#frederick starke

[ghw-archive]

American fashion model Nena von Schlebrügge wearing a suit by Frederick Starke, photographed for British Vogue, 1958 / Photographer: Norman Parkinson

[missbootybare-foot]

Light up Black with Black...

Charge black with black, add the smash of a blonde. Soft bias dress, crepe, curve seams, Susan Small, 11 gns., Dazzling white cloqué, alive with texture, laced with pink. Jacket not shown; by Julian Rose, 46 gas. Pink straw Breton hat, by Otto Lucas, both Harrods. Pink and green beads by Adrian Mann. Bright white, magic white, mixed with Debenham & Freebody. s green, speedwell blue. Silk suit,…

[secretlyastark]

alayne in the vale:

[raekensluver]

one more round

description: you would've never thought that going out for a few drinks with your best mates would have led to the three of you in a bed together.

pairing: george clarkey x fem!reader x arthur frederick

contains: smut, intoxication, porn with no plot, mean dom!george, switch!arthur, switch!reader (?), threesome, mmf, double penetration, unprotected sex, p in v, p in v from behind, oral sex (m recieving), female ejaculation (squirting), handjobs, fingering, pet names (poppet, pet, love).

song rec: meddle about by chase atlantic- "baby, show me what you're doing, come and turn around"

w.c: 4.8k

a.n: this is for my girl bri- @clarkeybabey. she just matches my freak perfectly.

also sorry- this feels like a mess but i just needed to finish it and post.

you, arthur, and george stumbled into george's apartment, the door swinging wide to reveal a cozy, dimly lit space. the scent of men's cologne filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of takeout from earlier in the evening. the living room was a mess, with discarded shoes and jackets scattered across the floor, evidence of his roommates' recent departure.

"chris and arthur are out, thank fuck," george murmured, his breath hot against your neck as he closed the door. the sudden quiet of the apartment was a stark contrast to the noisy streets you'd just left behind. you nodded, your heart racing as you took in the sight of him, his eyes dark with desire. the sexual tension between the three of you was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

without warning, arthur pounced on you, his eyes dark and glossy from the alcohol. his body pressed against yours, his hands fumbling with the hem of your shirt. you felt a thrill of excitement mixed with a hint of panic. his kiss was sloppy, his tongue probing your mouth with an urgency that was both thrilling and overwhelming. your skin prickled with the sensation of his stubble scraping against your cheek, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. you tasted the faint hint of vodka on his breath, and the scent of his cologne, something musky and expensive, filled your nose.

you stumbled backward under his weight, colliding with the wall. george watched, his eyes alight with something unreadable. his cheeks were flushed, and his chest heaved with each shallow breath. you felt his gaze on you, hot and intense, as if he were a predator watching its prey. his hands balled into fists at his sides, and you wondered if he was fighting the urge to join in or to step away. the room felt smaller, the air thicker, as the three of you remained locked in this silent tableau of desire and confusion.

finally, arthur pulled away, his eyes searching yours for approval. you nodded, breathless. the heat of his body left a cold spot where he had been, and you felt a sudden need to bridge that gap again. george took a step forward, his movements deliberate, and placed a hand on arthur's shoulder. "easy, mate," he murmured, his eyes flicking to you with a silent question.

you felt your cheeks flush and took a shaky breath. "it's okay," you managed to say, your voice a whisper in the quiet room. george's hand moved to your face, cupping your cheek gently. his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, sending a shiver down your spine. "do you want this to happen?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

you silently nodded, unable to find the words to express the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. the nod was all the encouragement george needed. he stepped closer, and you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. his hand traveled down to the base of your neck, his grip firm but not painful. “use your words poppet. ‘can never understand ya’ when you mumble like that.” he murmured.

“yes,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “i want this. i want both of you.”

a smile, both tender and predatory, curved the corners of george’s mouth. he leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek, and whispered, “good.” with that, he claimed your mouth in a kiss that was everything arthur’s wasn’t—slow, deliberate, and intoxicating. his other hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space between the two of you. you felt arthur’s presence behind you, his chest pressing into your back, his hands sliding over your hips.

his touch was different from george’s, more tentative, as if he were afraid you’d push him away. but as george’s kiss grew deeper, your body melted into his, inviting arthur’s touch to become more daring. his hands roamed up your torso, his fingers teasing the waistband of your pants. you moaned into george’s mouth, the sound muffled by his tongue.

the three of you swayed together, a tangled mess of limbs and desire. the room spun slightly, not from the alcohol but from the intensity of the moment. you’d never been in a situation like this before—sandwiched between the two men you’d had known for what felt like forever. it was overwhelming, but you didn’t want it to end.

you tugged at the strings of george’s hoodie, desperate to feel his bare skin against yours. he broke the kiss, looking down at you with a smoldering gaze. without a word, he pulled the garment over his head, revealing a chest that was more defined than you’d ever imagined. your eyes roved over the planes of muscle, the smattering of dark hair that trailed down to his waistband. the sight of him half-bare was almost too much to handle.

meanwhile, arthur had been busy. his sweatshirt was off now, too, and you couldn’t help but compare the two of them. george’s body was broad and powerful, a testament to his previous years playing rugby. arthur’s was leaner, muscles honed from countless hours at the gym. the stark contrast was oddly erotic, and you felt your pulse quicken as you took in the sight of them both.

george reached for the bottom of your sweater, his eyes never leaving yours. with surprising gentleness, he lifted it over your head, revealing the white tank top you’d chosen to wear tonight. there was no bra underneath—you hadn’t expected the evening to go this way. the cool air of the apartment kissed your bare skin, causing your nipples to peak under the thin fabric. arthur’s gaze dropped to your chest, his eyes wide with surprise and hunger.

you felt a rush of vulnerability, but instead of backing away, you leaned into george’s touch, letting his hand glide down to the hem of your tank top. his fingers hovered there for a moment before dipping beneath the fabric, tracing the line of your ribcage. the touch was light, almost reverential, as if he couldn’t believe he had the right to explore your body like this. your breath hitched, and you arched into his hand, silently begging for more.

arthur’s hands slid down to your waist, deftly unbuttoning your jeans. the zipper whispered open, and you could feel the material loosen around your hips. his breath was warm against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. "you're so fucking pretty," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. you shivered, his words sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

his hands grew bolder, cupping your ass as he pushed the jeans down your legs. you stepped out of them, kicking your sneakers off at the same time. your toes curled against the cool wooden floor as you felt the fabric slide away, leaving you in just your tank top and underwear. arthur’s eyes took in the sight of you, a soft groan escaping his lips. he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, and you felt his erection against your back. the pressure grew as his hands roamed further, tracing the curve of your hips and sliding down to the edge of your panties.

george’s hand stilled, and he stepped back, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. his eyes smoldered with need, and you knew you’d never felt more desired in your life. with a gentle nudge, he led the two of you to his bedroom, the anticipation building with every step. the room was even darker than the living room, only illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. the bed, unmade from earlier in the day, looked like a sea of rumpled sheets and blankets.

“go on the bed with him,” george said, his voice thick with desire. his hand slid from your neck to your wrist, guiding you towards the bed. your legs felt like jelly as you stumbled forward, arthur’s hand still on your waist, keeping you upright. you felt the mattress give under your weight, the cool fabric of the comforter sending a shiver down your spine.

george followed, his eyes never leaving yours. he climbed onto the bed, his body a shadow in the dim light. he moved closer, his hand brushing against arthur’s as they both reached for you. it was like you were in the center of their universe, the object of their desire. your heart raced, the thump of it echoing in your ears.

arthur’s mouth found yours again, eager and demanding. this time, george’s lips were there too, pressing against your cheek, your jaw, your neck. you gasped at the sensation, your eyes fluttering closed. your hands found their way to arthur’s shoulders, gripping him tightly as his tongue slid against yours. and then, george’s mouth was there, too, kissing you with a fierceness that stole your breath away.

you felt the bed shift as they repositioned themselves, george now on one side of you, arthur on the other. your tank top was lifted, cool air kissing your skin as it was pulled over your head. your breasts were exposed, and you felt their gazes on them, hungry and appreciative. arthur’s hand cupped one, his thumb flicking over the peak, while george’s mouth trailed a line of fire down your neck to your collarbone. the combination of their touches was dizzying, your body responding instinctively.

their kisses grew more insistent, and you found yourself eagerly returning them, your hands roaming over their bare chests. arthur’s skin was smooth and warm, the muscles beneath your fingertips firm and responsive. george’s chest was a landscape of stretch marks and dips, each one making you want him more. their mouths met yours in turn, one kiss deep and searching, the other quick and teasing, until the three of you were tangled in a web of desire.

you pulled back for a breath, the room spinning. your eyes fell on arthur and george, still lost in the passionate kiss. it was a sight that sent a jolt of electricity through you—your two best guy friends, kissing like it was the most natural thing in the world. the soft sounds of their lips meeting filled the air, punctuated by their heavy breathing.

you felt a pang of jealousy, a whine escaping your lips. "you two are hogging all the fun," you complained, a playful pout forming. george pulled away from arthur, his eyes flashing with amusement. "what's wrong, pet?" he said, his voice low and teasing. "not getting enough attention?"

before you could respond, his mouth was on yours again, his hand sliding down to cup your bare breast. your nipple tightened under his touch, and you moaned, arching into his hand. arthur took the opportunity to kiss along your jaw, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there. your eyes rolled back in your head as the two of them worked together, each touch and kiss driving you closer to the edge.

you felt george’s hand move downward, slipping under the waistband of your underwear. his fingers found your wetness, and he groaned into your mouth. “fuck, you’re so wet for us,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. your cheeks burned with embarrassment and desire. you’d never felt so exposed, so wanted.

you whined again, a needy sound that seemed to spur them both on. arthur’s kisses grew more insistent, his teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh of your neck. his hand moved to the other breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. the pleasure was almost too much to bear, and you bucked your hips against george’s hand.

george chuckled against your mouth, his thumb brushing over your clit through the fabric of your underwear. “not so fast, love,” he murmured. “let’s get you out of these, shall we?”

his hand tugged gently at the waistband of your panties, inching them down over your hips. the fabric whispered against your skin as it slid down your thighs, and you felt a rush of cool air against your most intimate parts. arthur’s eyes were glued to the show, his pupils blown wide. his hand stilled on your breast, his breaths coming in ragged pants.

