bank of the river. The momentum from the bullet carried them forward, ever closer to the water. It was only as their feet left the bank that Whumpee realized they were falling into the water.

Whumpee windmilled their arm, a scream of agony ripping itself from their throat as their shoulder moved. But it was too late. Whumpee sank below the icy, fast-flowing water.

They struggled to breach the surface, their left arm limp and unable to help them swim. Whumpee frantically kicked out, swinging their working arm as they tried to reach the surface. Air bubbles flowed from their lips.

Whumpee gasped with relief as their head cleared the surface. They struggled to keep their head up as they tread water. The current was strong and dragging them along the bank. But as Whumpee's eyes roved the shore, searching for Whumper and their gun, Whumpee realized Whumper wasn't there.

Whumper had abandoned their pursuit the moment Whumpee sank beneath the dark surface. No doubt believing that if their shot hadn't killed Whumpee, then the water or cold would.

Whumper was wrong.

As Whumpee let their body float on the current, they realized they were successful in their escape. Though their shoulder hurt, they knew it wouldn't kill them--the bullet plugging the wound for the most part. All Whumpee had to do is let the river carry them to town and they would find help. And most of all, they were free.

[lunatic-harness]

bro thinks he's guinan

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

Damnit, she remembers the strawberry preserves incident! Randall blushed with a little grin, recalling him telling her the story long, long ago, just as his mother had recounted it to him with great fondness and amusement: How he managed to somehow get his hands on some freshly-made preserves his mother had just jarred and downed the whole thing, getting himself plenty sticky and smeared with strawberry in the process.

"Oh, it was plenty of fun!" June snorted, shaking her head as she thought back to that sunny spring day-she leaves the room for two minutes, and her son makes an absolute mess of himself and the kitchen counter. "I just remember him sitting there on the counter, all big-eyed, with strawberry...everywhere! His clothes, his hair, the countertop, oh, it was a mess!"

"And he'd just had a bath too!" Wilhelm added, as he looked to his son-who was looking a bit like a strawberry now, given the way he was blushing. "Junie and I had given him a bath after breakfast, I went out to grab something from the corner market, and when I come back, she's got our boy back in the tub!"

He was deeply bewildered by that: He looked at his son, peering out at him over the side of the tub, and then to June, who was dropping a set of red-stained clothes into the hamper, commenting with a hollow laugh, "You won't believe what your son did!"

As Wilhelm continued to regale Emily with some of Randall's other misadventures, June couldn't help but wonder if there was a way to give Emily back that taste of her favorite berry. She had to drink blood to survive, but would it still be possible for her to enjoy what she used to love, all those years ago? Could there be a best of both worlds, she wondered?

[idiaa-shroxd]

YOUR WRITING IS SO PRETTY I COULD EAT IT. YOU CHARACTERIZE THE CHARACTERS SO WELL TOO!!!

thank you so much!! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ happy you think my writing is very pretty!! and also makes me happy you think my characterization was correct.

when writing for characters always take a bit of extra time to ensure they sound good? thinking about having an actual conversation with them for a minute and what they’d do! ♧ personally a big fan of viginettes since that reveals a lot of a character more than mainstory.

Σ('◉⌓◉’) mini (huge) rant within the tags of the way of my process to understand a character!!

[sshbpodcast]

Character Spotlight: Benjamin Sisko

By Ames

We’ve segued so smoothly into Deep Space Nine for our character spotlights here on A Star to Steer Her By that you didn’t even notice it. Thank you, Worf. So this week we’re doing an in-depth look at one of the more complex lead characters of a Trek series, Benjamin Lafayette Sisko. He might be the leader who gets tested the most out of any of our main stars, and he makes probably the most wide-ranging decisions – though typically that decision is “let’s see how this goes.”

From first contacts with the Gamma Quadrant, to yet another standoff with Klingons, to full blown Dominion War, to whatever was going on with the wormhole aliens, Ben’s got a long list of moments for us to consider. So grab yourself a bowl of jambalaya, hop in your solar sail ship, and maybe get a little war crimes as a treat! Scroll on below for our Sisko spotlight and listen to a ton of spare moments on this week’s podcast (jump through the wormhole to 1:04:00). Ow!

[Images © CBS/Paramount]

Best moments

There’s no hurry Our first contact with beings from the Gamma Quadrant is also DS9’s first breaking of the Prime Directive. In “Captive Pursuit,” Miles is trying desperately to save Tosk from his hunters and Sisko is doing his best to technically stay within the rules, and it’s a rare success of doing both. Telling Odo to take his time in apprehending O’Brien shows that Sisko is coming from a place of real morality.

Find something you love, then do it the best you can We could name great moments between Ben and his son all day, but there’s more to our list than that, so let’s sum things up with a perfectly pure moment of excellent parenting from “Shadowplay.” Sisko is immediately accepting of Jake not wanting to follow in his footsteps and join Starfleet, and melts our hearts. Doing something he loves and being true to himself is far more important than legacy.

Cardassians love cosmetic surgery Appropriately, we watched Enterprise’s “Judgment” on the podcast this week and spent most it comparing it to The Undiscovered Country and “Tribunal.” When O’Brien is on trial in Cardassian kangaroo court and his lawyer is doing nothing to defend him, Sisko walks in with an undercover Cardassian spy in tow and wins the whole thing without saying a word. Like a badass.

Humans used to be a lot worse than the Ferengi We brought this up last week in our Worf chat too, but there’s a general racism towards the Ferengi all through Deep Space Nine. Quark calls Sisko out for it in “The Jem’Hadar” when Sisko and he are butting heads, and by the end of the episode, Sisko has seen Quark in a new light and refuses to leave him behind because Sisko got over some his prejudice (at least a little bit).

I’ll see that you get that chance Speaking of that prejudice against our lobed friends, everyone and their moogie is dubious when Nog claims he wants to join Starfleet in “Heart of Stone,” which would be a first for a Ferengi. But when Nog tells Sisko that he’s serious and looking for a life that will earn him real respect, the commander takes him at his word and vouches for him, putting in motion one of the best character arcs in Trek.

Some taboos are made to be broken Throughout the series, the relationships between characters are probably the strongest in Trek, and a true highlight is watching Sisko with his old/new friend Jadzia Dax. It’s such a beautiful scene in the equally beautiful “Rejoined” when Ben tells her that he’d still support her if she decides to break Trill taboo and hook back up with Lenara Khan. He’s that good a friend.

Don’t you see, Admiral? You’re fighting the wrong war. Around season 4, the show really tests Sisko with some ethical conundrums during the Dominion War. This is one he passes with flying colors. In “Paradise Lost,” Sisko is able to see his old mentor and silver medal winner from Jake’s Evil Admirals list, James Leyton, for what he really is: a megalomaniac who uses the Changeling threat as an excuse to incite a coup. Until Ben steps in!

Presenting the newest honoree in the Order of the Bat’leth It takes a certain level of crazy to think you can infiltrate the best warriors the Klingons have to offer, and luck for us, Captain Sisko is just that level of crazy. Avery Brooks seems oddly at home portraying a blood-thirsty Klingon being inducted into the Order of the Bat’leth in “Apocalypse Rising,” and even better, he and Odo (mostly Odo) expose Changeling Martok!

Don’t let Bajor in the Federation! We say it all the time on the podcast and today is no different: Bajor is NOT ready for Federation membership, no matter what Picard says. So when Sisko goes fully nuts after getting zapped by a plinth in “Rapture” and crashes the Federation membership ruling, we are fully supportive of his absolute batshit meddling. And ya know what, it works out for Bajor because of it!

