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vassia-sparta · 2 years ago

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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.

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen imagine #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen smut

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uselessheretic · 2 years ago

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but also bouncing off of this with ed, racialized masculinity, and rage (and i'm using that term specifically and for a reason) one of the other parts i think is fascinating is the way that rage is dangerous. not to an individual but to the oppressive structures surrounding us.

moc and anger is something that has always been policed and their image in media has to be crafted to fit a specific ideal. i'm taking a look at this through the lens of a biracial african-american, but if you look at the history of how black men are depicted in media you see a stark change occur upon the abolition of slavery. during slavery, the image of enslaved people that was promoted were those of a happy and content group of people. they were infantalized and portrayed as child-like and mentally deficient. you can see gone with the wind as an example of "the happy slave" myth. there's a great teen vogue article you can read if you wanna see more about the myth and how it relates to current pop culture. you can also read more about caricatures and the way they're still normalized currently with mascots of aunt jemima and uncle ben in this op-ed. but like all caricatures, they serve a purpose and fulfill a need of white supremacy. when it came to the happy slave, it was to push the idea that black people were content in slavery, that slavery was a civilizing process that was actually white people helping them, and that the only kind of work black people were capable of is physical labor, that any other kind would make them unhappy.

you can see similarities actually with the way māori men are spoken about and locating their use to physicality. when māori schools (in traditional western sense) were first opened, māori students scored just as well as the european lead schools. white people actually literally forced them to change their curriculum to be labor based completely because anything else was thought of as too complex for their simple minds or some bullshit like that. there's a great paper by brendan hokowhitu "The Death of Koro Paka: “Traditional” Mäori Patriarchy" that goes in depth about the white supremacist fetishization of māori physical labor.

in the same way that māori school curriculums were changed, the happy slave myth was a way for white supremacy to maintain a status quo that naturalized using poc for hard labor while patting themselves on the back for doing them a favor. for a long period of time in america, black rage and anger was erased. it was hidden from white eyes to shield them from having to face the reality of their brutalization. this is why frederick douglass was so revolutionary, btw. he pulled back the curtain on the myth, showing these caricatures as the shadow puppets they were, forcing white people to look at the brutality they were inflicting on real human beings.

the abolition of slavery changed this image. it's like it underwent a PR campaign overnight (which it kinda did) where suddenly pictures of slaves singing with huge grins were replaced with the image of animalistic, out of control, absolutely furious black men. part of this was from a white paranoia projecting their anxiety that black people will come at them for revenge from slavery. but the main reason for this was because of a caveat in abolition that still allowed slavery in the case of incarceration. (the 13th is a documentary on netflix that goes in depth on this!) you can't say that you're enslaving people because they like it and it makes them happy anymore, so what do you do? you change that narrative. it's not to keep them safe, it's to keep you safe especially your women safe. jim crow laws are rolled out, black men in the south are either incarcerated or lynched (the great migration from the south was fleeing white terrorism!) the myth of the angry, violent, savage negro takes form.

the point i'm making related to ed, beyond the history lesson, is related to that idea of white fear of moc's anger. when we talk about the anger of moc, we don't erase it. that's already happened before, and it was used against us. instead we lean into the idea of what makes white people so fucking shook at the idea of an angry moc.

a huge part of this that i think is very relevant to ed is the need for the state to control him. piracy is disruptive as fuck. a huge portion of pirates were ex-navy who left because they no longer wanted to put up with how fucking shitty the navy is to their men (no, it wasn't for radical reasons 😭) piracy also had a large amount of black people fleeing slavery too! one of the reasons black pirates were so scared of capture was because unlike their white counterparts, they wouldn't be hanged, they'd be brought to plantations. if you want to read an interesting article about piracy and race i'd suggest this one! it's untrue to say that piracy was an aracial utopia, but the history of it is complex and fascinating. (fun fact, blackbeard actually gets cited sometimes as one of the pirate ships that were a lot more equitable with race where the famous pirate black ceasar served upon his ship. this does not mean blackbeard wasn't horrifically racist. he still sold slaves and raped black women. do not mistake this for him being an antiracist legend)

pirates were able to operate outside of state control and this was terrifying. at times, they would work with the navy, also a fun fact. hornigold is famous for attacking spanish ships and leaving the british ones alone, meaning england just kinda looked the other way lmao.

but for ed (the character) i think this is what grants blackbeard so much power in a way that just plain old edward teach would never be able to harness. all the way up the chain, blackbeard is feared, and blackbeard is respected. the mere chance that blackbeard would be willing to take an act of grace and concede that power to the king is so lucrative that even an admirals subordinates are willing to go against him for it. to have blackbeard under english control is the greatest propaganda anyone could've offered them.