once your underwear was gone, george’s fingers delved deeper, slipping inside your folds. your back arched off the bed as he touched you, the sensation overwhelming. arthur’s kisses grew more frantic, his hands roaming your body. you could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation of what was to come.

you reached for the button of arthur’s pants, eager to feel him the way he was feeling you. your trembling hands made quick work of the button and zipper, pushing the fabric down. his erection sprang free, thick and hot against your stomach. george’s eyes flicked down to watch, his own arousal palpable.

you took arthur’s length in your hand, marveling at the velvety skin. he hissed, his eyes squeezing shut as you tentatively began to stroke him. your hand was small, but it fit around him perfectly. you watched his face, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes rolled back. it was like you were learning him, mapping out his reactions. with a gentle squeeze, you felt him pulse in your hand.

his precum had gathered at the tip, glistening in the faint light. without thinking, you smudged it with your thumb, spreading it over his head. "fuck," arthur groaned, his hips jerking forward. he was so close, you could feel it. "please," he begged, his voice a desperate whisper. "please, i need more."

you gave him a wicked smile, enjoying the power you had over him. "patience," you murmured, leaning in to kiss the side of his neck. your teeth grazed his skin, and you felt him shiver. your hand stilled for a moment, making him whine. "please," he said again, his voice strained.

you looked at george, seeking his approval, his eyes glinted with mischief in the dim light. "are you asking for my permission?" he said, his tone light and playful, but with an underlying seriousness. you bit your bottom lip, feeling a thrill at the thought of being in control of this situation. "yes," you whispered, your eyes flicking between the two of them.

george chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that sent warmth spreading through you. "you don't need to ask, love," he said, his hand stilling for a moment, "you're in charge here." his eyes held yours, a silent dare to push the boundaries of your comfort zone. "but remember, you can always say stop."

you nodded, your heart racing as you took arthur's cock in your hand again. his eyes rolled back, and he moaned as your strokes grew firmer, your rhythm steady. his breath grew ragged, and his hips began to rock into your hand. "yes," he hissed, his voice strained. "just like that."

george's eyes never left yours as he slid his fingers through your wetness. he found your clit, and you gasped as he began to circle it, matching the tempo of your hand on arthur. your eyes squeezed shut, the sensations becoming too much to handle.

arthur's hand found its way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer for a deeper kiss. his tongue danced with yours as you both lost yourself in the moment. you could feel him getting closer to climax, his hips bucking against your hand, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts against your lips.

you still your hand, watching the anticipation on his face as he waited for release. his eyes shot open, searching yours, and you smirked, feeling a thrill of power. "not yet," you murmur against his mouth, and he lets out a frustrated groan, his hand moving to grip your hair.

you break the kiss, turning your attention to george. with a boldness that surprised even yourself, you grab his wrist and pull his hand to your mouth. you suck on his fingers, one by one, your tongue swirling around each digit, tasting your own arousal. his eyes go wide, and he lets out a deep, throaty groan. the sound sends a fresh wave of desire crashing over you.

you look at him, your eyes hooded with lust. "you're still wearing too many clothes," you purr, your voice a sultry whisper that fills the air with a heady tension. arthur's hand stutters in your hair, his eyes flicking to george's half-dressed form.

george grins, a wolfish expression that makes your stomach flip. without breaking eye contact, he reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, the sound echoing in the quiet room. his zipper hisses as it's drawn down, the sound seeming to slice through the silence. you watch, your breath catching in your throat, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down. his cock springs free, thick and proud, and you can't help the way your eyes widen at the sight of him.

he’s thicker than arthur, the head of his cock a dark, tempting shade of red. a bead of precum glistens at the tip, and your mouth waters at the thought of feeling him. his length isn’t quite the same as arthur’s, but there’s something about his girth that makes him seem so much more substantial. you can feel your pussy clench with anticipation, eager for the feel of him inside you.

his kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against yours, and his hand slides between your legs again. his fingers slip easily inside you, filling you up and sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. you moan into his mouth, your body arching off the bed. his thumb circles your clit, and the pressure builds, your breath hitching in your throat.

arthur watches, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it with a frenzied energy. his eyes are dark with lust, his jaw tight with restraint. you can feel his eyes on you, devouring every move, every sound you make. he watches with rapt attention as george’s fingers move in and out of you, his hand slick with your arousal.

george’s kiss grows more urgent, his tongue dancing with yours in a passionate tango. his fingers work their magic, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. your moans grow louder, and your hips buck against his hand. you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

but just as you’re about to tumble over, george pulls his hand away, leaving you gasping for more. you whine in protest, but his grip on your hips is firm, turning you over so that you’re on your stomach.

his hands are rough as they grip your hips, urging you up onto all fours. you look over your shoulder, eyes wide with anticipation, and see the hungry look in his eyes. you look ahead of you and your breath catches in your throat as you notice arthur's gaze, sitting at the headboard, his hand still moving in jerky strokes over his own erection. the sight of the two of them, so focused on you, sends a thrill down your spine.

without a word, arthur moves closer, his cock bobbing with the motion. you feel the tip of him brush against your lower lip, and you open your mouth instinctively. he groans, his hand guiding himself into you. the taste of him is faintly salty, the scent of his arousal filling your nostrils. your tongue darts out, eager to explore, and you feel him throb in response.

george’s hands are on your hips, his fingers digging in. with one swift thrust, he enters you from behind, the suddenness of it making you gag around arthur’s cock. your eyes water, but you don’t pull away. instead, you push back into him, eager for more. his grip tightens, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that matches arthur’s thrusts. the sensation is overwhelming—being filled by one as you take another into your mouth.

arthur’s moans grow louder, his hips moving in time with george’s. you can feel the tension in his body as he nears his climax. your own pleasure builds, each thrust of george’s cock sending a fresh wave of desire crashing over you. your mouth moves over arthur, his taste filling your senses.

george’s hand finds its way to your clit, his thumb circling it in a torturously slow rhythm. you can feel yourself tightening around him, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. arthur’s moans become more desperate, his hand gripping the back of your head.

“you’re doing so well, poppet,” george whispers, his voice thick with lust. “so eager to take both of us, aren’t you?” his words are like a drug, sending a fresh rush of excitement through your veins.

his thrusts grow deeper, more demanding, his fingers playing your body like a finely-tuned instrument. you moan around arthur’s cock, the vibrations sending shivers through him. he groans, his grip tightening in your hair. "fuck, you're going to make me cum," he pants, his voice strained.

george chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your ear. "that's it, love," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. "just like that. let him feel how much you want it." his hand moves to your neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin as he teases, "are you going to swallow for him, poppet?"

his words only serve to spur you on, and with newfound determination, you hollow your cheeks and take arthur deeper. you feel him hit the back of your throat, and the sensation is both foreign and exhilarating. your eyes water, but you don't pull back. instead, you push through the urge to gag, eager to take all of him.

arthur's eyes squeeze shut, his head thrown back. "fuck, she's amazing," he gasps out, his voice tight with pleasure. george grunts in agreement, his strokes becoming more urgent. "so tight," he says, his voice strained. "you're so fucking tight, love."

the two of them talk about you as if you're nothing more than a toy to be used, their words a mix of praise and possession. "you love this, don't you?" arthur says, his eyes meeting george's over your body. "love having us both inside you."

george's reply is a gruff growl. "so fucking hot," he says, his thrusts growing more erratic. "look how eager she is for it." his hand squeezes your hip, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

you whine around arthur's cock, the sensation of george inside you and arthur in your mouth too much to handle. your body is a live wire, each touch sending bolts of pleasure through you. your own orgasm builds, the pressure coiling low in your stomach.

arthur’s strokes become erratic, his breath hitching. "i'm going to cum," he warns, his voice tight with need. you nod, your eyes locked on his, and you feel a strange mix of fear and excitement. his eyes never leave yours as he reaches his peak, his hips jerking, his cock pulsing in your mouth.

you feel the hot spurt of his release hit the back of your throat, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed by the sensation. but you remember george’s words and swallow, taking all of arthur in. his moan echoes through the room, and his grip on your hair relaxes as he slumps back, panting. you pull away, licking your lips, feeling a sense of pride at your own bravery.

george’s eyes are on you, his expression a mix of admiration and pure, unadulterated lust. without warning, he pulls out, and you feel the sudden emptiness. but before you can miss him, his hand is on your chest, urging you up onto your knees. you comply, and he kneels behind you, his thighs pressing against the back of yours, his cock nudging your entrance again.

his murmurs grow more insistent, his breath hot against your ear. "you're so fucking beautiful," he says, his voice a low rumble. "so perfect, taking us both." he enters you again, his strokes fast and hard. your moans fall into tempo with his thrusts, the sound a symphony of pleasure that fills the room.

you look at arthur, his face a picture of bliss as he watches. his hand is still around his cock, stroking it lazily, his eyes never leaving the sight of you with george. "you're so good," george whispers, his voice thick with satisfaction. "so fucking good." the words are like a caress, and you find yourself pushing back into him, eager to feel him deeper.

suddenly, george’s hand wraps around your neck, his grip firm but not painful. it’s a dominance that sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. your eyes widen, but you don’t pull away. instead, you lean into it, the thrill of it all making your body respond in a way you never thought possible. his strokes become more erratic, his hips slapping against your ass as he drives into you.

the pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter, until with a strangled cry, you squirt around his cock. the feeling is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced—wet and warm, your pussy clenching around him in a way that makes his eyes roll back in his head. "fuck," he groans, his grip on your neck tightening for a moment before he relaxes it. "you're so fucking incredible."

his thrusts grow more frenzied, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. his hand moves from your neck to grip your hip, his other hand sliding around to tease your clit. you're lost in the sensation, your body moving instinctively, your hips rocking back to meet each of his thrusts. you can feel your orgasm approaching like a runaway train, unstoppable and all-consuming.