Sisko, you’re baby crazy Any time Sisko is with a baby is truly joyful. This from a podcast of self-professed non-baby people. But this man’s mirth is so pure we’ve got to give it to him. Avery Brooks isn’t even acting in “Children of Time” when he dandles that baby, or in “The Abandoned” when he’s nostalgic about Jake as a baby, or in “Heart of Stone” when he’s delighted that Vilixpran is budding. This man just loves babies.

Let’s pretend that the Major’s not even here… By season 6, Gul Dukat is at his lowest point – he’s lost the station, his daughter is dead, and he’s more nuts than Ben in “Rapture”! And Captain Sisko plays him like a fiddle! “Waltz” is such an amazing showcase of acting talent, with Avery Brooks and Marc Alaimo bouncing off each other like pros. Sisko pushes his Cardassian counterpart over the edge and survives the cave of madness, some-freaking-how!

The Emissary has completed his task Sisko’s final action in this corporeal plane is also the climax of the whole series, culminating the wormhole alien plot that was started at the very beginning. And while we may whine that the Kosst Amojen plotline in “What We Leave Behind” felt rushed at the end, we have to admit that it’s cathartic to have the Emissary make a huge sacrifice to take out the pah-wraiths in the series finale.

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Worst moments

This is how you hold a grudge Interestingly, the first taste we get of the jambalaya-slinging commander is him being bitter and fickle in the series premiere, “Emissary.” The show immediately introduces him being a dick to Picard, stewing with rage over Locutus’s part in the Battle at Wolf 359 (as if Picard had any control of that!). He also clearly doesn’t want to be in command of the station, starting him off with character conflict that the series will build on.

If I hear of you hanging around with him… Continuing our running gag that the only alien species the show seems to think it’s okay to be racist against is the Ferengi we brought up last week with Worf, we see more instances of it from Sisko early in season one in “A Man Alone.” When Ben basically tells Jake to not hang around with Nog anymore, it’s flavored with that anti-Ferengi racism we’re sadly accustomed to.

When in the Mirror Universe, do as the Mirror Universe people do We have a lot of issues with how DS9 trots out the mirror universe all the time, and it’s at its most uncomfortable when Sisko goes over there and sleeps with his friends’ counterparts in “Through the Looking Glass.” Sure, there’s not much you can do when Intendant Kira sets her sights on you, but it’s simply wrong to take advantage of Mirror Jadzia, regardless of how hot she is.

Abusing your power is so romantic Sisko is so blinded by love in “For the Cause” that he ignores all the signs that his girlfriend Kasidy has been aiding the Maquis. And then Ben abuses his power as commander of the station to get her out of an inspection when she bats her eyes at him, which is straight-up unethical. As we’ll see, Sisko tends to make terrible decisions when the Maquis are involved…

Red – the blood of angry men Arguably the most immoral acts that Sisko commits are the war crimes in “For the Uniform.” Even after Starfleet tries to take him off the Maquis assignment, Sisko’s obsession with taking out Eddington has gotten so personal that it clouds ALL his judgment. If we gave Picard grief about removing the residents of Dorvan V, then we’ve got to rake Sisko over the coals for POISONING A PLANET and relocating more people!

Prophets, take the wheel! Half our Worst Moments come from the last two seasons when Sisko is tested more than any other Trek captain due to the Dominion War. And so often, he chooses the messed up response. I am still trying to figure out his Hail Mary play in “Sacrifice of Angels” when he flies headlong into the wormhole against thousands of ships and ends up asking the wormhole aliens to do a literal deus ex machina for him. Leeeeroy! Jennnnkins!

What’s a better response to a “Yo Mama” joke than this? I shat on this one in our time travel post, but Sisko using his status as Emissary to let Kira play with the Orb of Time in “Wrongs Darker than Death or Night” because Dukat banged her mom and then gabbed to her about it is absolutely incompetent of him! Why anyone has access to that thing is incomprehensible because it just begs for time shenanigans!

I can live with it… because Vreenak can’t Arguably one of Deep Space Nine’s best episodes, “In the Pale Moonlight” forces Sisko to make the hardest decision a Starfleet officer has to make – and he jumps at the chance to pick the option involving committing more war crimes. While it is a huge benefit to get the Romulans on your side, Sisko knowingly accomplishes this through lies, counterfeiting, bribery, murder, and most damning of all: enlisting the help of Elim Garak!

Sisko SMASH! Here’s another instance when Ben abuses his power, this time in order to get access to an ancient artifact from Bajor in “The Reckoning.” And what does the Emissary do once he’s borrowed the tablet without asking permission, promising to take good care of it and that he’ll return it first thing in the morning? He destroys it utterly in a fit of rage, releasing some spirits that nearly gets Jake and Kira killed.

Pick a lane, Ben I will always give Sisko guff about this. In “Accession,” he has accepted his role as Emissary to the prophets while he’s already serving as commander of Deep Space Nine, and frankly, Ben, you can’t be both! It’s a HUGE conflict of interest. In “Tears of the Prophets,” Admiral Ross gives him some hell for this when he’s torn between the Prophets and Starfleet, and he’s right! Step down!

You’re outta here! “Take Me Out to the Holosuite" is a polarizing episode that fans either love or hate (even your SSHB hosts are mixed!), but you’ve got to admit: Sisko is a terrible baseball coach! He forces all of this senior staff to play a baseball game in the middle of wartime, cancels his girlfriend’s shipments to make her to play too, kicks Rom off the team, gets obsessively competitive about it, and then gets himself thrown out anyway! How many strikes was that?

They warned you that marrying me would bring you sorrow Finally, we are still cross with Sisko for knocking up Kasidy. In “The Dogs of War,” Kasidy tells him she’s pregnant because he forgot to take his contraception, even though Bashir is constantly reminding him! This is a world in which having children should always be a choice because future contraceptives are basically magic, AND he’s been told that he’s basically cursed, so take your damn meds, jackwit.

—

Well, we can live with it. We can live with it. We’ve also got more DS9 character spotlights on the way if you keep watching this blog, more Enterprise watch-throughs on the way if you keep listening to us on SoundCloud or wherever you podcast, and more announcements from Ops over on Facebook and Twitter. Computer, erase that entire personal log.

[hungryfacesart]

Capturing Elegance Through the Lens: Exploring the Extraordinary Photography of Michel Haddi

As a fashion stylist with a passion for artistry and elegance, I have always been captivated by the power of visual storytelling. Few photographers can seamlessly blend glamour, sophistication, and avant-garde style into a single frame like Michel Haddi. His lens has been a gateway to the world of high fashion and celebrity culture, creating imagery that not only captures the essence of his…

[ithrivehere]

The Conformity Hazard - Episode 4 - Celebrating Independence Day, July 4th, Or Are You?

Show Notes: Introduction Importance of discussing the topic of freedom, independence, and liberty The Significance of July 4th Celebration of Independence Day in the United States Declaration of Independence and its authors The powerful words of the Declaration and their enduring impact Understanding Freedom Common usage of freedom and its association with pursuing goals Recognizing freedom…

[buckets-and-trees]

So Black the Darkness Hums

Characters/Pairings: Viking King Steve Rogers x curvy Female!Reader, unnamed husband of reader Word Count: 9.1k Summary: Your wedding day is destroyed when your village is raided by the vicious king Steven and his viking warriors. He will lay claim to all he wants, including you.

Content/Warnings: DARK, invoking prima nocta, non-consent/rape, stealing of virginity, explicit smut (oral - male and female receiving, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, anal fingering, anal intercourse, breastplay, overstimulation, orgasm denial, forced orgasms), use of pet name (little bride), dacryphilia, innocence kink, implied breeding kink, exhibitionism, human tribute/trade

Notes: I was struck by the idea of a very mean viking Steve last Thursday, and he would not let me go. Thanks to the encouragements from @biteofcherry, @witchywithwhiskey, and @vonalyn. An unapologetically brutal offering for the ninth week of Chris-mas.

