#stoning women to death in public

[curtwilde]

Taliban has announced that women in Afghanistan will be stoned to death in public for adultery.

The Afghan Taliban’s supreme leader, Mullah Hibatullah Akhundzada, has issued a disturbing proclamation, vowing to implement brutal punishments against women in public. In a chilling voice message broadcasted on state television, Akhundzada directly addressed Western officials, dismissing concerns about violating women’s rights by stoning them to death.

"You say it’s a violation of women’s rights when we stone them to death," Akhundzada stated. "But we will soon implement the punishment for adultery. We will flog women in public. We will stone them to death in public," he declared, marking his most severe rhetoric since the Taliban seized control of Kabul in August 2021.

These grim statements, purportedly from Akhundzada, who has seldom been seen in public except for a few outdated portraits, emanate from Afghanistan’s state TV, now under Taliban control. Akhundzada is believed to be located in southern Kandahar, the Taliban's stronghold. Despite early assurances of a more moderate regime, the Taliban swiftly reverted to harsh public penalties reminiscent of their previous rule in the late 1990s, including public executions and floggings. The United Nations has vehemently criticised these actions, urging the Taliban to cease such practices.

In his message, Akhundzada asserted that the women's rights advocated by the international community contradicted the Taliban’s strict interpretation of Islamic Sharia law. Akhundzada emphasised resilience among Taliban fighters, urging them to oppose women's rights persistently. "I told the Mujahedin that we tell the Westerners that we fought against you for 20 years and we will fight 20 and even more years against you," he stated.

His remarks have sparked outrage among Afghans, with many calling for increased international pressure on the Taliban.

"The money that they receive from the international community as humanitarian aid is just feeding them against women," lamented Tala, a former civil servant from Kabul.

"As a woman, I don’t feel safe and secure in Afghanistan. Each morning starts with a barrage of notices and orders imposing restrictions and stringent rules on women, stripping away even the smallest joys and extinguishing hope for a brighter future," she added.

"We, the women, are living in prison," Tala emphasised, "And the Taliban are making it smaller for us every passing day."

Taliban authorities have also barred 330,000 girls from returning to secondary school for the third consecutive year. University doors were closed to women in December 2022 and participation in the workforce is heavily restricted.

#please keep the women of afghanistan in your prayers #afghanistan #taliban #women's rights #feminism #tw violence #south asia #afghan

[hewantshisbrideback]

ARYA STARK AND THE GODS ❦ BOURNE FOR THE GOD OF DEATH

Thirty different gods stood along the walls, surrounded by their little lights. The Weeping Woman was the favorite of old women, Arya saw; rich men preferred the Lion of Night, poor men the Hooded Wayfarer. Soldiers lit candles to Bakkalon, the Pale Child, sailors to the Moon-Pale Maiden and the Merling King. The Stranger had his shrine as well, though hardly anyone ever came to him. Most of the time only a single candle stood flickering at his feet. The kindly man said it did not matter. "He has many faces, and many ears to hear."

The Many-Faced God, also known as Him of Many Faces, is a deity worshipped by the Faceless Men, a guild of assassins established in the Free City of Braavos. The tale of the guild's beginnings centers around a figure of unknown origins, the first Faceless Man, who heard the prayers of the slaves to their various gods of death and came to conclude they all prayed to the same god "with a hundred different faces", the Many-Faced God, and that he was "that god's instrument".

This belief came to be reflected in the Guild's temple, which has a large public sanctuary that contains idols of thirty death gods. The religious order refills its pool of black water with a poison, so that drinking from it leads to a painless death. Visiting worshippers light candles to their god, then drink from the fountain using a stone cup, then go lie in one of the alcoves. Others take advantage of special alcoves, called "dreaming couches", which have special candles that bring visions of the past, for a sweet and gentle death.

Followers of Him of Many Faces consider death to be part of the natural order of things and a merciful end to suffering. The guild will agree to kill anyone in the known world, for a price, considering this contract to be a sacrament of their god. The price is always high or dear, but within means of the person if they are willing to make the sacrifice. The cost of their services also depends on the prominence and security of the target.