"please, george," you beg, the words barely audible through your moans. "cum inside me." his eyes flick to yours, his pupils blown wide with lust. the request seems to push him over the edge, and he groans, his strokes growing even deeper, more possessive. "you want it?" he pants, his voice rough with need.

you nod, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. "yes," you whine, your voice high and needy. "i want it." the words seem to echo through the room, setting something primal free in both of them.

george's eyes flash with something almost feral, and he slams into you one final time, his cock hitting your g-spot with a precision that makes your vision swim. your orgasm crashes over you, your body shaking with the force of it. his own follows closely, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he releases.

you collapse onto the bed, his weight comforting as he holds you close. arthur moves closer, his hand gentle as he strokes your hair. the three of you are a tangled mess of limbs and damp skin, panting in the aftermath of what just happened. the room smells like sex and sweat, a musky scent that fills your nostrils and makes your head swim.

"bloody hell," arthur says, his voice filled with awe. "that was…" he trails off, unable to find the words. george chuckles, his chest rumbling against your back. "yeah," he agrees, his voice still thick with lust. "that was something else."

you can't help but smile, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction spread through you. the reality of what just happened begins to sink in, but there's no room for regret or doubt in this moment. you're surrounded by the warmth of your best friends, their arms a comforting embrace as you all try to catch your breath.

george pulls out of you with a groan, and you feel the stickiness between your legs. his cum leaks out of you, a testament to the intensity of what you've shared. arthur's hand trails down your spine, his touch tender. "are you okay?" he asks, his voice concerned.

you nod, still trying to catch your breath. "yeah," you murmur, a lazy smile playing on your lips. "i'm more than okay." the truth is, you're floating on a cloud of pleasure, your body still humming with aftershocks of your orgasm. "that was…" you trail off, unable to find the right words. "amazing," arthur supplies, his smile mirroring yours.

the three of you lie there, the silence comfortable, the air charged with a newfound intimacy. you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, a strange mix of emotions swirling through you. but you don't want to ruin the moment with questions about what happens next. instead, you revel in the feeling of their skin against yours, the way arthur’s chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, and the gentle kisses george presses along your spine.

[dragcnbreak]

a photo of ryan guzman by oliver stark / chappell roan’s picture you / an instagram comment / the artist and his muse by frederick appleyard / an instagram comment / mxmtoon’s mona lisa / a tweet / a photo of ryan guzman by oliver stark / journal 3 from gravity falls

[babylonfelldown]

Painting by Cerase Sccaggi/ Painting by William Mouat Loudan/ Song "Steady, Steady" by The Crane Wives/Painting by Thomas Francis Dicksee/detail of a painting by Marie Spartali Stillman/Song "the fruits" by Paris Paloma/painting by Antonhy Frederick Augustos

Sansa Stark

[kitsunetsuki]

Norman Eales - Moyra Swan Wearing a Dress by Frederick Starke (Vogue UK 1966)

[mysterioussorcerysummonspirits]

Evening Coat, House of Worth, Designer is Jean-Philippe Worth, ca. 1900, French, Silk

Historicism was a major hallmark of the House of Worth beginning with Charles Frederick Worth's interest in studying historical costume through museum research. This evening coat readily includes iconography of the Tudors with a Tudor rose pattern alongside the silhouette of alternative 16th century negligées in the full sleeves, standing collar and unfitted style. Worth ingeniously manipulates the textile to create an entirely new pattern on the back panel and has a keen eye for the creating the subtle black on black patterning on the top to counteract the stark contrast of the roses in the skirt.  

Jean-Philippe Worth began as an assistant to his father, Charles Frederick Worth, in 1875. Gradually he was allowed to create his own designs and when his father died in 1895, he became the lead designer for the house. He was praised for making elaborate artistic gowns with intricate trimmings on unique textiles, much like his father had before him. Although the House of Worth was still favored by royalty and celebrities through the turn of the century, their styles were no longer the forefront of French fashion after 1900. Around 1910 Jean-Philippe limited his design work to important orders and hired his nephew, Jean-Charles Worth, as the new lead designer before leaving the company entirely after World War I.

[queen-of-andor]

Catelyn and Bran

 "I was glad for Bran's sake. You would have been proud of Bran." "I am always proud of Bran," Catelyn replied

Sansa would shine in the south, Catelyn thought to herself, and the gods knew that Arya needed refinement. Reluctantly, she let go of them in her heart. But not Bran. Never Bran.

Little child, be not afraid

Though storm clouds mask your beloved moon

And its candlelight beams,

still keep pleasant dreams

I am here tonight

"And what if Maester Luwin is wrong? What if Bran needs me and I'm not here?"

Do you think it matters to me one whit? I would gladly butcher every horse in Winterfell with my own hands if it would open Bran's eyes, do you understand that? Do you!"

She could not bend the last two fingers on her left hand, and the others would never again be dexterous. Yet that was a small enough price to pay for Bran's life.

( This is part 3 of my Catelyn and her kids series. You can find my Catelyn & Sansa here, Catelyn & Arya here and bonus! Catelyn with both of her daughters here)

Mother & Child - Nora Kasten// Mother and Child - Haralampos Potamianos (detail)// CATELYN I - AGOT// How's the Heart? - Nightwish// CATELYN II - AGOT// Virgin and Child in a Landscape -Master of the Embroidered Foliage (detail)// Art by Petrov Mikhail Fedorovich(detail)// Lullaby for a Stormy Night - Vienna Teng // Bran Stark illustrated by Tiziano Baracchi for the "A Game of Thrones collectable card game"// Sleeping Beauty - John Collier (detail)// CATELYN III- AGOT// Helen of Troy - Antony Frederick Augustus Sandys(detail)// CATELYN III- AGOT// Michelle Fairley as Catelyn Stark in Game of Thrones// CATELYN IV - AGOT// Two for Tragedy - Nightwish.

[vassia-sparta]

Daemon Targaryen x OC (Stark)

So, this is my way of coping until the new season of House of the Dragon is released.

Synopsis: After Daemon is wounded during a patrol with the City Watch, how will his Stark wife react?

This is a oneshot, and contains adult themes, so anyone under 18, please do not read.

You have been warned!

Also, POV is from the OC.

Enjoy!

I had been having tea with the Queen and a few of her ladies, when word came that my husband had returned from his patrol down in the city. That was not the concerning part though.

“I heard from one of the men of the City Watch that he was wounded my lady,” the servant girl stuttered. “Wounded seriously.”

I got up from my seat, hastily made my apologies to the Queen, then made my way out of her chambers and down the many corridors, passing by a lot of nobles and servants, ignoring their enquiries and whispers, hurrying to reach our rooms.

I could hear my husband’s screams and curses all the way down the corridor that led to our wing of the keep. That put me a bit at ease, so I slowed down my pace, coming to stand right outside the entrance to our bedchambers.

“He is in a bad state my lady,” ser Frederick Selwyn, his second in command, said to me when he saw me. “He is wounded, but he is in too much pain to let the maesters sew up his wound. They suggest we try to give him something to sleep so they can help him, but he won’t let us.”

“I see,” I nodded, going through the half-open door, pausing when I heard another string of curses coming out of his mouth as he tossed a vial of something the maester gave him. The thing crashed against the wall, coating it with whatever salve was inside it.

“I will not be drinking anything you grey sheep want to give me,” the Rogue Prince yelled, turning away from the poor maester. He was one of the newer ones, barely three months here in the capital. Two of his acolytes stood in the corner, their wide eyes watching Daemon’s every move.

“My prince, you have to listen to the maesters,” ser Marwyn Westerling, one of Daemon’s close friends, tried to reason with him, but the Rogue Prince wouldn’t listen.

“I don’t have to listen to any of them,” my husband raged. “I am fine, I just need to rest a bit.”

I could see at least one wound on his right side, though it was a small one, and another on his left shoulder, bigger and deeper, both bleeding. His tunic was soaked through with blood, and yet he still didn’t want the help of the maesters. I knew well that his stubbornness would be his undoing. He’d rather die than let someone help him.

“Everyone, please leave,” I called out in a clam voice.

The maester jumped at the sound of my voice. He must have been scared out of his mind, after coming face to face with an irritated and wounded Targaryen prince.

“My lady,” he approached me, his voice dropping to a whisper, “if we don’t treat your husband’s wounds, he will bleed out.”

“I will take care of my husband, you can go now,” I assured him, giving him my best serene smile.

The men hesitated for a moment, but one look at the wounded dragon warrior was more than enough to convince them to leave. They knew better than to force their luck with him.

Ser Marwyn hesitated at the door, but I just smiled politely at him, nodding that I would be fine.

When the door closed, leaving us alone in the room, I turned to face my husband. He had sat down on one of the chairs near the balcony, breathing heavily.

“Rough day?” I simply asked, making my way to a nearby table, pouring a glass of his favorite strongwine before I walked up to him.

“Nothing a dragon cannot handle, she-wolf,” he spat, taking the glass from me and downing it all in one go.

I smiled to myself, amazed at how he would continue this little game we had going on ever since we were forced into this marriage. He would call me she-wolf, and I’d call him rogue dragon. We both refused to use each other’s name, if only to irritate each other. It worked, on both sides.

“Well, it seems this time the rogue dragon has bitten a little more than he can handle,” I nodded at the wound on his shoulder.

“This?” he wiped at it with his hand, wincing a bit as he touched it. “This is a lover’s caress,” he smirked, his eyes glinting with sass.

“Well, your lover has some pretty sharp nails,” I smirked back at him, unfazed by his barb. “What did you do, did you tell her that you found someone else and won’t be fucking her anymore?”

He looked up at me, his eyes wide.

“That is no way a lady should be talking,” he warned me.

“But I’m not a lady,” I reminded him. “We have long since established that I’m merely a she-wolf,” I shrugged, taking his glass to refill it.

As he drank his second glass, I went to a basin of water and drenched a piece of cloth in it. I made my way to him, then started to clean his skin from all the blood.

“Fuckin’ piece of work, he caught me by surprise,” Daemon muttered, leaning back his head and closing his eyes.

“Ambush?” I questioned, taking extra care around the wounds. The one on his side had stopped bleeding, it wouldn’t need stitching, but the one on his shoulder, that was another story. Whoever had hit him, it had gotten him good.

“That cunt was hiding behind a corner, with an axe at hand. Went right through my armor, would have taken my head off if not for ser Strong.”

“Why would someone attack you for no reason?” I questioned, walking up to the basin to rinse off the cloth. The water turned pink, darkening every time I dipped the cloth back in.