Additional Note: I've gone with the term magnate over chieftan per this source.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You had already made a long walk, dressed in white, towards a man today. But where this morning, you had walked happily in the sunlight to your betrothed - the eldest son of the village magnate, now you walk over the flagstones of the village hall to the seat typically occupied by the magnate.

A seat now filled by the brutal and terrifying Steven - warrior and king of an army which had landed on the shores of your village to raid and conquer today.

And conquer they had.

Your white dress, once pristine and flowing, now clings to your skin, damp with sweat and streaked with dirt and leaves. The veil that had adorned your hair this morning lies discarded somewhere in the forest, torn away by grasping branches as you fled.

The memory of your desperate flight from your wedding into the woods plays in your mind like a fevered dream. The screams of the villagers, the clash of steel, the acrid smell of smoke as buildings burned – all of it had driven you and a group of women and children to seek refuge among the ancient oaks. The forest, usually a place of comfort and familiarity, became a labyrinth of terror as you led the group deeper and deeper, branches scratching at your arms and face, tearing at the delicate fabric of your gown. The sounds of pursuit never seemed to fade, no matter how far you ran.

As dusk fell, you huddled together, exhausted, praying to gods old and new that you would not be found. But the gods were silent, and the crunch of heavy boots on fallen leaves had filled their absence. You were all bound and forced back.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach the throne, each step echoing in the cavernous hall. The white gown that once symbolized joy now feels like a shroud.

The smell of blood and sweat permeates the room, a stark contrast to the polished wood and fine tapestries of the hall.

Steven's piercing eyes lock onto yours, a predatory gleam reflecting in their depths like shards of ice. His massive frame dwarfs the ornate chair, his battle-scarred hands gripping the armrests with a strength that could crush them at any moment. A round, wooden shield leans against the side of the throne. He looks both handsome and terrifying, his rugged features perfectly fitting for a fierce Viking warrior. The intensity in his gaze sends shivers down your spine, making you wonder if he is capable of unspeakable violence or if it is all just an act to maintain his reputation as a fearsome leader. Either way, there is no denying the raw power emanating from him, and you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from this captivating figure before you.

Your steps falter, but a rough shove from one of Steven's men propels you forward. You stumble, nearly falling at the conqueror's feet.

"So," Steven's voice booms, a mix of amusement and contempt. "You are the bride I've heard so much about."

His face is scarred, weathered by countless battles, but still impossibly handsom, and his eyes gleam with intelligence. You see something there – a flicker that suggests he is not just a brutal conqueror, but a man with depth and complexity.

Dangerous.

"I hear you were married to the fine magnate’s son," Steven continues, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "How fortunate that I've arrived in time for the celebration."

Your throat constricts, choking back the bitter retort that threatens to escape. You force yourself to square your shoulders and hold his gaze, summoning every ounce of courage you possess.

Steven's eyes narrow as he studies you, his gaze raking over your disheveled form with predatory intensity. He leans forward, the worn leather of his armor creaking with the movement.

"Come closer, little bride," he beckons, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

Your feet feel leaden as you force yourself to take another step forward. You are by no means small, but he is so large in comparison that the term ‘little’ apply to most who come into his presence. The flagstones beneath you are cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the soft grass you had walked upon just hours before, your heart full of hope and promise.

Steven's lips curl into a wolfish grin as you approach. "Tell me," he says, his voice deceptively casual, "were you to be a proper bride for your husband?"

The insinuation in his words is clear, and heat rises to your cheeks. You can feel the eyes of his men upon you, their gazes hungry and leering. You swallow hard, struggling to maintain your composure.

"I was to be a dutiful wife," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steven's laughter booms through the hall, echoing off the stone walls. "Dutiful," he repeats, mockery dripping from the word. "And what duties did you imagine, little bride? Mending his clothes? Warming his bed?"

Your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms. The urge to lash out, to scream defiance in his face, is almost overwhelming. But you force yourself to remain still, knowing that any show of rebellion could mean death – not just for you, but for the other villagers as well.

"Whatever duties were required of me," you reply, striving to keep your voice steady.

Steven leans back in the chair. "Tell me, little bride, do you know what happens to dutiful wives when their husbands fall?"

Your stomach churns at his words, but you force yourself to stand tall. "I imagine they mourn," you reply, a hint of defiance creeping into your voice.

The warrior king's eyes flash dangerously. In one fluid motion, he rises from the chair, towering over you. His hand, calloused and rough, grasps your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"Oh, he may have wished for death in battle, but he was merely conquered an imprisoned.”

There’s a small relief, but it’s fleeting as you know this is far from over.

“Dutiful wives plead and bargain what they can to spare their husbands an even crueler fate.”

You tremble with both fear and anger.

“And the bride of the magnate’s eldest son needs to bargain for far more than the fate of only one man.”

Your sink to your knees at Steven's words, now with the fate of your village laid at your hands. Your once-pristine dress pools around you like spilled milk over the cold flagstones. The stone bites into your skin, a sharp reminder of how far you've fallen in just one day.

Tears blur your vision as you look up at Steven, his massive form looming over you like a colossus. The firelight from nearby sconces casts dancing shadows across his face, making his scars seem to writhe like serpents.

"Please," you whisper, your voice cracking. "Spare them. Spare the village. We are simple folk, we have nothing to offer but our loyalty and our labor."

A low chuckle rumbles from Steven's chest. "Getting on your knees is a good start, little bride," he says, his voice low.

Your cheeks burn with humiliation at his words, but you force yourself to remain kneeling. The fate of your village, your family, your new husband – all of it rests on your shoulders now.

Steven circles you slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey. His heavy boots echo on the stone floor, each step sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel the eyes of his men upon you, their gazes a palpable weight.

"Loyalty and labor," Steven muses, coming to a stop before you. "Those are indeed valuable commodities. But I wonder, little bride, if you truly understand the depths of loyalty I require."

He crouches down, bringing his face level with yours. His breath is hot on your cheek as he speaks. "Your village will serve me, yes. But you... you will be the seal on our bargain. The trophy of my conquest."

Your heart stops.

“And to my earlier curiosity, I shall ask plainly and have you answer me in kind: are you a virgin bride? Untouched? Unsullied?”

You close your eyes and nod.

If you had been harboring any hope your fate would not turn this way, it has vanished now.

“A king is entitled, if he so chooses, to invoke the rite of prima nocta.”

Your blood runs cold at Steven's words. Prima nocta - the right of the first night. An ancient, barbaric custom that you had only heard whispered about in hushed tones. Never did you imagine it would become your reality.

"No," you whisper, the word escaping your lips before you can stop it. You immediately regret it as Steven's eyes flash dangerously.

He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "No?" he growls. "You dare refuse me? Perhaps you need a reminder of your position."

With a snap of his fingers, two of his men drag forward a bound figure, depositing him on his knees off to the side but in clear view. Your heart sinks as you recognize your new husband, his body littered with cuts and bruises.

"For every refusal, every act of defiance," Steven says coldly, "he will suffer. And not just him. Your family, your friends, you are all of you conquered and my men can hunt through this village to pull any one of them here if it serves me.”

Your eyes well with tears because you do not doubt his resolve.

“You will spare them if I give you my maidenhood?”

He straightens back up to his full height. “I think I could spare your village for at least one night.”

Steven turns to his men, waving a dismissive hand. "Leave us," he commands, his voice echoing through the hall. "But the husband stays. He will bear witness."

The soldiers file out, swiftly acquiescing to their king’s request. The heavy doors slam shut behind them, the sound reverberating through your bones. Now it is just the three of you - conqueror, conquered, and the terrified bride between.