The High Valyrian words associated with the cult and its assassins are valar morghulis, or "all men must die", and its traditional response, valar dohaeris, or "all men must serve". This philosophy runs deep. Members are made to forsake their identities for the service of the Many-Faced God, and may only assassinate targets they have been hired to kill. They are not allowed to choose who is worthy of the "gift" by themselves.

#arya stark #asoiaf #jon snow #lyanna stark #jaqen h'ghar #a song of ice and fire #ned stark #eddard stark #catelyn stark #the house of black and white #the many-faced god #the kindly man #faceless men #jonrya #needleheart #valyrianscrolls #pureasoiaf #hewantshisposts #hewantshisedits #hewantshismeta #aryastarkedit #aryaandthegods #affc #adwd #twow #a feast for crows #a dance with dragons #the winds of winter #finding the perfect word for arya's relationship to death took forever but on god. i found it. #long post

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 29 May 1931 a striking rubber worker, Kang Ju-ryong, in Japan-occupied Pyongyang, Korea, began a high-profile solo protest on the Ulmil Pavilion landmark. The pavilion, on a scenic park, was a popular spot for morning walks, so hundreds of people soon gathered to listen to Kang who delivered a powerful speech about the fate of rubber workers who were on strike in the city against pay cuts. Referred to by the nationalist journal Eastern Light as the "Woman-in-the Sky", Kang had got onto the roof by tying a stone to the end of a role of cotton cloth, throwing it at the roof until it caught then climbing up it like a rope. Dozens of police soon arrived, who then also summoned firefighters to get her down. But Kang said that she would jump from the roof to her death if anyone put up a ladder. With the background of the great depression, a strike had begun at the Korean-owned Pyongwon Rubber factory on May 17 in protest at pay cuts of 20-25% for its 49 women workers. The workers went on strike, and the company retaliated by firing the strikers and hiring scab replacement workers. The women then responded by occupying the factory on May 28, until they were evicted by the police. Kang remained on the roof for nine hours until firefighters snuck up on her and pushed her from the roof into a net which had been placed underneath her. The protest galvanised huge public support for the strikers. And despite police repression and multiple arrests, the strikers also had a lot of success in preventing scabs from getting to work by militant picket tactics, blocking tram lines, attacking trams, and in some cases abducting scab workers and forcing them to apologise. By early June strike achieved some concessions, including the rescinding of the pay cut, and the rehiring of the majority of the strikers who had been fired. More: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/article/7937/pyongyang-woman's-protest https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=634601418713077&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

[soberscientistlife]

Jesus Christ. I lost me breath reading this.

[fourovcups]

I've been reading Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire as research for a project of mine, and it has certainly been an experience.

Desert Solitaire was one of these titles I'd heard bandied about in American nature literature growing up (the kind of thing teachers recommended once you finished Hatchet), but I don't here his work mentioned as much anymore. I recently re-encountered the title on a literal ecofascist reading list. While Abbey doesn't sound like an ecofascist himself, I can easily see why nature Nazis like him.

The book chronicles Abbey's time as a seasonal park ranger at the Arches National Monument in Utah There is a kind of uncertainty and inconsistency in the way he writes, even in the way he acts towards his surroundings in the desert. Silent Spring had only been published a few years before Solitaire was, and the eco-cultural revolution was not yet in full swing. Abbey writes lovingly about his desert environment. He describes in stunning detail, for example, the everyday beauty of a bumblebee alighting on a cactus flower, and decries the reckless "development" initiatives of the Bureau of Public Roads. But on the next page, he will say something like this: "...it's a foolish, simple-minded rationalism which denies any form of emotion to all animals but man and his dog. This is no more justified than the Moslems are in denying souls to women." Sure dude. Okay, fine, he was writing in the sixties. Some insensitivity is par for the course. But then, after pages and pages of decrying humans driving desert flora and fauna towards extinction, he describes with glee an instance where he stones a rabbit to death for no apparent reason.