“Not like I have a great army of friends in the city. I probably killed one of his gang buddies or something, sliced his brother’s hand for stealing, cut his best friend’s dick for sticking it where he shouldn’t have, the list could go on and on,” Daemon shrugged, wincing as his wound gushed some more blood.

“Yet people still call you the Prince of the City and cheer for you at every tourney,” I reminded him, trying to clean his other wound. “Surely you must have some who like you, especially around the Street of Silk,” I smirked at him.

He looked up at me, his face growing serious. I didn’t know why he looked at me like that. It was no secret he was a frequent patron of the many brothels residing in the Street of Silk, both before our marriage and after. I ignored him, more focused on the task at hand.

After I finished cleaning his wounds, I took thread and needle, refilled his glass, then set out to stitch him up.

“Better drink that, this will hurt a bit,” I warned him as I threaded the needle and approached him.

He focused those dark violet orbs on me, and I found myself having trouble breathing for a moment.

I always had that reaction when Daemon looked at me like that. From the moment I first laid eyes on him, that fateful day at the throne, just before my father and king Viserys had announced that we were to be wed, the Rogue Dragon had stared at me with such intensity, I might as well had burst into flames right there. The weirdest part was, I had liked it. I wanted his attention. And he seemed to appreciate my presence, licking his lips as he eyed me up and down. It should have felt wrong, but deep inside me, I was thrilled that I appealed to him.

Alas, that had lasted all but a few moments. After the betrothal was announced, a surprise for him if according to his shocked expression, Daemon turned colder than the Wall itself. During one of the walks we were forced to take in order to ‘get to know each other better’, he made it clear to me that he had no intention of marrying me, but he was merely doing it because his brother forced him too.

Any hopes I had of a happy marriage vanished in a moment. Rumors of his previous marriage had of course reached me, but my father had assured me that I would be different. I was nothing like lady Rhea. I was the daughter of the North, lady Lara of house Stark, daughter of the Warden of the North and one of the prettiest maidens in all the Seven Kingdoms, as some would say. Yet, none of that mattered to Daemon Targaryen. He never acted according to rules set by others. He always followed his own rules, the others be damned. After that walk, he didn’t spend one second around me, preferring to spend his nights with his friends and his whores in the various winesinks of the city.

The night of our wedding, he came to my room and made it clear that he had no intention of bedding me, nor would he ever touch me. This marriage was forced upon him, and he had no desire to consummate it. It was a knife in my heart, a complete destruction of any dream I had for my marriage. I was not silly. As a noble woman and daughter of a great house, I was expected to marry for political or diplomatic reasons. Yet, I hoped that, maybe whoever I had to marry would at least make the effort to get to know me, and then he’d try to make this marriage work.

No. Not the Rogue Prince. He continued with his nights in the brothels and the training of his men, as if our marriage had not happened. I had to endure the whispers and gossip of the ladies at court, maintain a calm demeanor, while the wolf inside me howled with fury. At some point, I had fallen in love with my heartless husband, and therefore was doomed to suffer a marriage to a man that would never want me.

Many had suggested that I follow lady Rhea’s example and go back to Winterfell, away from the whispers of the court and my husband’s cold behavior. It seemed enticing, I admit, but I rejected the idea. I was not some measly girl that would run back to her parents in tears. I was a wolf, and I would show everyone that I was not afraid in the face of hard times.

Life went on and now, almost a year after our marriage, Daemon and I had settled in a sort of routine. We both avoided each other during the day, but made sure to keep a united front against our common enemies during assemblies or feasts. He never slept in our shared chambers, but was at my side whenever anyone tried to get a rise out of our situation and make a fool out of me.

Chief amongst those who sought to humiliate this marriage was Lord Otto Hightower, the King’s Hand. Gosh, how I hated that man. It was the one thing Daemon and I shared. Our disgust at the upstart lord from the Reach who sought to rule the Seven Kingdoms while trying to move the King around like a puppet.

It was during a banquet that Daemon and I first realized that we had that in common. We were celebrating the birth of prince Aemond, the second son of the king and the slimy lord Hand had the audacity to come to our table, baby Aemond in his arms.

“Such a delight that the king has another son to continue his legacy, isn’t it?” he had asked in that annoying voice of his.

“It is indeed my lord Hand,” I had agreed, trying to keep appearances. Daemon, on the other hand, didn’t deem it worthy to answer him.

“Perhaps you should make some effort to give a son to your husband my lady, it has been quite some time since your marriage, hasn’t it? Or has prince Daemon been keeping too busy with the City Watch?”

His comment and that sneer on his smug face made my blood boil, but I took a deep breath to calm myself down. Beside me, Daemon seemed ready to jump at him, but I took his hand in mine under the table, squeezing it slightly. He turned to look at me, a small surprise dancing in those dark purple eyes of his.

“My husband is doing his duty to his king, keeping the city clean of the criminals,” I replied calmly. “Perhaps you should do your duty and find a way to keep our people fed and busy, then maybe the people will stop stealing and murdering, and his talents with a sword won’t be needed so much.”

“Surely he can stop his patrols for a while to tend to you, right?” lord Otto turned to Daemon, and I felt my husband twitching to snatch the little weasel and crush him under his boots.

“I understand my husband’s duty, and I am patient. When the time comes, the Gods will bless us with a child,” I replied, still holding onto Daemon’s hand. Its warmth gave me strength, somehow.

“I did ask your husband to take one of my sons as his lieutenant, but it seems the Rogue Dragon is too proud to accept my help,” lord Otto sneered.

“Which of your sons, the one that runs after boys or the one that I squashed during my last tourney?” Daemon smirked at his adversary.

Lord Otto looked furious, but didn’t say anything.

“The City Watch needs soldiers with extraordinary fighting skills and the guts to do what is needed,” I intervened, not wanting to cause a scene in the middle of the banquet. “Who better to fill that post than the finest warrior of the Seven Kingdoms? I am sad to say that, according to rumors, neither of your sons are known for their prowess my lord,” I smiled sweetly at him. “Wasn’t it ser Gwayne who lost in the training yard yesterday, after ser Harwin smashed him to the ground two minutes into the fight?” I turned to Daemon.

“Why yes it was,” he smiled at me, that teasing smile that could make a septa give in to him. “The poor thing was on his back bleeding, when ser Strong had barely touched him. I assure you my lord, if I took him with me to the patrols, he’d run back to you in tears an hour into the service. How did he earn his spurs, I’ll never understand.”

Daemon turned to smirk at his adversary, his eyes shining with glee. “Then again, you were never known for your skill in the battlefield, am I right? Perhaps your sons took after you.”

The weasel looked furious, but didn’t say anything. After he left, I let go of Daemon’s hand, conscious of how long I had held on to it.

That night, as I was making my way to our bedchambers, I found him waiting for me outside.

“Something wrong my prince?” I questioned, confused as to why he was here this late at night.

“Why did you defend me?” he asked, straight to the point. His face was devoid of any teasing of playful tone. It was the most serious I had seen him since our wedding day.

His question took me by surprise.

“Why not? You are my husband after all,” I shrugged, pushing the door open.

“That is no reason to defend me,” he insisted, following me inside.

“Then I don’t know what to tell you my prince,” I shrugged, sitting before my mirror to take down the elaborate braids my maid had woven my hair into for the night.

“What do you have against him? The Hand never moved against you or your house. Why would you side with me?”

I sighed, the tiredness of the evening making me antsy.

“Look,” I got up to face him. “You might ignore it, but the fact remains that we are married. And though that is no reason to defend you, I do recognize that you do fine work with your men all around the city. You do what you were born to do, wield a sword and swing it on those who deserve to die. The Hand is too proud to understand that, and he decided to make fun of us and our marriage right to my face, in order to get a rise out of you and humiliate me. That is low, even for him.” I turned away, reaching for my hair brush.

“You could have kept quiet,” Daemon suggested.

“We are married my prince,” I looked at him sternly. “That makes you part of my family. I don’t let weasels like him hurt my family.”

Daemon stood there for a while, penetrating me with his sharp gaze.

“Good night my lady,” he nodded lightly, then turned to leave without another word.

From that day on, he became just a tad kinder to me, and I even caught him staring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Just as he was doing now.

I pushed my anxiety deep down, and focused on the task at hand. I cut the tunic off of him, leaving his muscular chest bare.

“Are you ready?” I asked him.

“Go on,” he merely replied, taking another sip of his wine.

I came to stand beside him, then started the slow and painful process. I tried to keep the stiches as small as possible, to keep the wound from scarring terribly. I could see several scars on his muscular back and chest, remnants from the battles he had participated in. He was a true warrior, more comfortable in a bloody battlefield fighting his enemies, than in a palace full of courtiers, playing the game of thrones.

In a way, I understood his discomfort. He was a wild creature, preferring to do what he wanted over what was forced upon him. I too longed to be free to do as I wished, but my sense of duty forbade me from acting on my desires.

Halfway through the stitching, Daemon had consumed his fourth glass of wine, and looked a bit drunk. His eyes shined, and his face had turned a slight pink. He kept his gaze on me as I worked on him, and I tried my best not to flinch. This was the first time I had been so close to him for so long, and the fact that he was half naked only added to my discomfort.

Though I had never known the touch of a man, I was no stranger to what went on between a man and a woman behind closed doors. Prior to my wedding, some of my lady friends, the more scandalous ones, had dragged me into a secret corridor that led to a sort of observation deck. Hidden behind a wooden panel, we watched as two servants used an old storage room to house their secret affair. I still remembered the things that man did to his lover. How he used his mouth, his hands, his whole body to give pleasure to the young woman. I wanted to feel that, what it was like to be in a man’s arms, to be wanted, to be pleasured.

It was no secret that Daemon knew his way around a woman’s body. His many adventures in the city’s brothels spoke volumes. Many a night I had wondered what it would feel like to be in his arms, and the frustration only made my heart and my body ache more for his touch. And now here I was, as close to him as I would ever be, touching his naked skin with my fingers. So close, and yet so far away.

I was so focused on keeping my mind from focusing on our proximity, that I didn’t even realize it when Daemon spoke to me.

“What?” I uttered, my cheeks flaming in embarrassment. My mind had been traveling in paths too improper for a noble lady to consider. And yet, being so close to my beautiful husband, I couldn’t help but wonder.

“I asked, why are you taking care of me?” he said, his voice so rough, it felt like a rumble of a distant thunderstorm.