Steven's fingers tangle in your hair, forcing your head back. His other hand works at the fastenings of his breeches. "Show me how dutiful you can be, little bride," he growls.

Steven towers over you, his massive frame blocking out the flickering light from the nearby braziers. You can smell the leather of his armor, the tang of sweat and metal that clings to his skin.

Your eyes flicker to your husband, but he refuses to look at you, apparently unwilling to watch. You would not have him suffer, but his refusal to even look your way hurts. You held no silly romantic notions for the eldest son of the magnate, but he was a fine man, good, you had been happy to make a match with him, and you thought there was a growing affection between you.

“Do not look at him, little bride,” Steven growls, impatiently shaking you by the hair. “Why are you looking at him? Look at me. He can not help you.”

You force your gaze back to Steven, your heart pounding. His eyes bore into yours, dark with desire and cruel triumph. You swallow hard, trying to find your voice.

"I... I don't know what to do," you whisper, heat flaming your cheeks. It's true - you are a virgin, after all, and the mechanics of what he expects are foreign to you.

Steven's laugh is low and mocking. "Oh, little bride," he says, his voice a rumble. "I'll teach you everything you need to know."

His hand leaves your hair, moving to cup your face. His thumb traces your lower lip, rough and calloused. "Open," he commands.

You hesitate, your eyes darting once more to your husband. This time, his gaze meets yours, and you see the resentment burning in them. It wounds you more than anything this cruel conquering king has done to you so far.

Steeling yourself, you look back up at Steven and part your lips.

His thumb pushes into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. "Suck," he commands.

With trembling lips, you obey, closing your mouth around his thick digit. The taste of salt and leather fills your senses as you tentatively suck on his thumb. Steven's eyes darken with lust, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his free hand working at the laces of his breeches. "That's it, use your tongue."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you obey, swirling your tongue around his digit, your cheeks burning with shame. You try to focus solely on the task at hand, to forget where you are and what's happening. But the sound of your husband's labored breathing, the cold stone beneath your knees, the looming presence of Steven above you – it all serves as a stark reminder of your situation.

The sound of fabric rustling makes your stomach clench.

Steven withdraws his thumb, replacing it with two fingers. They press deeper into your mouth, nearly making you gag. "Breathe through your nose," he instructs. "You'll need to learn this."

Your heart races as you struggle to follow his command, fighting against your gag reflex as his fingers probe deeper. The taste of salt and leather is overwhelming, and you can feel saliva gathering at the corners of your mouth.

"Open your eyes," Steven growls. "I want you to see everything."

Reluctantly, you obey, your gaze meeting his. His eyes are dark with lust, a predatory gleam that makes you shiver. With his free hand, he finishes unlacing his breeches, pushing them down just enough to free himself.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, fully aroused and intimidatingly large. A whimper escapes you around his fingers, and he smirks.

"Don't worry, you'll learn to take all of me in time."

Steven withdraws his fingers from your mouth, leaving you gasping. His hand moves to grip your hair again, tilting your head back as he positions himself before you.

"Open wide, little bride," he commands, his voice husky with desire.

You hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. The reality of what's about to happen crashes over you like a wave. But then you hear a pained grunt from your husband, and you know you have no choice. Closing your eyes, you part your lips.

Steven wastes no time, pushing himself into your mouth with a groan of satisfaction. The taste is foreign, salty and musky, and you struggle not to gag as he fills your mouth.

"Use your tongue," he instructs, his hand tightening in your hair. "And mind your teeth."

Tears stream down your face as you try to obey, running your tongue along the length of him. Your whole body trembles with fear and revulsion, but his grip on your hair is unrelenting. He thrusts in and out of your mouth, setting a brutal pace that makes you gag and gasp for air.

"You're doing well, my little bride," Steven grunts, his voice thick with lust. "Just relax and take it all in."

You try to comply, but it's a struggle. Your eyes water from the force of his movements, and you feel like you're choking on him. But you know you have no choice but to endure it or risk angering him further.

As he continues to use your mouth for his pleasure, you feel a sense of detachment wash over you. It's like watching yourself from a distance, your body merely a tool for his satisfaction. You can't believe this is happening – this reality had never even haunted your nightmares.

A sharp pain shoots through your scalp as Steven tugs harder on your hair, pulling your head back even further. You whimper at the sting, struggling against the urge to cry out.

"You make such beautiful noises," he growls. "But I want more from you."

With that, he starts thrusting deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat each time. You choke and gag around him, tears flowing freely down your cheeks now.

But then something changes – he starts moving faster and faster until suddenly he stills inside you with a groan of release. Your mouth is flooded with his release, and you swallow what you can, tasting him on your tongue as he pulls out of your mouth, leaving it feeling raw and sore. A mess of tears, his cum, and your drool drip down your neck as you gasp for air.

Steven's thumb roughly grazes down your cheek, a false gesture of affection. Then he speaks, his eyes moving from you to your husband. "Such a pretty thing," he purrs. "Isn't she?" the question - a taunt - directed at your husband.

He shifts uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with both of you. Steven's laughter fills the room as he continues, "They say you are a noble and good man, always treating her right. I bet you would never ask her to do anything degrading, may have waited weeks or moths before coaxing her to suck your cock."

You don’t even know how to react to what he is saying and how the other man is reacting - or not reacting - to Steve’s words.

“You would never use her.”

Steven’s focus shifts fully back to you.

“But I will.”

A small whimper escapes from your chest as he roughly grabs your chin.

“I will ruin you and wreck you for my pleasure, and he does not get to see what I will do to you next.”

The other man makes a strangled sound, finally trying to fight his bonds.

Steven laughs darkly. “It may have tortured you to watch,” he says, and then leans down and scoops you up from the floor and into his arms - bridal style to drive the point of his dominance and the humiliation of your special day home, “but not knowing what I do to your bride next will eat you alive for the rest of your days.”

As Steven carries you from the hall, your world becomes a blur of sensations and emotions. The warmth of his body contrasts sharply with the cold dread settling in your stomach. His arms, corded with muscle, hold you firmly against his broad chest, and you wrap your arms around his neck for steadiness as he moves so swiftly. The scent of leather, sweat, and something distinctly male envelops you in such close proximity, making your head spin.

As he carries you from the great hall, you find yourself unable to look away from his face. The flickering torchlight casts deep shadows across his features, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw. His eyes, when they meet yours, are dark and cold like the sea in a storm, and it chills your bones. He leans down and steals a fast, ruthless kiss, nipping at your bottom lip, and you look away when he ends it, uncomfortable with the sensation it stirs in your belly.

The corridors of the village hall, once so familiar, now seem alien and menacing. Shadows dance on the walls, cast by flickering torches, creating grotesque shapes that mirror the turmoil in your mind. The stone beneath Steven's feet echoes with each step, a rhythm that matches the frantic beating of your heart.

You pass tapestries depicting scenes from your village's history - harvests, celebrations, battles long past. They mock you now, reminders of a life that seems to have ended mere hours ago.

As Steven carries you further into the depths of the hall, the familiar corridors give way to parts of the building you've never seen before. The air grows cooler, damper, and you shiver involuntarily against his chest. He notices, a cruel smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Cold, little bride?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry, I'll warm you up soon enough."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out his words, to pretend this isn't happening. But the solid warmth of his body against yours, the strength in his arms as he carries you, makes denial impossible.

Finally, Steven comes to a stop before a heavy wooden door. With one hand still supporting you, he reaches out and pushes it open. The hinges creak ominously, and your heart rate spikes as he carries you across the threshold.

The room is dimly lit by a few sputtering candles, casting long shadows across the stone walls. In the center stands a large bed, draped in furs and silks - a stark contrast to the simple furnishings you're accustomed to. You see the ceremonial bridal lace, embroidered with the flower of the magnate’s clan, laying atop the other furs and silks and realize this was the bedchamber intended for you and your husband. The irony is not lost on you - this room, where you should have spent your wedding night and started your new life with your new husband, will now be the site of your defilement.