It's a bizarre passage, and shows Abbey at his most unhinged. He describes the rabbit as "cowardly" for running away from threats, unlike the brave mountain lion, who stands and fights. He throws the stone and hits the rabbit's head: "He crumples, there's the usual gushing of blood, etc.," and the creature is dead. "I continue my walk with a new, augmented cheerfulness which is hard to understand but unmistakable [...] I try but cannot feel any sense of guilt." Reflecting on the incident, he concludes that his killing of the rabbit has made him a part of the desert, a membership bought by killing or being killed, being "predator or prey". Even so, he decides not to eat the rabbit, which he says is probably diseased anyway. He also describes using his walking stick to crush and stir up an ant colony, also without any reason beyond not liking ants. "Don't actually care for ants. Neurotic little pismires." These are far from the only times that Abbey violates his personal philosophy of reverence for all living creatures.

It's clear that Edward Abbey came to Arches National Monument already dissatisfied with the outside world, and with some authority issues to boot (some quick googling on his background shows two demotions as a military police officer for clashing with higher-ups). The freedom of the desert, its simplicity and balance, is a significant part of what makes it appeal to him. But its harshness, the hostility of its sandstorms and lurking rattlesnakes, draws him in just as much.

Edward Abbey is not an ecofascist. If anything, his ill-defined political beliefs can be vaguely defined as anarchistic, if they can be defined at all. Deleuze and Guattari write in A Thousand Plateaus that fascism is "a cancerous body rather than a totalitarian organism". It is fluid, mutable. Sometimes it lies latent, benign; at other times it rushes outward, colonizing piecemeal and erratically, in "flows capable of suffusing every kind of cell". Elements of Abbey, and of Desert Solitaire, contain such microfascisms.

Let's turn back to the linchpin of it all: the killing of the rabbit, which he sees as a joyous, cosmic act; one that links him into a (circular? pyramidal?) chain of being he was previously alienated from, in the atomized world of civilization. His joy is only augmented when he realizes he is not guilty for killing the rabbit. In per-modern hunting customs across the world, the taking of animal life is never free and unmediated. Thanks may be given to the spirit of the animal itself, or to the unseen powers that led the hunter to their quarry. Naturally, the sacrifice of an animal to a god was just that: for a god, not the human involved. What Abbey describes in the killing of the rabbit is something utterly different.

In Federico Finchelstein's Fascist Mythologies, Finchelstein says that in fascism, "consciousness was not a repression of inwardness (as Freud understood the workings of the Ego and the Id) but its actual distillation. [...] [Fascist consciousness] was not contemplative but similar to that of a sublime sensation of ecstasy."

The fascist subject is most "conscious" precisely when they loose themselves in the ecstatic abandon of the act. Such fascist consciousness is the foundation of the free, easy violence it facilitates.

When Abbey describes casting the stone at the rabbit, it is in a Meursault-like twilight of awareness. He sets up the encounter as a game, one in which he is a scientist experimenting on a rabbit that has been "volunteered" to him, and whose death is justifiable through its natural cowardice. He hardly realizes that the action he is carrying out, and when the rabbit dies he is shocked out of his reverie for a moment.

"For a moment I am shocked by my deed [...] but shock is succeeded by a mild elation."

For Abbey, primordial violence is what at last allows him union with the sacred world of the desert.

"No longer do I feel so isolated from the sparse and furtive life around me, a stranger from another world. I have entered into this one. We are kindred all of us [...] Long live diversity, long live the Earth!"

By carrying out this act of bare violence, Abbey frees himself from the civilized world and achieves union with the world of Nature, in which violence is a simple act: one that creates its own order rather than supporting existing ones. It is this union that, while the moment lasts, allows him to rejoice in his newfound "innocence and power".

That is where I will leave things for now. There are other, more overt themes that Abbey explores that are the chief reason Desert Solitaire appeals to many ecofascists, such as its characterizations of industrial society and "Progress". Abbey's later work, such as The Monkey Wrench Gang, set even more explicit examples of direct action and sabotage that inspired right-wing accelerationists as well as left-wing environmental activists. This is my first long-ish post; if you're interested in these kinds of posts on ecofascism and ecocriticism, let me know and I might make more in the future.

#Desert Solitaire #ecocriticism #ecofascism #books #Edward Abbey #fascism

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Shouldn't conservatives be pro Palestine because they kill pedophiles and groomers and know a woman's proper place?