“You are my husband Daemon, that is my duty,” I sighed, tying off the end of the thread, securing the stitches.

“My previous wife did not feel inclined to treat me when I got hurt,” he commented.

“Your previous wife was not me,” I retorted, feeling hurt. How could he really compare me to his first wife, when he had not even made the attempt to get to know me better?

I turned away, reaching for the salve on the table beside him. I had to lean over him to take the small jar, and felt his chest touching mine as he breathed.

I took a small amount of salve and rubbed it on the wound, trying to keep my touch as light as possible so as to not hurt him.

“Why do you do this?” he whispered, making me pause.

I chucked softly.

“Though I do like black, mourning does not suit me my dear husband,” I shook my head, trying to brush off his question.

“I’m serious,” he growled, his arm wrapping around my thighs, trapping me in place.

“So am I,” I threw back at him, reaching down to rub salve on the wound on his side. I massaged it softly, helping the salve be absorbed by his skin, while trying to keep my mind from enjoying the softness of it, the strength that I could feel underneath my fingertips.

He let me go as I put the jar away and took the roll of bandages to tie off his wound. He leaned forward, letting me wrap the soft cloth around him, making sure both wounds were properly protected before I secured the end of the cloth.

I took a clean cloth and started cleaning the dirt and blood that was spattered on his face. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the cool cloth on his brow before he turned to look at me once more.

“Why do you tolerate all this?” Daemon asked, wrapping his arm around me once more, making my heart beat wildly in my chest.

“As I told you before, you are my husband Daemon,” I sighed, looking at him. “Whether we like it or not, we are bound together. For better or for worse, we are destined to move forward in life, until one of us is claimed by the Gods. By the looks of it, you will not be claimed any time soon. Now, can you let me go, I need to find you a new tunic to wear, and I’ll have to give my dress to the washers and hope they can salvage it.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he replied immediately, still keeping me pressed up against him.

“No need for that my rogue dragon, I can dye it if it doesn’t wash out. Perhaps a deep purple, like your eyes when you get angry,” I smiled, pushing a strand of hair that had fallen over his face while I treated him.

With a swift move of his other hand he pulled my face towards his, crushing his lips against mine. He took me completely by surprise, and my gasp gave him the opening he needed. His tongue slipped in my mouth, deepening the kiss and setting my insides on fire.

He pulled my legs from under me, making me land on his lap, never breaking our kiss. I yelped in surprise, but that only made him chuckle as he resumed his attack on my lips. I was completely stunned, too overwhelmed by the sensations to think rationally, so I just slipped my hand behind his neck, holding onto him as he ravaged my mouth.

We broke off for air, but I didn’t have the chance to say anything. He set me on my feet again, though I was glad he kept his hold on me. I wasn’t sure I could stand on my own, my legs felt too unsteady to support me.

Daemon slipped his hands low, never breaking eye contact with me, and pulled the hem of my dress up to my thighs, exposing my legs to the light breeze coming from the open windows. I stood still holding on to the back of his chair, breathing heavily as I felt his hand pull my leg over his lap, whispering words that sent a shiver all the way from my head to my toes.

“Ride me my wolf.”

I obeyed his command, lowering myself onto his lap. Even over my underclothes and his breeches, I could feel him, hot and hard, poking at me. I gasped sharply, clenching my legs around him.

“See what you do to me my she-wolf?” he whispered, caressing my legs lazily.

He nuzzled my neck, peppering it with hot kisses.

“Daemon,” I gasped, feeling so overwhelmed. I had no idea what was happening, but I was too weak to put an end to it.

“I like this, you moaning my name like that,” he purred, reminding me of the sounds Caraxes made when he was around his rider. He might be the most feared dragon amongst those in the Pit, but he was putty in his master’s hands.

Just like I was.

I barely realized it when I started rocking against him, trying to find some relief in the strange feeling I had between my legs. Was this what a woman felt when she was in the arms of her lover?

I paused, not sure what it was I felt at the moment.

Daemon pulled back to gaze at me when he felt me stop moving.

“What is it?” he whispered, his eyes watching me carefully.

“What are we doing Daemon?” I asked, my voice barely audible. I was afraid that, if I spoke any louder, the spell would be broken, and the moment would end. I didn’t want it to end.

“What does it feel like we’re doing?” he smirked, pushing his hips slightly at me, making his intentions obvious. “Don’t you want it?”

“I do, by the Gods I do,” I groaned as he resumed his attack on my neck, descending lower, nuzzling at my bosom while his fingers made quick work of the lacings on the front of my dress.

“Then stop thinking too much about it, and just let yourself go. Let the wolf go free,” he whispered, and the darkness in his eyes made something inside me snap.

I was the one that attacked him this time, searching for his lips as if I was roaming the desert and he held the last of the water in his mouth.

His fingers finally untied my lacings, and he pushed at my dress, letting fall to the ground. I was left in my thin shift and underclothes.

He went for my braid then, releasing my long hair from the ties I had secured them with. He pulled at my hair, not enough to hurt me, but enough to expose my neck to him. He nipped at my skin, marking it with his teeth before easing the bite with his tongue.

“Daemon,” I gasped, pulling at his hair myself.

He hissed, but the lust in his eyes told me all I needed to know. He got up from his chair, wrapping my legs around his waist as he carried me towards the huge bed not far from where we were.

He placed me softly on the soft sheets, hovering over me.

I pulled him for another earth-shattering kiss, and felt him slip his hand under my shift. He reached for my undergarments, pulling at it sharply, ripping it to shreds.

He attacked my neck again, almost rutting against me, and I thought I was going to explode from lust.

“Gods,” I moaned, pulling at him, trying to get some relief on the ache I felt between my legs.

Daemon chuckled.

“I know some of the smallfolk think we descend from the ancient Gods of Valyria, but I never thought a northerner would believe the same thing.”

“You cocky bast-” I started to protest, only to be silenced by the feel of his fingers enter me.

“Ah, so that’s how I can get you to stop talking,” my husband chuckled huskily, giving me another of those fiery kisses.

I couldn’t reply, let alone form any coherent thought. Whatever he was doing to me with those fingers, it lit a fire in my whole body, a fire I never wanted to get out of.

A pressure started building low in my belly and I started panting, as if I was trying to run a long distance.

“Come my little wolf, howl for me,” Daemon whispered to my ear, and it was all I needed. The knot that had been writhing in my belly suddenly burst, and I saw white stars explode behind my eyelids. An amazing sensation engulfed me, and I felt as if I was flying.

Daemon continued to caress me, prolonging this feeling, until I could take it no more. Then, he withdrew his fingers from my core, raising his torso a bit to take a look at me.

I couldn’t imagine what I looked like from his perspective. Panting, with my hair wild, my skin flushed, and my legs spread before him as if I… as if he and I had just…

I dared to open my eyes to look at him, and was rewarded with a hungry look that rekindled the fire in my belly. He looked at me as if I was his next meal.

As if he could read my thoughts, Daemon licked his lips, giving me another of his signature smirks before he reached for my shift. He pulled it over my head, leaving me completely bare before him. I had the greatest urge to try and cover myself, but I knew that would not please him.

“My little wolf,” he crooned, leaning down to kiss me, softer this time. “That was no true howl. Even after what we did, you still hold back. It seems I have to use other methods to let the wild beast free.”

I didn’t have the time to ask him what he meant before he burned a trail of kisses from my lips, to my neck, to the sensitive skin between my breasts, down to my belly and, before I could stop him, right between my legs.

“Daemon, what are you doing?” I dared to ask him, still dizzy from our previous tryst.

“Feasting on my darling she-wolf wife,” he winked at me cheekily, before descending upon my mound.

I moaned loudly as I felt him lap at my cunt, licking like a cat devouring a bowl of cream. I couldn’t control the sounds that left my mouth, nor my hips from moving as close to that torturous mouth as I could get them.

His mouth closed around something down there that made me scream, asking him, begging him not to stop. His fingers entered me once more, and the feeling was even better than before. I bunched up the sheets with my hands, trying to find a way to anchor myself to reality. There was no way this was happening to me. Another jolt of pleasure shook me whole, and the divine feeling shattered my body once more, sending me crashing towards oblivion.

I barely realized that the moans echoing around the room came from my mouth. What was happening to me? This was nothing like what those servants had done in the storage closet. The man hadn’t treated his lover like this, nor had she moaned the way I was right now. Was this a different way for a man and a woman to be united?

I didn’t realize I had closed my eyes until I heard Daemon’s voice, calling to me as if he stood far away.

“Lara,” he whispered, now leaning over me once again. His voice sounded like velvet, and my name coming from his lips like that was the sweetest thing I had ever heard.

I couldn’t reply to him, only gaze at his perfect face, all sweaty and… Was all that wetness around his mouth from me, from my…

“Want to taste your desire my wolf?” he asked, and the flames rekindled in me once more.

I knew I should be disgusted. What decent noble lady would dare to do such a vulgar thing? Those were things that only whores would do, and only because they got paid for it.

But I wanted it. I wanted to taste my desire, mixed with his taste. And I wanted it now.

I reached for him, uniting our lips in a sloppy, wet and absolutely amazing kiss that had me reeling. I moaned at the sweet and at the same time salty taste that exploded in my mouth, and licked at his tongue, wanting more.

He groaned deeply, and I felt something poke at my cunt, something long, hand and hot. I had been so lost, I didn’t even realize when he had taken off his breeches and now was as naked as I was, hovering over me. Daemon rubbed his cock at my folds a few times, then pushed in me, slowly, giving my time to adjust to him.

This new feeling had me gasping. It felt uncomfortable at first, but I was so wet, he slid in easily. I felt him fill me, bit by bit, until he paused.

I pulled back to complain but, before I could, he shushed me with his finger.

“This will hurt a bit at first, but I promise you, it is worth it. Are you ready?”

I didn’t dare speak, only nodded, trusting those dark eyes with my body, my soul and my heart.

With a snap of his hips, Daemon broke through my maidenhead, and I felt as if someone was slicing me in half. I yelped in pain, tears falling from the corners of my eyes. Daemon kissed them away, whispering to me that the hardest part was over. He stilled his motions, giving me little kisses to distract me from my pain.

And indeed, after a while, the pain faded away, leaving only pleasure, and a need for more.