Steven tosses you onto the bed unceremoniously, and you land with a gasp, your white dress billowing around you.

Steven looms over you, his massive frame blocking out the dim candlelight. His eyes rove over your body hungrily, and you feel exposed despite still being fully clothed. You try to curl in on yourself, to shield your body from his gaze, but he tsks disapprovingly.

"Now, now, little bride," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't hide from me. I want to see all of you."

His hands move to the laces of your dress, and you flinch away instinctively. Steven's eyes narrow, and he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one large hand. With his other hand, he reaches for a knife at his hip, brings it up to the neckline of your dress, positioning the cool blade between your skin and the fabric and pulls down swiftly, tearing your dress down the middle. He releases your hands so he can use both to finish ripping away your clothing, throwing it to the floor. Your attempts to fight him are easily shunted, and once you’re naked, he presses you back down to the bed, pressing the blade of the knife cruelly to your neck, just below your jaw.

“Do not think I will maintain much patience. I will not hesitate to punish if you continue to resist,” he promises. “Understand?”

“Yes,” you whisper, a tear escaping and rolling slowly down your cheek.

“Good," he says, his voice low and husky, "it's time to consummate the arrangement you agreed to fulfill."

He moves away, positioning himself next to the bed. His hands move to the fastenings of his leather armor, slowly removing each piece, then his shirt. The firelight gleams off his muscled torso as it's revealed, highlighting scars that tell tales of countless battles. You can't help but stare, a mix of fear and unwanted fascination coursing through you.

Steven notices your gaze and smirks. "Like what you see?" he taunts.

You quickly avert your eyes.

Steven chuckles darkly. "Don't be shy now, little bride. You'll become very familiar with every inch of me soon enough."

He finishes undressing, his massive frame now fully revealed in the flickering candlelight. Despite your fear and revulsion, you can't help but notice the raw power of his body - all hard muscle and battle scars. He is undeniably handsome in a rugged, dangerous way that makes your heart race with a confusing mix of terror and unwanted attraction.

Steven climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he looms over you. His hand trails down your body, callused fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shiver involuntarily, eyes closing.

"Open your eyes," he commands. "I want you to see everything I do to you."

Reluctantly, you obey, your gaze meeting his. His eyes are dark with lust, a predatory gleam that makes you shiver. He looms over you, his muscled body casting you in shadow.

"Please," you whisper, a final, desperate plea. "You don't have to do this."

Steven's hand cups your face. “But I want to,” he growls, “and I always take what I want.”

His lips crash down on yours, harsh and demanding. You whimper against his mouth, overwhelmed by his forcefulness. His tongue pushes past your lips, exploring every inch of your mouth as his hand slides down to grip your breast roughly.

You gasp at the sensation, your body betraying you as your nipple hardens under his touch. Steven chuckles against your lips.

"Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind resists," he murmurs, his thumb circling your nipple teasingly.

His hand continues its travels lower, skimming over your stomach before reaching the junction between your thighs. You try to squeeze your legs shut, but his knee wedges between them, forcing them apart and settling himself between them. His fingers find your most intimate place, and you jerk at the unfamiliar touch.

"So soft," he growls, his fingers exploring the apex between your thighs. "And already getting wet for me."

You flush with shame, hating your body's involuntary response, feeling things you’ve never felt before and with a cruel stranger instead of the man you had pledged yourself to, built a budding relationship and trust with through your courtship.

"So responsive," he murmurs against your lips. "And so tight. This will hurt, little bride, but I'll make it good for you too."

His fingers probe deeper, and you cry out at the intrusion. Steven's mouth moves to your neck, sucking and biting as his fingers work between your legs. You feel a building pressure, your body responding against your will to his ministrations.

"That's it," he murmurs against your skin. "Let yourself feel it."

Tears stream down your face as waves of unwanted pleasure course through you. Your hips buck involuntarily against his hand, seeking more of the sensation.

Steven chuckles darkly. "So eager now," he taunts. "Are you ready for me, little bride?"

Before you can respond, he positions himself at your entrance. You feel the blunt pressure of him against you, and panic rises in your chest.

"Wait," you gasp. "Please, I'm not-"

But Steven doesn't wait. With one powerful thrust, he sheathes himself inside you. The pain is sharp and immediate, tearing a cry from your throat. Steven groans in pleasure, his massive frame pinning you to the bed.

"So tight," he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel even better than I imagined."

Tears stream down your face as he begins to move, each thrust sending waves of pain through your body. You turn your head away, unable to look at him, but his hand grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I told you to watch," he snarls. "I want to see the moment you break."

His pace increases, and you whimper with each brutal thrust. The pain begins to dull, replaced by a strange, burning sensation that spreads through your lower body. Your breath comes in short gasps, matching the rhythm of his movements.

You whimper beneath him, your body trembling with the shock of the intrusion. Steven's hand cups your face, his thumb wiping away a tear that has escaped down your cheek. The gesture is almost tender, a stark contrast to the brutality of his actions.

"Breathe," he commands softly. "The pain will pass."

You try to breathe more evenly, but it feels impossible as he maintains his brutal, relentless pace.

Your body feels torn between pain and an unfamiliar, building pleasure. You hate yourself for responding to his touch, for the way your hips begin to move in rhythm with his thrusts. Steven notices, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

"There it is," he growls, his pace quickening. "Your body knows what it wants, even if you deny it."

His hand snakes between your bodies, finding a sensitive bundle of nerves above where you're joined. You cry out as he begins to circle it with his thumb, waves of sensation crashing over you.

"Let go," Steven commands, his voice husky with exertion. "Come for me, little bride."

Your body obeys even as your mind recoils. The pressure builds and builds until it finally shatters, your back arching as you cry out. Steven groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he follows you over the edge, spilling himself deep inside you with a guttural moan.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is your mingled breathing. Steven's weight presses you into the mattress, his body slick with sweat. You lie there, trembling, tears streaming silently down your face as the reality of what just happened washes over you.

Steven lifts himself onto his elbows, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away your tears. "You did well, little bride," he murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

The tenderness in his touch and his voice confuses you, but the moment passes because his eyes

arken once more as he gazes down at you. "The night is far from over," he murmurs, his voice husky with renewed desire.

He shifts his massive body, moving downward until his face is level with your breasts. His rough hands cup the soft flesh, kneading and squeezing with a possessive grip that makes you gasp. You feel his hot breath against your skin, sending involuntary shivers through your body.

Steven's mouth descends on your left breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he takes it between his lips. He sucks hard, drawing a whimper from your throat. His teeth graze the sensitive bud, sending jolts of sensation through your body.

He alternates between your breasts, sucking and biting with increasing intensity. What starts as pleasure soon edges into discomfort, then pain. Your nipples, sensitive and swollen from his attention, ache as he continues his ministrations. You squirm beneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations, but his body pins you firmly to the bed.

"Please," you gasp, "it's too much."

Steven lifts his head, his eyes dark with lust. "Nothing is too much for you, little bride," he growls. "You'll take everything I give you and beg for more."

His mouth returns to your breast, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. You cry out, tears springing to your eyes yet again. The pain mingles with a confusing undercurrent of pleasure, your body betraying you once again.

Steven's hand slides down your body, fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. He begins to stroke in slow, deliberate circles, and you feel yourself responding despite your best efforts to resist. You’re shocked at how your dripping hole is aching again already. These sensations are foreign to you and frightening to experience at his hand.