It's hilarious you think Muslims are against pedophilia and grooming. Like, sexual slavery is one of the main tenants of their religion. Muhammad literally married a child. Some Arab Muslim cultures condone raping young boys (then put adult homosexuals to death for doing the same thing as consenting adults, natch).

I'd also love to see you find one single conservative man who thinks women should be covered head to toe every time they go out in public and be stoned to death for the crime of being raped. I won't even add any of the other things Muslims force their women to do in almost all Muslim majority countries. Just find me one conservative man who isn't already a Muslim that thinks that's what a "woman's place" is. I really want to know if he exists, so me and all the other conservative men I know can go beat the shit out of him because that absolutely goes against our morality.

[bellarkeselection]

Daemon Targaryen x reader

Reader is his mistress and she’s pregnant. When the king send him back to the vale he take his mistress with him and he stays there with her and forcing Rhea to watch they love for each other and the baby

I will still take requests until Sunday 🤗

My Chosen Wife

Daemon Targaryen had a wife. Everyone knew it throughout the realm especially in kings landing but he didn't care. He didn't find her attractive not when he had me at his side in secret. I was his mistress and I didn't regret it because we were more in love then he would be with anyone else. Peaking my head around a pillar in the throne room Daemon was brought before the king who demanded he return to his wife. An hour later he entered my room wrapping his arms around me gently while I wrapped my arms around him in a hug too. "I don't want you to go, Daemon. I'll miss you too much." I mumbled before he broke the embrace we shared. He kisses the crown of my head with a weak smile resting a hand on my stomach since I had told him I was pregnant early this morning. "We won't be separated I promise Y/n. Because you and our baby are coming with me back to the vale." Searching his face for hesitation I found none so I flung myself into his arms not realizing the truth until a few years later after I had our little girl Eve.

It’s been two years since we left Kings Landing and went to live at the vale but apparently Daemon required that his wife stay with us too. He explained that it was so if people questioned the legitimacy of our daughter who thankfully had her father’s hair and my eye color. But I figured out there was something more behind that he really wanted to make her angry since he didn’t find her attractive at all. Walking through the castle I was holding little Eve in my arms until I halted seeing Rhea standing across the room glaring at me. “There you are my wife. How are my beautiful girls this morning?” Daemon’s footsteps came from behind where I felt his familiar arms wrapping around my waist nuzzling his nose into my hair that was completely loose. “We’re fine my dragon. But I don’t think Rhea likes what we are doing. She’s death glaring me almost all the time.” I replied turning around to face him where he moved his hands to rest on my hips smirking at the dark black dress I was wearing that had red scattered throughout the fabric too. Rhea walked past us in the hallway spitting in Daemon’s face making little baby Eve just clap her hands not understanding anything that was really going on around her. An innocent spirit that I hoped would remain in her until she was old enough to get married then things would change.

Handing Eve to her father I grabbed his forearm dragging him down the hallways and into our bed chamber closing the door behind him as he put her in her crib for a nap turning his attention to me. “Something is troubling you, my darling wife. Why does it bother you that I keep her here?” Crossing my arms over my chest I tapped my right foot nervously on the stone floor. “You’re saying you enjoy making her suffer. Most women don get to choose the man they want to marry. She was forced into this. If you want me and Eve, all of us…then marry me and get rid of her.” I begged him feeling sick in my gut to be hurting her like this. Daemon strides up to me crashing his lips down onto mine making me throw my arms around his neck getting lost in the kiss until he broke it vowing in a labored breath. “Our marriage may not be good in public but you are and always be my chosen queen. Y/n I love you. I’ll always love you.” Staring into his dark eyes he was right that even though it wasn’t right I was more desired to him because he was something I wasn’t supposed to have. Daemon was my forbidden love until the end of my days.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#daemon targeryan x you #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #house of targaryen #house targaryen #requests open #ask box is open for anything #comments really appreciated

[carefulnowprincess]

Gif credit goes to the original creator

Bloodlust

Daemon Targaryen x House Cole Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You are a noblewoman of House Cole, married to your husband of five years when a faithful evening you find him dead next to you in your bed. Taken by Prince Daemon Targaryen and swept away and forced into a possible turmoil marriage, are things on the surface as terrible as they seem?