i think i said this yesterday, but as a powerless child being told that he can't have fine things, that's just how it is, it can feel like your only two options are either anger or despair. ed chose anger, and by doing so, ed chose survival. he can despair over his surroundings or he can get angry, say fuck this, join a pirate ship, and go ham. he can despair over his mother's abuse, or he can get angry. angry that she's treated like this. angry that his father is so cruel. angry that there is nobody who is willing to help them. angry enough to kill your father. not because ed is, at his core, a violent person, but because, at his core, he's a loving one who will kill off a part of himself if it means keeping his mother safe. ("when you kill, you die as well.")

and not just anger, but rage? it's powerful. it's the natural conclusion for having even the slightest awareness of your circumstances as a moc, and it's in the states best interests to quell that as much as possible. not to be like "malcolm x said" but also malcolm x said "Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about a change." and i think there's something to that with ed, where he's trying to change the circumstances of his life to no longer be a nobody. that anger has served him well over the last few decades, his path has scorched a legacy, but it's also burned him out on the way. something stede offers to him alongside retirement is the possibility that he may be able to let that go. doesn't have to hold onto that anger anymore and wield it like a weapon. maybe love can be enough?

and in this case, it doesn't work out for him. there's many reasons why, but a big one is that ed hasn't yet done the introspection necessary to move forward. he struggles with acknowledging his past (he frequently forgets his acts of cruelty) and although he may be ready to let that go, it's not so easy. it clings to him. also why i think izzy's role is so important and not just black and white villainy. what he and izzy had worked. for decades it served them both well. but now it doesn't anymore and ed wants to let that go, but it isn't that easy to sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened. izzy is his reminder of that, good and bad.

i mentioned malcolm x earlier, and it feels worth it to bring up how much a disservice history does to his legacy where he's painted as angry with no other nuance. they called him the angriest negro in america. there's also a fascinating legacy within the black male community of attempting to claim him for black masculinity at the expense of others, but malcolm x was also a loving husband and father, and a huge proponent for self-love. his love was complex, and it was only after he began to start making connections globally and start advocating for a more nuanced approach of black radical politics that he was assassinated.

ed is angry, and in that anger is power, but it's also exhausting. he wasn't wrong that love and vulnerability is something that will heal him, but he also hadn't yet done the work of examining his own internalized self-hatred, despair, loneliness, and anger. he's not going to have a fairytale ending where stede swoops in and rescues him from the evils of piracy, but will need to dig deeper into his emotional roots and connect with that same complexity of love that figures like malcolm x embodied.

this will probably look different for ed though since there are māori practices specific to that self journey of healing. Te Whare Tapa Whā is a model of health and wellbeing that takes a holistic māori and indigenous approach to health that positions five tenets as necessary for one's health.

i don't feel like i can do it justice summarizing it since it's focused on five culture specific concepts, but here's a neat link!

this is something i try to keep in mind when writing ed and his healing. even if i'm not naming the model specifically, i think it's great to check back in on "is ed getting these five needs?"

i would highly recommend reading more about māori approaches to mental and physical health where the trauma of colonization is something that is brought to the forefront of needing to be addressed to heal. not only that, but how strong a backlash this receives from white groups because acknowledging that pain and history is dangerous to white supremacy.

but ed's relationship to emotion is something i really love about the show. rage and anger threatens the control of the british empire. it wreaks havoc across the seas and makes a mockery of their power. with ed though, when he's able to take control over the navy and for a brief moment becomes the most powerful person on that naval ship, is the act of grace. an action born from his love of another person. it feels so? hopeful and kind. and it wouldn't hit as hard if there weren't those moments of pain. after all, ed's desire for softness becomes all the more meaningful when we know he's use to only being treated roughly. that contrast is what keeps us feeling.

#edward teach #ofmd meta #yes i am salty and including a bunch of sources bc of that lol #long post

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 6 months ago

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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.

#Angel Eduardo #Frederick Douglass #July 4th #Independence Day #United States #slavery #progress #Fourth of July #religion is a mental illness

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soulcluster · 9 months ago

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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

#ship bias #im gonna link this on my pinned post likely #i've also likely forgotten some so I'll...update this as needed

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james-vi-stan-blog · 10 months ago

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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!

#james vi and i #anne of denmark #anna of denmark #james's weird stan rambles again #content note #tw csa #tw child marriage #tw animal death #tw animal cruelty #tw miscarriage

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