Steven's fingers move with expert precision, building a slow, inexorable tension in your core. His mouth continues its assault on your breasts, alternating between gentle sucks and sharp nips that send jolts of sensation through your body. The dual stimulation overwhelms your senses, leaving you gasping and writhing beneath him.

His fingers quicken their pace, circling your sensitive bud with increasing pressure. The tension coils tighter and tighter, a spring wound to the breaking point. Your hips begin to move of their own accord, chasing the building pleasure despite your mind's desperate attempts to resist.

Steven's mouth moves to your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "That's it," he growls, his voice low and husky.

Your body trembles on the edge of release, every muscle taut with anticipation. Just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, Steven suddenly withdraws his hand. You whimper at the loss, your body aching for completion. He lifts his head from your breast, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

“I told you I would ruin you,” he murmurs, “and this is part of your ruining.”

Steven rolls onto his back, his massive frame sprawled across the bed. His eyes, dark with lust, lock onto yours as he beckons you with a crook of his finger. "Come here, little bride," he commands, his voice a low rumble. "I want to feel that pretty mouth on my cock again."

You hesitate, your body still trembling from the denied release. Steven's hand shoots out, gripping your hair and pulling you towards him. "I said, come here," he growls, his patience wearing thin.

Reluctantly, you crawl towards him, positioning yourself between his muscular thighs. His manhood lies semi-hard against his stomach, still glistening with the evidence of your earlier coupling. The sight and scent of it make your stomach churn with a mix of revulsion and unwanted arousal.

"Take me in your mouth," Steven orders, his hand still commanding the back of your head. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Slowly, as if in a trance, you lower your trembling form towards his groin. You can't believe the turn of events that have brought you to this point – from a joyful bride to a conquered villager at the mercy of Steven and his ruthless warriors. The knowledge burns in your heart, but you force it down, focusing instead on surviving this nightmare.

As your lips touch the velvety head of his member, Steven emits a low groan of pleasure. His hand loosens its grip on your hair just enough to allow you some movement. Despite yourself, you remember the way he had thrust into your mouth earlier, how he had seemed to enjoy it when you'd used your tongue. Drawing on that brief flash of experience, you tentatively flick your tongue over his cock. The taste is overwhelming - a potent mixture of his earlier release, your own arousal, and the metallic tang of blood. It's a stark reminder of what's transpired, of your lost innocence.

Steven groans as you engulf him, his hips bucking slightly. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice husky with renewed desire. "Take it all in."

You struggle to accommodate his size, your jaw aching as you try to take more of him. His hand guides your movements, setting a steady rhythm as he uses your mouth. Your tongue teases across the sensitive underside of his shaft, encountering a vein that runs along its length, and you try to apply more pressure there. Steven groans in response, low and guttural, spurring you on.

"That's it, little bride," he grunts, the praise almost an animalistic growl. "Suck harder. Take more of me into that pretty mouth."

You struggle to obey, pushing yourself to take more of his length into your mouth. His hips begin to thrust upwards, forcing himself deeper. You choke and splutter around him, saliva dripping down your chin.

"Relax your throat," Steven commands, his voice strained with pleasure. "Breathe through your nose."

You try to follow his instructions, fighting against your gag reflex as he pushes deeper. Steven's hand tightens in your hair, guiding your movements more forcefully. "Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with desire.

You raise your eyes to meet his, your cheeks burning with shame as you continue to work your mouth over him. His gaze is dark and predatory, filled with a hunger that makes you shiver.

"Such a good little bride," he murmurs, his hips starting to thrust up to meet your mouth. "Taking my cock so well. But I think you can take more."

Without warning, he pushes your head down, forcing himself deeper into your throat. You gag and choke, face pushed flush to his pelvis. The taste and scent of him overwhelm your senses, throat struggling at his intrusion, and you feel lightheaded from the lack of air. Just when you think you can't take anymore, Steven pulls you off his cock with a wet pop.

Gasping for breath, you look up at him through tear-blurred eyes. His face is flushed with arousal, his eyes dark, but gleaming with… pride?

“You are such an exquisite, pliant thing,” he says. “It has been too long since I’ve been so well-pleased, so near insatiable.”

Your chest constricts at the praise. You did not want any of this nightmare, but his danger is novel and alluring, the unknown pleasures he’s exacting from your body, guiding you down paths you’ve never explored before - it’s all twisting your body and your very soul, seeping through your veins, a poison you can’t stop now that he’s pierced into you.

He sits up, frames your jaw in both of his calloused hands, and then lewdly licks one cheek and then the other, lapping at your tears. It’s not tender. He’s playing with his prey.

Steven's hands move to your shoulders, gripping them firmly. With a sudden, forceful movement, he flips you onto your stomach. You gasp at the abrupt change, your face pressed into the furs on the bed. His large hands grasp your hips, pulling them upwards as he pushes your upper body down, positioning you on your hands and knees before him.

"Spread your legs wider and present yourself to me," he commands, his voice husky with desire.

Trembling, you obey, pushing your knees out further, lowering your chest to the bed, and raising your hips higher. You feel completely exposed, a new kind of vulnerable in this position, and your cheeks burn with shame. The cool air of the room caresses your most intimate places, making you shiver.

Steven's large hands grip your hips, kneading the flesh of your buttocks, spreading them apart.

"Such a pretty sight," he murmurs.

His thumbs dig into the soft flesh of your buttocks as he spreads you open further. You tense, expecting the brutal intrusion of his manhood, but instead, you feel his beard brush against your most intimate flesh as he presses his mouth to your core. His tongue, hot and wet, slides up the cut of you, and you cry out in surprise. You had been told your husband would couple his manhood with your maidenhood. You had heard the lewd rumors of men using a woman’s mouth for his cock.

No one had ever whispered even a word that man might put his own lips to your sex, and it’s an onslaught of pleasure you were in no way prepared to experience. The moan you let out is obscene and unrestrained, and you graps helplessly at the blankets and furs beneath you.

Steven's tongue explores your folds with wicked precision, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks against your most sensitive areas. Your body trembles uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the intense sensations. You try to stifle your moans, burying your face in the furs, but Steven's hand snakes up to grip your hair, yanking your head back.

"Let me hear you," he growls against your flesh. "I want to hear every sound you make."

His mouth returns to your core, his tongue delving deeper, tasting every inch of you. His beard scratches against your sensitive skin, adding another layer of sensation to the overwhelming pleasure. Your hips buck involuntarily, pressing back against his face as he continues his relentless assault. You feel his lips close around your sensitive bud, sucking hard, and a cry tears from your throat.

"That's it," Steven murmurs, his voice vibrating against your flesh. "Let go, little bride. Show me how well you enjoy being ruined by your new king.”

His words send a shiver through you, a mix of shame and unwanted arousal. Steven's tongue continues its relentless assault on your cunt, building a tension in your core that threatens to overwhelm you. Your body trembles, teetering on the edge of release.

His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as you writhe against him. The tension within you builds to an unbearable level, and with a final, targeted flick of his tongue, you shatter.

A cry tears from your throat as the waves of ecstasy wash over you. He laps up your juices eagerly, groaning in satisfaction, before he pulls away.

You whimper at the loss, and he chuckles. “Worry not, there is yet more pleasure I will force upon you this night,” he promises.

Before you can catch your breath, you feel the blunt head of his manhood pressing against your entrance. Steven guides the tip of his cock up and down your slit, over your oversensitive bundle of nerves, and you shiver. But it is soon evident he is in no hurry at this next pursuit.

Steven continues to tease you with the head of his cock, running it along your sensitive folds. Up and down, up and down. Slow strokes, sometimes bumping against your clit, sometimes ignoring it, unpredictable in the pattern so you don’t know when the surge will come. Your body trembles, overstimulated and overwhelmed. Despite your mind's protests, your hips shift back, seeking more contact, even though you're still sore from his earlier intrusion.