Warnings: Mentions of death, short hair Daemon, Daemon being his usual dick self, mentions of pregnancy, brothel, public nudity, a dabble of ring kink, sexual teasing, cheating, public sex, unprotected PIV sex (wrap it up folks), fingering, praise kink, orgasm denial, an appearance of Caraxes, Daemon is sweet on you and only you

Length: Over 2k

A/N: I am BEYOND FLATTERED at how much this chapter blew up, you're all so amazing and I cannot wait to do more! A huge shout out to @middimidoris for beta reading, they are the blood of my blood as Kahleesi would say. Enjoy! ;)

Please read chapter 1 here

Chapter 2

Four Years Earlier 

The laughing, rowdiness, and public nudity of Flea Bottom’s most notorious brothel made you nervous. What is a woman of your status doing here anyway? It’s not like your husband wouldn’t fuck you. Women never get a say what they want, but you were both in the marriage to calm the nerves of House Cole and you would take the sex sometimes out of complete necessity. However, it had been almost a year to the day that you both had wed and instead you chose to climb into the bowels of hell itself. 

The brothel reeked of ale, sex and sweat but it was still an exciting thing, surprising you even after a quick glance around. Making your way past a crowd of three women and two men fucking each other you went deeper and deeper into the inferno of the building. You were not looking for anyone in particular, be it man or woman, just someone to fuck you right as the thought of bringing a babe into this cruel world with your husband made you want to vomit. Further and further you walked as you felt hands creep to touch your shoulder or whisper filthy things into your ear. 

Your senses heightened when you reached a dark circular room that was surprisingly quiet of moans. Seeing the people coupling in such a way surprised you, only thinking you would find debauchery in such a place. You felt wetness begin to pool between your thighs wishing to join in with them when you took notice of a man leaning against a wall. He appeared tall, lean but you were unable to see his face, concealed by a cloak. His shapeless face turned towards you, walking in such a way that dripped with power and confidence yet you did not recognize him. He folded his arms and looked down at you. Only seeing a smirk and a strong chin, he finally spoke.

“You look nervous girl, tell me, is being here some sort of fantasy for you?” He asked. You felt your cheeks heat up and shook your head.

“Not in the slightest. I’m just here because–”

“Let me guess, your husband couldn’t fuck you properly if he tried,” the man motioned with an arm. You weakly shook your head.

“I–well, yes to a degree but, I just want to feel something, with anyone. Sex during a loveless marriage is pointless,” you sighed. You did not know why told this stranger so much but you had to get it off your chest.

The mysterious man hummed in response and closed the gap between you both, hastily backing you up against the cold stone wall as he placed a hand near your head, the other slowly pulling back the hood of his cloak to finally reveal himself.

You breathed out as you stared into the eyes of someone you would never think to come face to face with.

“Prince– Daemon,” you whispered. He gave you a cheeky smile, his white blonde hair slicked back save for a bang that hung on the side of his forehead. He was positively gorgeous with purple eyes that shined feeling like he was staring into the very essence of your being. 

“It is I indeed. Didn’t think you’d find a prince here, did you?” He asked.

You snorted. “Actually, I would not be surprised to find you fucking half of Westeros in here,” you commented. You should have held your tongue as your mouth has gotten you into trouble your whole life, even with your family and husband.

Shockingly, Daemon give a small chuckle as he swiped his hand through his hair. 

“Fucking is a pleasure, you see. In here, I can have whatever I want with whomever I want,” he said. Studying your face, your heart constricted, beating loudly in your ears. A glide of his fingers moved over your bottom lip with a large ring showing the Targaryen sigil as you attempted to breathe. His face was so close to yours that you were not sure what to do next, only focusing on the feeling of warmth between you both and the wettening of your undergarments.

“And what is it that you want?” You asked quietly.

Daemon brushed his thumb against your bottom lip as you swallowed.

“I want you. It’s not every day I get to fuck a noblewoman,” he said. Your eyes looked down at your clothing, revealing finer garments. He must have taken notice of your clothing when you entered the room.

“Now, what would your husband think of you, the thought of a prince of the Seven Kingdoms fucking his wife?” He asked as his other hand twirled with your fallen hair.