I tried to move my hips, to get more of this feeling, and Daemon groaned over me. He started pushing further in, filling me to the brim with his cock. He pulled back, almost completely, only to slam back in me with a powerful move.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” I begged him, moving with him, trying to get more, more, more.

His hands grabbed hold of my thighs, pulling me towards him, driving into me faster, harder.

I pulled him down for another kiss, this one the hottest of them all. He was on fire, as was I. I didn’t care. I wanted him to burn me, own me, destroy me in every way. I was his, and he was mine. Nothing else mattered.

Daemon quickened his pace, his pants echoing along with my moans all over the room. This time, the knot in my belly was tighter than I had felt the previous times, and I wanted to scream, to let the whole castle, maybe even the whole city know what Daemon was doing to me. I wanted everyone to know that I was his, and he was mine.

His pace became frantic, and I felt as if I was going to explode from pleasure.

“Let go my love,” he gasped, pinning me with his violet gaze. “Let yourself go wild, let go.”

The sound of his voice, those words, the way he looked at me, it was all too much. One last snap of his hips and I was gone, screaming his name for all to hear. He growled, a loud and primal sound that only added to the passion between us. I felt him release his seed deep inside me, and I thought to myself that didn’t want this moment to end, ever.

--

I must have passed out from exhaustion, because the next thing I knew, I woke up with Daemon’s arms wrapped around me, my head resting on his muscular chest. I lay there for a moment, listening to his strong heartbeat, trying to accept what had happened between us. I was no longer a lone wolf. I had given myself, body and soul, to my dragon. That thought both excited and terrified me.

What if, now that he had performed his duty and made me his wife in every way, possibly planting his seed in me, he decided to go back to his old ways, and spend his nights away from me, in the company of his whores?

The thought was like a knife in my heart. It would devastate me if, after a taste of his fire, he turned cold once more. I didn’t know if I could handle it.

I slipped out of his arms, wrapping myself with a sheet and made my way to the balcony. Night had fallen, and it looked to be about midnight, the moon already high in the sky. I stood at the very end of the stone balcony, taking in the peaceful atmosphere of the night. It felt soothing, calming my nerves a bit.

I tried to think of the worst that could happen. If Daemon decided to go back to his whores and ignore me, I would have to continue pretending as nothing was amiss, keeping myself deaf to the whispers of the other courtiers. No doubt our night together was already known to the entire castle. There was no way the servants or the guards had not heard us. They would speak to each other about it behind my back, giggling and commenting how the wolf had not managed to tame the dragon after all, and mock me every time Daemon spent his nights in the Street of Silk.

My only comfort, the only reason to keep myself together, was if I had managed to get pregnant from tonight. If I had, Daemon would have his heir, and I would have someone to give my love to. I didn’t care if I gave birth to a boy or a girl. All I wanted was a child, something to remind me of the one and only night my husband had touched me, had been with me as a man should be with his wife.

My mind was so preoccupied with all those dark thoughts, I didn’t hear the silent footsteps behind me. Two strong arms were wrapped around me, warming me from the night’s chill.

“Why did you leave our bed love?” Daemon whispered, kissing me lightly on my shoulder.

My heart fluttered at the little nickname he used. Could he really mean it?

“I wanted to see the moon,” I lied, lifting my gaze to the almost round glowing orb.

“Ah, my little she-wolf, she wants to howl at the moon, does she?”

I giggled, turning to look at my husband. He looked so beautiful in the moonlight, his silver hair shining, the same color as the moon. He too had wrapped a sheet around his waist, leaving his chest bare. I was mesmerized by how soft and pale his skin looked under the moonlight.

“Wolves don’t howl at the moon,” I shook my head, twirling a strand of his hair with my fingers. “They howl to call out to their mate, communicate with them, let them know where they are.”

“That sounds romantic,” Daemon smiled at me.

“Yes, it is. Wolves only mate once in their lifetime, they never let anyone else near them if something happens to their mate.”

“So do dragons,” Daemon replied, caressing my face ever so gently.

Something in his eyes told me he wasn’t talking only about the dragons currently residing in the pit.

I stayed silent, wrapped in his arms. I had so many things to ask him, but I had no courage to do so. His answers could either make me the happiest woman in the world, or break my heart beyond repair.

“What are you thinking my wolf? I can almost hear your mind humming with how much you are thinking right now.”

“I… just try to think of what tomorrow might bring for me, for us,” I muttered, knowing that it was now or never. Might as well get it over with.

Daemon pulled back, his face scrunched in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you Daemon,” I sighed. “All this time we’ve been married, I’ve come to know a lot about you, even with the limited amount of time we’ve spent together. Ever since we got married, you made it very clear that you had absolutely no interest in me. But now, after tonight, things have changed between us. I… I have to ask. What do you intend to do from now on?”

Daemon lifted my chin, looking at me with those dark eyes I had come to love.

“What are you afraid of? What do you fear I’m going to do?”

I looked away, trying desperately to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

“I fear that you will go back to what you used to do every night,” I said quietly, walking to the other end of the balcony. “Go out with your men, spend your time with other women, ignoring me, shunning our bed in favor of some lady of the night.”

My dragon approached me once more, pulling me into his embrace.

“My sweet, my lovely wife,” he sighed, leaning his head against mine, his forehead rubbing on the top of my head.

“Do you know how long I wanted to claim you, to hold you in my arms as we lay in our bed?”

I looked up at him, confused.

“Then why didn’t you, why did you treat me so coldly?” I demanded, hurt.

“Our marriage was arranged, just like my previous marriage. I was afraid, I thought you only agreed to this marriage to get into the royal family, to gain more power for your family, through me,” he sighed, his face turning sad. “I couldn’t let my heart be exposed, let my feelings out and get them crushed under your rejection. You were so cold, so formal with me, I had to keep my distance, to protect my heart.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. This great man, this famous warrior, the man who rode a fierce dragon with no fear, looked at me as if I might break him with a wrong move I made.

“I have not touched another woman, not for a while now, since that night that cunt Hightower tried to ridicule us both. I go out every night, looking for criminals to punish, using them to spend my frustration and fear, but I have not laid with another woman. None have touched me, nor have I touched them, this I swear to you.”

The sound of his words filled me with such happiness, I half-expected to burst from joy. I leaned and rubbed my forehead against his, smiling at how sweet he sounded.

“Your heart has nothing to fear from me my dragon, for you have my own heart in your hands. My heart, my body, my soul, my very being, it’s all yours, from this day, until the end of our days.”

My husband smiled, kissing me sweetly and deeply. I had no words to describe how I felt. I was no longer just me. We were one, connected in every way, body and soul.

“As I am yours my little wolf, in every way, until the end of our days, and beyond that,” he whispered, giving me little kisses around my mouth. "Come now, it’s getting cold out here, we’d better return to our bed.”

That night, we made sweet love to each other, not stopping until the sun’s rays broke over the nearby hills.

The next few days, several noble ladies I came across seemed to notice the bite marks my husband had left on my neck, but didn’t dare to ask me about them. They also didn’t dare to comment on the fact that, after his patrols around the city, Daemon returned to the castle every night, and the corridor outside our rooms echoed with our moans.

Nine moons after our first night together, I gave birth to a silver-haired boy. We named him Aemon.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Angel Eduardo

Published: Jul 4, 2024

If anyone had a right to hate America, it was Frederick Douglass. Born into slavery and witnessing its horrors first hand, Douglass could lay claim to resentment against our country in a way that only he and his enslaved brethren ever could. He also possessed a unique ability to articulate those feelings—and in his famous 1852 “What, to a Slave, is the Fourth of July?” speech, he showed just how powerful a skill that was.

Every year on Independence Day, advocates and activists across the political spectrum share that speech on social media, and every year I fear too few of them truly grasp its content. Some focus only on the beginning, where Douglass calls the Founding Fathers “brave…[and] great men too—great enough to give fame to a great age.” They revel in Douglass’ acknowledgement of these “statesmen, patriots and heroes,” and that “for the good they did, and the principles they contended for, [he] will unite with [us] to honor their memory.”

Others skip to the middle, once Douglass notes that, for all the aforementioned praise of the Founders, he is “not included within the pale of this glorious anniversary.” Readers of a certain ideological bent will delight in the fact that Douglass didn’t take the stage to join in the jubilation, but rather to “call in question and to denounce…everything that serves to perpetuate slavery—the great sin and shame of America,” and to bring into stark relief the “revolting barbarity and shameless hypocrisy,” for which “America reigns without a rival.”

Indeed, the majority of Douglass’ time is dedicated to enumerating and elucidating America’s inhumanity and moral contradictions, and those who quote him to paint a purely flattering image of our country often elide the speech’s substance. Douglass himself pre-empts this by noting Sydney Smith’s dictum that “men seldom eulogize the wisdom and virtues of their fathers, but to excuse some folly or wickedness of their own.”

I would argue, however, that those who are hyper-focused on Douglass’ invective—those who use it to argue that America is irredeemably corrupt, or that descendants of slaves shouldn’t celebrate July 4th, are also missing something crucial: Namely, the reason Douglass was compelled to speak at all.

For all the venom in his Fourth of July speech, Frederick Douglass didn’t hate America. He believed in it—so much so that he fought his whole life for his rightful place in it, on the basis of its founding principles.

Douglass recognized America as an ideal. He saw in those founding documents not just hypocrisy, but also a boundless and unfulfilled potential. In what he called the Declaration’s “saving principles,” he saw a hope he considered “much needed, under the dark clouds which lower above the horizon.” Douglass spoke to his audience of their America, and the ways in which it failed to be his America. He bravely and rightfully held a mirror up to our country, and demanded that it work to live up to its promise, because he wanted that promise to be fulfilled.

And that’s what too many seem to miss. Despite having every right to be, Douglass’ criticisms weren’t cynical, or merely angry and spiteful. Anyone who reads the speech in full, rather than pulling convenient bits and pieces to serve their ideological ends, will see that Douglass not only “[does] not despair of this country,” but chooses to end his address “where [he] began, with hope.”

That hope is present throughout even the most vicious of his criticisms. In fact, hope is what fuels them. Without it, I imagine Douglass wouldn’t have bothered to criticize America at all. What would have been the point?