His fingers dip into your core, pulling from the wetness dripping out of you, and then he swipes them over your tight rosebud, and you gasp. You know immediately what he intends to do next, though you could never have imagined such a thing, and you can not process any sort of reaction against it. Indeed, he presses the tip of one of his fingers against the tight muscle, then insistently pushes through, and your heart pounds in your chest with fear. The foreign feeling is shocking.

Shocking because it should not feel as good as it does.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears of shame and frustration leaking from the corners.

He moves his finger in and out in only a very small motion - not fucking you with the finger, but pressing pleasure there in small, torturous amounts. He resumes the rutting of his cock against your folds, and you begin to openly weep, feeling wanton, confused, but moans accompany your sobs that you cannot hide from him.

He leans over you, his broad chest pressing against your back. His breath is hot against your ear as he speaks. "Eager for more, are we?" Steven chuckles darkly. "Beg for it, little bride. Beg for your king's cock."

You hesitate, torn between your body's desperate need for release and the last shreds of your dignity. Steven's free hand moves to circle around the front of your throat, possessive, threatening.

"Beg," he snarls.

The words stick in your throat, and Steven removes his finger from your tight hole and his hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp.

"I said beg," he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

"Please," you whimper, the word barely audible.

Another stinging slap lands on your other cheek. "Louder," Steven demands.

"Please!" you cry out, your voice breaking. "Please, I need... I need you.”

He slaps your ass again. “I want to hear you say it. Tell me exactly what you want."

You swallow hard. But you can’t deny betrayal of your body, aching for his touch, for the release only he can provide. "Please," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Please... fuck me. I need your cock inside me."

A growl of satisfaction rumbles through Steven's chest. "As you wish, little bride."

He shifts and begins thrusting his cock inside your cunt again.

Steven's cock enters you with a single, powerful thrust, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping. He sets a relentless pace, each thrust driving deep into your core, your body rocking forward with the force of his movements.

His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave bruises. The room fills with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, your breathless moans, and Steven's grunts of exertion. The musky scent of sweat and sex hangs heavy in the air.

"So tight," Steven growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "So perfect for your king, the perfect tribute."

Your body responds to his words, to his touch, clenching around him involuntarily. The friction of his cock against your walls sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, building a familiar tension in your core. He hits a particularly sensitive spot on the front of your walls that has you writhing in ecstasy, and he presses the head of his cock there over, and over. You're overwhelmed by the sensations, the fullness, the way he plays and experiments with your body, until you spasm, thrown over the edge into another orgasm.

Your body convulses as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you weak and trembling. Your limbs feel heavy, your muscles liquid, as if all the strength has been drained from your body. You struggle to stay on your hands and knees, your arms shaking with the effort of supporting your weight.

Steven senses your weakness, feeling the way your body has gone limp beneath him. With a growl of satisfaction, he pushes you down flat against the mattress. The furs are soft against your oversensitive skin, tickling your nipples and sending shivers through your body. You turn your head to the side, gasping for air, feeling utterly spent.

Before your breathing can return to anything close to normal, before you can prepare yourself, Steven’s rough hands are spreading your cheeks, and he rams his cock into your ass. The intrusion rips a tortured scream from your throat.

The pain is sharp and immediate as Steven forces his cock into your tightest opening. Your body instinctively tenses, trying to reject the intrusion, which only intensifies the burning sensation. More tears spring to your eyes as you gasp for breath, though you don’t know how you still have more tears to shed.

"Relax," Steven growls, his voice strained with effort and pleasure. "The more you fight it, the more it will hurt, and I’m not going to stop."

You try to force your body to relax, to accept him, but it's a struggle against your instincts. Steven's hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continues to move. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pain and an unfamiliar pleasure through your body.

"So tight," he groans, his pace increasing. "You feel incredible."

The friction is intense, unlike anything you've ever felt before. It's not quite pleasure, but it's no longer just pain. It burns, but the fire consumes your whole body. You feel stretched to your limit, filled completely by Steven's massive cock.

His hands roam over your body, rough and possessive, groping at your flesh. You bite your lip, trying to stifle your cries, but it's futile. Each thrust draws a whimper or moan from you, your body betraying your mind's resistance.

Steven's hand snakes around to the front of your body, his fingers finding your sensitive bud. He begins to stroke in time with his thrusts. The dual sensations of his thick cock stretching your ass and his skilled fingers on your clit create a maelstrom of sensation that threatens to overwhelm you completely.

You're only vaguely aware of the sounds escaping your throat - desperate, wanton moans that you scarcely recognize as your own. This may be the first night you lie with a man, but though you are inexperienced, you think it can not be possible to experience any more of the overwhelming pleasure he seems determined to rip from you yet again.

Your body trembles uncontrollably, caught between the pain of the intrusion and the impossible mounting of pleasure. Each thrust sends sparks of electricity coursing through your nerves, building the tension in your core. You've never experienced anything like this before - the intensity, the fullness, the way your body seems to betray you at every turn.

Steven's pace increases, his hips snapping against your ass with bruising force. His fingers match the rhythm, pressing harder, moving faster. You are hurled over another cliff of ecstasy, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, body jerking futilely beneath his massive form. He pounds into you once, twice, thrice more, and on the fourth thrust, he shouts and stills, cock buried inside you, and groans as he empties his seed in your tightest channel.

Finally spent and satisfied, Steven collapses on top of you, his massive weight pressing you into the furs. You feel utterly crushed beneath him, struggling to draw breath, yet there's an undeniable warmth from his body enveloping yours that sneaks unwanted into your bones. His heart thunders against your back, matching the frantic pace of your own. The room is filled with the sound of your mingled panting as you both quest for normal breath.

The scent of sweat and sex hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the earthier smells of leather and furs. Your body thrums with residual pleasure, every nerve ending still singing from the intensity of your coupling. You feel utterly boneless, all strength drained from your limbs.

Slowly, your breathing begins to even out. You become acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - the rough hair on his chest against your back, the way his thighs press against the backs of your legs, his hot breath against your neck, and his lips too close to that tender and intimate space as only a beloved’s should be.

Finally, Steven rolls to the side and off of you, but you are not freed from him as he bands an arm around your waist, resettling you with him. He curls around you, and you resign yourself to being held captive, bound by his thick, corded muscles yet a while longer - possibly until the morning.

Just as you are about to drop off into sleep, he speaks directly into your ear. “I have claimed all of your holes, little bride. You will always know that I had every bit of you first, leaving him nothing.” The words are cruel, wicked, and his voice low and far too intimate.

You take a shaky breath in, and out, and beg for sleep to take you so you do not have to think of how his words haunt you now and will haunt you forever.

In the morning, your body still feels spent beyond its limits, aching, but as you shift and stir, you discover the bed is empty.

Your heart accelerates at this discovery.

Then plummets the next moment as the cruel conqueror speaks breaks the silence. “Get up and get dressed,” he commands from where he’s perched on the windowsill, watching the first light of morning appear.

Your eyes dart around the room, drawn to the scraps of your wedding clothes. “I’ve no clothes to-”

“On the chair over there,” he interrupts and gestures to a pile of clothing and shoes that have been brought in.

You slip out of the bed, trying to ignore thoughts of whether or not he watches you - he has already seen your naked form, so what does it matter?

There is a well-made linen chemise with a fine, blue linen dress to go over it. You hastily slip on the chemise, but as you reach for the dress, you hesitate. The detailing is finer than anything made in your village. This came from him.

“Shall I assist you?” Steven asks, making you jump as he’s silently crossed the room to stand directly behind you.

“No, I can dress myself,” you answer, but it falls on unhearing ears, as he’s already reaching past you for the garment.

He assists in pulling the dress over your head, and his hands roughly tug at the ties of your dress. Then he turns you to face him, and his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

"I've decided your husband will truly be left with nothing," he declares harshly. “After last night, I cannot abide him having you as his bride when clearly you should be mine. His father - the magnate - with the rest of the elders have accepted my bargain to take my men, leave your village, and never return on condition that I take you as tribute.”

You cannot speak, the shock of Steven's words rendering you mute. Your mind reels, trying to process the implications of what he's just said. The village elders, including your own father-in-law, have agreed to trade you away like chattel to save themselves. The betrayal cuts deep, leaving you feeling hollow and abandoned, and yet you know it was likely a choice of little difficulty when weighing the safety of the village.

Steven cups your cheek again in that way that pretends a tenderness that is not there, and kisses you roughly. His lips are demanding, forceful, claiming you once more. The taste of him is now too familiar. His beard scratches against your skin, a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips.

His tongue pushes past your lips, exploring your mouth with a possessive fervor. Your body responds traitorously, a warmth blooming in your core despite everything, and you tangle a hand in his long hair.

Steven breaks the kiss, leaving you breathless and conflicted. His eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail as if committing it to memory.

"You are not why I came to these shores, but you are mine now," he says, his voice low and possessive. "My little bride, my tribute, my prize."

His words send a shiver down your spine - fear, anticipation, and something else you can't quite name. You know you should be horrified, should be fighting against this fate with every fiber of your being. But after the night you've shared, after experiencing all-consuming pleasures you never knew existed, a part of you - a part you're ashamed to acknowledge - is drawn to the thought of belonging to this powerful, dangerous man.

Steven's hand moves to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he speaks. "We sail with the morning tide and leave within the hour. My men are already loading the ship with supplies - food, weapons, gold. And you, my little bride, are the most valuable cargo of all."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. The reality of your situation crashes over you anew - you're leaving behind everything you've ever known, everyone you've ever loved. Your family, your friends, the life you were meant to have - all of it gone in the span of a single day and night.

"Please," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Let me say goodbye to my family, to-"

"No," Steven cuts you off, his voice firm. "There will be no goodbyes. We leave now. I am your husband, your family. My lands will be your lands, and you will learn to forget. Perhaps all the sooner as you learn to crave the pleasures only I can give and ultimately grow with my child in your womb. Mine completely.”

so... if any of you are still alive, screech for help. I won't be able to help, because I have perished from writing this, but someone else might be able to assist you.

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[plutonianeris]

Asteroid Messalina (545)

Messalina in the 1st House: A magnetic force cloaked in unapologetic allure. You project raw, intense energy that makes others both crave and fear you. People might label you as “too much” too bold, too sexual, too willing to flaunt what others hide. There’s an air of danger about you that captivates, yet some may accuse you of arrogance or vanity, uncomfortable with how easily you embrace your desires and power. They may call you a “tease” or “attention-seeker,” shaming you for the very magnetism they’re drawn to.

Messalina in the 2nd House: Insatiable appetite for luxury, pleasure, and control. You have a way of attracting wealth and comfort, often through charm and allure, and people notice. Some may accuse you of being “materialistic” or “gold-digging,” casting shame on your desire for life’s finer things. They might say you only care about money or possessions, failing to understand that your connection to beauty and luxury is an art form, a way to savor the sensual aspects of life. Others envy your ability to claim abundance without apology, projecting their discomfort onto you.

Messalina in the 3rd House: Words like honey, laced with mystery and intrigue. You wield language like a weapon, charming and beguiling others with your words, but also leaving them feeling vulnerable, as if they’re being wrapped in a web they can’t escape. People may accuse you of being “manipulative” or “deceptive,” fearing your power to influence thoughts and emotions. They may try to shame you for your “silver tongue” or call you “calculating,” uncomfortable with your ability to get what you want without lifting a finger.

Messalina in the 4th House: The seductress behind closed doors. Your allure is hidden but potent, drawing others into your world in ways that feel deeply personal. Family or close friends might shame you for “not fitting in” or “disrupting tradition,” accusing you of destabilizing the family unit or pushing emotional boundaries. People may be wary of what lies beneath your calm exterior, sensing the storm of desires you keep hidden. There may be whispers that you’re “too intense” or “secretive,” as if your passions somehow threaten the sanctity of home.

Messalina in the 5th House: An unapologetic siren of pleasure and creativity. You shine in romance, play, and artistic pursuits, embracing every opportunity to indulge in life’s pleasures. Others may view your bold self-expression as excessive, calling you “shameless” or “self-indulgent.” People may gossip about your love life, painting you as “wild” or “unrestrained,” uncomfortable with how freely you embrace joy and passion. You’re often envied for your charisma but shamed for your fearless pursuit of fun and pleasure.

Messalina in the 6th House: An alluring force in the workplace, blurring lines and stirring intrigue. Your sensual energy infuses even the most mundane routines, making you unforgettable in the day-to-day. Colleagues or superiors may accuse you of “overstepping boundaries” or “distracting others,” shaming you for bringing such intensity into professional spaces. People may view your charisma as a threat to order, calling you “disruptive” or “inappropriate,” uncomfortable with how effortlessly you attract attention and admiration.

Messalina in the 7th House: A partner who’s as captivating as they are mysterious. Relationships with you are intense, and others may accuse you of being “too controlling” or “manipulative” in love, perhaps uncomfortable with how deeply you engage with intimacy. You may be shamed for not following traditional relationship norms, seen as “possessive” or “overly demanding.” Yet, this allure makes you a magnetic partner, leaving lovers feeling as if they’re playing with fire.

Messalina in the 8th House: A dangerous siren of secrets and shadows. This is Messalina’s realm, and you are a master of hidden desires, power plays, and transformation. People may label you “obsessive” or “corrupt,” shaming you for the depths you’re willing to explore. There may be rumors that you’re “too intense” or “dark,” as if your interest in taboo topics and hidden emotions makes you somehow dangerous. Yet, your allure is undeniable, leaving others both afraid of and drawn to your aura of mystery.

Messalina in the 9th House: The seductive philosopher, unafraid to push boundaries of thought and experience. You’re drawn to explore life’s pleasures on a grand scale, seeking wisdom in every experience. People may shame you for being “reckless” or “too bold” in your pursuits, accusing you of using your charm to bypass conventional morals. You might be labeled as a “free spirit” or “hedonist,” criticized for pursuing pleasure and knowledge with such intensity. Yet, your curiosity and depth make you unforgettable.

Messalina in the 10th House: A public figure with a magnetic, almost forbidden allure. In your career and public life, you command respect and stir intrigue, but others may accuse you of “climbing the ladder through charm” or “using people” to get ahead. You might be shamed for “taking shortcuts” or “being too ambitious,” as if your success is somehow a result of manipulation. Yet, people can’t deny your power and presence, even if they feel threatened by it.

Messalina in the 11th House: An enigma within social circles, irresistible yet misunderstood. You thrive in groups, where your magnetism draws others in, but people may accuse you of being “too influential” or “manipulative.” Friends or acquaintances may shame you for being “too provocative” or accuse you of “playing games,” uncomfortable with the sway you hold over others. They may gossip about your social power, as if your presence disrupts the balance, yet they keep coming back for more.

Messalina in the 12th House or Pisces: The seductive mystic, a hidden storm of desire and secrecy. Your allure is deeply private, a mystery that others sense but can’t fully grasp. People may shame you for being “too elusive” or “hard to read,” accusing you of “keeping secrets” or “hiding something.” Some may even fear the dark intensity they sense beneath your surface, whispering that you’re “too intense” or “deceptive.” Yet, this hidden magnetism makes you unforgettable, leaving people haunted by thoughts of you long after you’re gone.