There’s a heartbreaking bleakness to the idea, communicated by some, that progress is impossible. I believe this is a mistake—not simply for the fact that despite our myriad problems, all around us is evidence to the contrary. It’s also mistaken because without hope there is no real reason to fight. Douglass knew that. We should too.

The United States was only seventy-six years old on the day Douglass addressed that audience on the Fourth of July. He noted that the country was “only in the beginning of [its] national career, still lingering in the period of childhood.” As we approach our two hundred and forty-sixth year, perhaps the beginning of our national adolescence, we still have plenty of work to do to live up to our founding principles. That work will likely never be finished. But if we wish to get somewhere, we must first acknowledge not just where we’ve been, but also where we are and how far we’ve come.

==

Anger isn't the real destroyer; it's apathy. When you're angry, you still care enough to want better. But when apathy sets in, there's nothing left; that's the end of the line. Just ask Star Wars fans.

[soulcluster]

here it is, what no one asked for: my ship bias list under a read more cause oof it's long

main roster

disney hans — anna, kristoff

dragon age blackwall — josie, inquisitor colum cousland — morrigan, anora, zevran fenris — hawke, isabela, bethany kaitlyn hawke — varric, fenris, cullen, alistair, loghain roland gilmore — cousland, bethany

dragon ball z android 18 — krillin bulma briefs — vegeta, goku cell — ....honestly just send me your ideas dende — gohan goku — chi-chi, bulma piccolo — bulma trunks briefs (future) — none yet

final fantasy aerith — cloud, tifa, sephiroth cid highwind — reeve, tifa clive rosfield — jill, cid cloud — aerith yuna — tidus, baralai

fire emblem citrinne — none yet cyril — lysithea eirika — seth, saleh, cormag ephraim — forde, gerik, tethys, marisa, tana frederick — olivia, sumia, cherche gerome — cynthia, lucina, laurent kagetsu — alear nel — none yet olivia ��� frederick, lon'qu, gregor seteth — jeralt, hanneman

fma: brotherhood ed — winry ling yao — lan fan riza — roy

harvest moon chelsea — vaughn kai — popuri, karen, leia mark (awl) — muffy molly (ap) — candace, phoebe, renee popuri — gray, karen, kai soseki — none yet vaughn — chelsea

the last unicorn amalthea — lir

legend of zelda link — mipha, malon malon — link mipha — link, zelda, revali zelda — ganondorf

marvel 616 adam warlock — gamora drax — mantis gamora — adam warlock, angela, tony stark peter quill — none yet rocket — lylla

mortal kombat fujin — none yet jax — sonja, vera takeda — jacqui

my time gwen/oc — logan, unsuur, owen, qi, heidi logan — fang, grace, builder

persona kotone — shinjiro, akihiko, ryoji ren — yoshizawa, ann, futaba, shiho, ryuji ryuji — joker, ann shiho — ann, joker shinjiro — kotone

resident evil leon — claire rebecca — none yet

star wars briayla/oc — corso, darmas, theron, lana doc — jedi knight kihanda/oc — doc, obi-wan

stardew valley abigail — sam, leah, penny, farmer eris/oc — harvey harvey — farmer

studio ghibli arrietty — spiller baron — baroness kiki — none yet pazu — sheeta

tales of kratos — anna, raine lailah — zaveid

threads of fate rue — none yet

tomb raider jonah — abigaile lara — sam, jaocb sam — lara

request roster

chrono trigger/cross serge — leena magus — none yet

cyberpunk 2077 takemura — none yet v/oc — none yet

DC lucifer — mazikeen soarnik natu — none yet

disney jack skellington — sally jane porter — tarzan, belle

final fantasy basch — none yet fran — balthier penelo — none yet zidane — garnet/dagger

fire emblem byleth — dimitri, claude, hanneman, shamir deirdre — sigurd franz — none yet gregory — none yet marianne — byleth, dimitri mikoto — yukimura, gunter quan — ethlyn rhys — none yet silas — corrin

harvest moon calvin — farmer lyla — basil, louis muffy — farmer, griffin, nami

legend of dragoon dart — shana lavitz — rose

mass effect garrus — shepard jeff/joker — shepard zaeed — shepard

metal gear solid cécile — kaz gray fox — none yet quiet — venom snake solid snake — hal, meryl

my hero academia tenya iida — ochako mina ashido — none yet

once upon a time belle — emma, ruby, ariel, killian, neal emma swan — neal, belle, ruby, graham grace — henry jefferson — belle, graham, robin, ruby milah — graham, robin, killian neal — emma, belle, robin, graham

rune factory felicity — raguna russell — none yet

tales of zaveid — lailah

*note 1: for any oc type characters I have a preference for (inquisitor, hawke, builder, assorted farmers, shepard, etc.), shipping will depend on that muse's character and if it works with my muse.

**note 2: just because a ship isn't on here doesn't mean I wouldn't ship it at all, except in the rare case of a notp

***notps: aerith/zack, cloud/tifa. these are only in a romantic sense, platonic is fine. if you see me shipping these it's because I'm close with the other mun

[fairytalesandfandoms]

a long but still incomplete list of notable blorbos for @adamnagaitis, in approximate order of when I encountered them, and focusing on the male blorbos because, well, it's easier to spot patterns with them, not that we want to do that of course

Arthurian legend - Merlin

The Secret Garden - Archibald Craven (especially John Lynch in the movie)

Kidnapped - Alan Breck Stewart

(there was a certain professor character from [redacted series] which I only mention for completeness)

A Series of Unfortunate Events - Uncle Monty/Dr Montgomery Montgomery, and also later Lemony Snicket as an in-universe character (The Beatrice Letters will do that to you)

The Edge Chronicles - Cloud Wolf

The Hobbit - Thorin Oakenshield (and also Thranduil in the movies)

Treasure Planet - Dr Doppler

The Mask of Zorro - Diego de la Vega

The Spiderwick Chronicles (books) - Arthur Spiderwick

The Phantom of the Opera (musical) - Erik

Doctor Who - The Doctor

Independence Day - David Levinson

Stravaganza series - Rodolfo

Star Trek - Spock

Sally Lockhart series - Fred Garland

Discworld - Sam Vimes and Havelock Vetinari

BBC Robin Hood - Guy of Gisborne

X-Men - Wolverine

North and South - John Thornton

Indiana Jones - Henry Jones Sr. (Indy's dad)

Good Omens - Aziraphale

Chrestomanci series - Christopher Chant

The Looking Glass Wars by Frank Beddor - Hatter Madigan (especially in Seeing Redd)

Sense and Sensibility - Colonel Brandon

Foyle's War - DCS Christopher Foyle

Yes, Minister/Yes, Prime Minister - Sir Humphrey Appleby

National Treasure - Ben Gates

Back to the Future - Dr Emmett Brown

Moll Flanders (1996) - the Artist

Fire & Hemlock - Thomas Lynn

Life on Mars/Ashes to Ashes - Gene Hunt (who is something of an outlier compared to many others on this list)

Rebecca - Maxim de Winter

Vanity Fair (1998) - William Dobbin

Cyrano de Bergerac (1990) - Cyrano de Bergerac

Around the World in 80 Days (2004 and 2022 versions) - Phileas Fogg

The Return of the Native - Clym Yeobright (Diggory Venn a close second)

Sherlock Holmes (and variations) - Sherlock Holmes

Kick-Ass - Damon Macready/Big Daddy (that is his vigilante name, don't blame me for it)

The Three Musketeers - Athos BUT The Man in the Iron Mask (1998) - D'Artagnan BUT The Musketeers TV show - Cardinal Richelieu (because Peter Capaldi)

Persuasion - Frederick Wentworth

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - Jim Prideaux

MCU - Tony Stark

Les Miserables - Jean Valjean

Howards End - Leonard Bast

The Historian - Bartholomew Rossi

Kingsman - Merlin

The Shadow of the Wind - Fermín Romero de Torres

The Grand Budapest Hotel - M. Gustave

Pacific Rim - Stacker Pentecost

Jurassic Park - Ian Malcolm

Earth Girls Are Easy - Mac

The 10th Kingdom - Wolf

Little Women - Friedrich Bhaer

Withnail and I - Withnail

The Terror - Harry Goodsir

Our Flag Means Death - Stede Bonnet

Master and Commander - Stephen Maturin

Ghosts (BBC) - the Captain

All Creatures Great and Small - Siegfried Farnon

Excalibur (1981) - King Arthur

Wicked - Jeff Goldblum Wizard ONLY. I detested him in the book and he is only redeemed by being played by Jeff Goldblum.

The Fly - Seth Brundle (in the first half at least)

Tenspeed and Brown Shoe - Lionel Whitney

[amberthefantasy]

main characters from my stories part one

Hellfire (Obey Me! Shall We Date?): Ainsley Seiger as Moss Anderson

Daughters of Narnia: Rebecca Ferguson as Lady Trisnea; Freya Mavor as Lady Lianna; Elle Fanning as Megnia; Odine Johne as Lady Thallia

Nitimur in Vetitum (Domina): Emma D'Arcy as Lucretia Julia

In the Bleak Midwinter (Peaky Blinders): Michelle Dockery as Maria Belrose; Jessica Brown-Findlay as Rosalind 'Rosie' Belrose; Allen Leech as Rory Halle; Vincent Piazza as Frederick Belrose; Lily James as Evelyn 'Evie' Belrose

Fire and Winter (asoiaf): Sarah Bolger as Alysanne Stark

the fruits (the vampire diaries): Crystal Reed as Charlotte Gilbert; Mikey Madison as Matilda Salvatore; Jenna Ortega as Poppy Fell; Madison Reyes as Hazel Lee

Starlight (Twilight): Nina Dobrev as Elizabeth Swan; Jeong So-ri as Yejin; Maitreyi Ramakrishnan as Fayza; Paulina Alexis as Annalise Baxter; Danielle Rose Russell as Theodora

post masterlist

[james-vi-stan-blog]

Hi I was wondering if you could share what you and historians make of Anne’s take on James’ homosexuality and his relationship (romantic, platonic or otherwise) with his queen, at the start of their marriage (i.e the sailing to Denmark and obsession etc) and the end (i.e letting her corpse rot) Thank you!! - thelastplantagenet 💚

Please excuse incoherent and loopiness I'm so sleepy while writing this alkdgf;ldgdk

The impression that I get of James is that he was very proud of his self-image as "a good king", "a good Christian", and "a good husband", based on his ever-so-clever reading of Scripture and philosophy. Picture the most horrible Arrogant Smart Kid Syndrome, formed by being the smartest person in the (very small) room for many years, which was never properly challenged by reality, because he's the king. The True Law of Free Monarchies and Basilokon Doron just drip with this attitude. Therefore, his self-image as magnanimous, benevolent, and faithful to his queen was important to him, even if in reality he was not these things.

cn for miscarriages, cruelty to pets, creepy kinda incestuous vibes, child marriage, etc.

There are two rather different images of the courtship of James and Anna (who was very young, just 14-15 to James's 22-23). On the one hand, James is said to have instantly fallen in love with her portrait almost as soon as marriage negotiations opened, to have written to her ardently, written poetry for her, and then of course have boldly sailed to "rescue" her in 1589. There is a story that when they first met in the flesh, James rushed over and kissed her "in the Scottish style", which repelled her (she thought it was very forward), but they later came to an understanding about this when the cultural difference was explained.

Yet also, James himself wrote of his reasons for sailing to his bride in October 1589:

As to the causes, I doubt not it is manifestly known to all how far I was generally found fault with by all men for the delaying so long of my marriage. The reasons were that I was alone, without father or mother, brother or sister, king of [Scotland] and heir apparent of England. This my nakedness made me to be weak and my enemies stark. One man was as no man, and the want of hope of succession bred disdain. Yea, my long delay bred in the breasts of many a great [suspicion] of my inability, as if I were a barren stock. These reasons and innumerable others, hourly objected, moved me to hasten the treaty of my marriage; for, as to my own nature, God is my witness I could have abstained longer nor the weal of my patrie could have permitted.

Basically, "I could have remained unmarried forever, but I have to get heirs for political stability". He was also noted for being coldly hard-assed in the dowry negotations.

Apparently their very early marriage was warm, but Anna was criticized for not immediately producing a child. When she was pregnant with Henry Frederick, IIRC rumors flew that he was not James's but that of Ludovic Stewart, 2nd Duke of Lennox (Esmé Stewart's son, therefore James's second cousin, who was also rumored to be a favorite of James's. Yes. This family is tangled and fucked up.) James was said to be jealous over this -- but was he jealous, or was he sensitive about the renewed rumors that Anna did not conceive by him because he was busy with his male favorites? (In reality, Anna had conceived immediately after their marriage, but then suffered a miscarriage.)

The marital relationship was then absolutely torpedoed by James's insistence on Henry Frederick being fostered at Stirling Castle by the Earl of Mar (the same Earl of Mar with whom he had huge childhood drama). This was traditional for Scottish heirs, and it was also sensible, as James and Anna were put in regular physical danger by rebellious lords, who you must remember repeatedly kidnapped young James and absolutely would pull all sorts of power shenanigans if they could lay hands on the heir. However, Anna was understandably furious and devastated by her separation from Henry. This became a huge battleground of their marriage, and James did not give way until the 1603 accession to the English throne, and it really ruined any affection Anna had for James. After that, Anna was often embroiled in schemes with factions that have grievances with James, like Bothwell and the Ruthvens. When the Ruthvens supposedly tried to assassinate James, Anna accused James of fabricating the whole thing. And as their children (Henry Frederick, Elizabeth, and Charles) grew up, Anna was often subtly working on them and turning them against their father (which wasn't hard because James was an awful, totally uninvolved father).

It is said that Anna once """"accidentally"""" killed one of James's favorite hunting dogs named Jewel.

Despite this, I would say that James always respected Anna… as much as he was capable of respecting any woman. Because James was really a misogynist, even more than the typical man of his time. His thoughts about marriage, and about the respect one should give one's wife, are clearly articulated in Basilokon Doron, and it's not pretty. (Full text is online here) Essentially, he gave Anna what he thought a wife should have from her husband: condescension, indulgence, honor before other ladies, sexual attention and fidelity (men don't count, ofc). James, one must remember, had a strong sense of himself as a divine right king, God's representative on Earth. The position of queen therefore also had an aura of the divine, and deserved respect for that - but not for her personhood, personality, or ideas. This is the man who is wearing a bejeweled "A" on his hat to celebrate his love for his wife at the same time he denies her access to her child and basically opposing her in court schemes.

Treat her as your own flesh, command her as her Lord, cherish her as your helper, rule her as your pupill, and please her in all things reasonable; but teach her not to be curious in things that belong to her not.

Something interesting is that when James learned of Anna's secret conversion to Catholicism, he told her he had no issue with her following her conscience as long as she kept it under wraps for the sake of political stability. For this time that's remarkably tolerant, both of Anna and of Catholicism.

Both Goodman and Weldon (remember them? writing from totally opposite English Civil War factions, one pro-Stuart and one anti-Stuart) described James as "not very uxorious". Maybe because he was too gay to really love his wife; maybe, as Goodman accused, Anna did not give him much cause to love her (can you blame her!?). But certainly there was not the sort of effusive affection for Anne he would show to his male favorites.

Over time the king and queen lived more and more separately. Until a miscarriage in 1606, after which Anna decided she was done with pregnancies, they continued to sleep together, but emotionally their lives were rather divorced. Especially after 1606 but IIRC even before, a separate "king's court" (dominated by James's male favorites) and "queen's court" developed. Real political power was located in the king's court, of course, but Anna used her influence to create a much more culturally sophisticated and artistically influential court. The Jacobean flourishing of the arts is more attributable to Anna's patronage than to James's (he fell asleep during plays and much more enjoyed watching a good debate).

But, I feel that their relationship somewhat recovered with time. In the more peaceful environment of England, they negotiated a sort of understanding, and had a cool but amicable relationship, sometimes working as partners and sometimes at cross purposes.

Anna's attitude to James's favorites seems to have been ambivalent. On the one hand, she was said to have understood "the king could not exist without his favorites" (I tried to find the source for this quote and failed but I'll look again later), and for his part he allowed her some degree of veto over his favorites, if only so that if she complained later, he could tell her "But you recommended him to me!" But it doesn't seem like she was happily indulgent - rather, pragmatic.

Also, as regards the Gowrie Conspiracy, Michael B. Young, author of King James and the History of Homosexuality, relates a conspiracy theory (not Young's own invention) that the Ruthvens might have lured James in not with a pot of gold (what a ridiculous story) but with sex appeal, and that Anna's reaction to the plot subtly accused him of this. And I believe it because I blindly believe everything that Michael B. Young says.

Even though James barely interacted with her by the point of her death in 1619, he was reportedly pretty upset about it, writing her a commemorative poem and going into a depression. You could say that his failure to appear at her funeral (it was Charles who was chief mourner) was evidence of his not caring very much, but some historians, like IIRC Rictor Norton, say that Anna's death actually triggered a minor breakdown for James, who was now facing his own mortality as well, due to his worsening illnesses. James may have also avoided the funeral because he had a longstanding fear of death, disease, and funerals (he also did not attend Henry Frederick's, and likewise that can be read as absence of love, depression, and/or neuroticism.)

IMO, the M&G monologue that I reblogged is not a bad take on the overall tone. I actually don't think James would have been so self-aware or ever considered that God was against any of his ideas, but it captures the ambivalence.

I hope that's a fair picture and of interest, @thelastplantagenet!

[thatscarletflycatcher]

I have finished my first back to back reading of Charles Dickens' Hard Times (1854) -I was familiar with the whole plot and had read fragments and commentary on it before- and... what can I say?

In and of itself it seems like at the beginning it wants to be an industrial novel, but then Dickens ran out of interest (and knowledge) about it, and drifted into writing a drama that has little next to nothing of industrial other than some set dressing (and he removes a lot of the action to a estate outside Coketown! It doesn't even happen as a whole in Coketown!).

Like, hm, we have one industrialist that is raising his kids in a caricature of the already caricaturesque Benthamism. He has a best friend who is an industrialist as well, who boasts about how he pulled himself by his bootstraps all the time. But the plot is about Louisa, the daughter of the first, that he marries off to the second, and whom a gentry dude later on tries to seduce. She has several siblings but the only one that gets actual page time is the brother she loves and who is a pile of cow shit in the shape of a human being.

So, hm, then we have the working class characters. There's Sissy Jupe who lived with the circus and is adopted by the industrialist, kinda, she's like... an unpaid servant for board and food. She's cute and sweet. That's it for her character.

Then there's Stephen Blackpool, paragon of virtue, a factory worker. His story is actually mainly about how his wife is an alcoholic (implied) prostitute and he wished he could marry his also angelic neighbour Rachel, who is also a factory worker. We never once see or hear anything specific about their work and working conditions, and it is completely insubstantial to their lives that way, they have no complaints.

There's, hmm, the unions? As represented by one orator that somehow is the leader of the union despite not coming from or living in Coketown or being a factory worker at all, which, Charly, what? I repeat what? (I mean, it's also funny how condescending he is about workers who join unions, considering he himself couldn't come up with a better reason for Stephen to refuse joining other than... he made a promise to Rachel not to. Why, how, when? Dunno).

Stephen is soon absorbed into the plot of the pile of cow shit stealing money from his BIL and framing him for it. Basically most of the novel is concerned with Louisa, her love for her brother, her marriage and attempted seduction, and then with her brother's bank robbery, what he does to frame others, and his family's desperate race to ship him where the arm of the law can't reach him (which, of course the narrative wouldn't have wanted us to celebrate if it was anybody else of, ahem, inferior station. I was all the time going "I wish he rots in jail. I hope if he gets away that he gets the shit beat out of him in some dark alley). So, Charly, the industrial novel you were supposed to be writing?

Like, I'm fully aware I never liked Dickens and my dislike has grown with age, and I'm also fully aware that I'm extremely partisan of Elizabeth Gaskell, but the contrast between HT and N&S is so stark to me. Pick any significant character from one that has any parallel on the other, and Gaskell has done it more nuanced and with more pathos. Louisa and Margaret. Sissy and Bessy. Stephen and Nicholas. Tom and Frederick. Mrs. Sparsit/Mrs. Pegler and Mrs. Thornton. Gaskell also for obvious reasons shows such a better knowledge of the social, geographical and economical context of her story.

And it depresses me how much more accumulated fame and praise HT has over N&S (yes, I understand the circumstances. That doesn't solve my upset).