“Who says he has to know,” you responded. Daemon pressed his thumb further into your mouth. Your tongue immediately darted out to taste his skin. He gave a small smile in response.

“Bona's nykeā sȳz hāedar,” he whispered, lips finally meeting yours. The air felt heavy as you breathed, his hand cupping your cheek and pressing your back further into the wall. His body encased yours as his lips moved at a rapid pace. It was all want and no take before he pulled away to search your eyes. Your breasts heaved up and down and Daemon took notice of it, his cock twitching in his loose pants. 

“You are wearing far too much clothing,” he said before his lips were on yours again, this time, letting you take the reins. Your kiss was slow and deliberate, tasting him for what you did not know would not be your last. Tongues danced with each other as other moans throughout the room were briefly heard. Daemon’s hands moved down your body to your neck, tickling you for a moment before his lips found your throat. You moaned out as he lifted your body into his hands, grabbing your behind as he made easy work of pulling down the top part of your dress with your tits spilling out into the low light. Daemon squeezed them harder than you had expected but you enjoyed the feeling nonetheless. Your head felt weightless as you leaned back against the wall with his tongue gently biting and swirling around your nipple, moving his mouth to give the other just as much attention. 

“Fuck, my prince,” you moaned out as your hand reached down to card through his locks. He kneaded at a breast before his mouth took more from your lips, kissing you with want. Is this what fucking was meant to be like you thought but your mind was quickly elsewhere when Daemon reached behind you to unthread your dress, yanking it to reveal your nude body to his. Another smirk graced his lips.

“The gods have gifted me with such a beautiful thing,” he complimented you, teasing at your nipple. You moaned at the feeling before you reached forward and pulled at his shirt to reveal a hardened and sculpted body with little hair. He watched your reaction before reaching for his pants to step out of, now seeing his cock fully erect. It was a sight to behold, larger than any other man’s you had seen. 

“See something you like?” He asked. You felt your cheeks heat up with desire and nodded with a small smile. 

“I see a prince with want,” you said. Daemon moved towards your body once more, cupping your cunt with one hand while the other touched your chin. His eyes bore into you knowing what you needed.

“And I see a woman with a desire to be fucked, to feel flesh on flesh with someone who can give her what she wants,” he whispered into the shell of your ear. His fingers felt the wetness on your mound, rubbing gently between your lips. Your knees wanted to buckle to the floor but he wouldn’t allow it, stepping in between your thighs and opening yourself to him. A finger slipped inside of you to tease your entrance.

“You fall apart easily don’t you, but not with your husband I imagine. A shame really,” he commented casually, dipping his finger in and out of you. You moaned as your head fell forward against his arm, gripping your hands onto his body. Another finger slipped into your cunt, brushing against you with expertise as he looked down into your face.

“You’re going to look at me when you cum and you’re going to say my name,” he stated and you hastily nodded your head in agreement.

“Ao rȳbagon sīr sȳrī,” Dameon muttered. You did not know what language he spoke, but his fingers increased speed before moving his thumb to your clit to circle. Moans were swallowed by his surprisingly soft mouth, taking you in for all that you had to offer to him.

“Dae– Daemon, I’m going to–”

“Cum then, I want to hear my name on your lips, let everyone know who’s making you cum and why it is not your husband,” he chuckled. He studied your face, moving his fingers rapidly and adding a final third digit to your entrance. 

Your breath held in your lungs, the fire that burned inside of you igniting to let you orgasm. You came, saying Daemon’s name in a barely audible moan. He grabbed your jaw and held it to stare into your eyes.

“Louder I said, let all of Kings Landing know it’s me,” he said as he dipped down to bite at your ear. His name cried against your lips, head leaning back against the cool wall as you breathed out coming back from the stars you had visited from your release. Your cheeks felt flushed as Daemon removed his fingers from you, swiping a taste of your juices into his mouth. He hummed in satisfaction.

“Gods, you taste delicious,” he said before offering you his finger. You happily sucked on it as Daemon reached for his cock to stroke with your cum, groaning at finally touching himself. He wanted to focus on you but damned if he was not a selfish man.

Nimble fingers of yours reached in between your bodies to touch his cock, stroking the wetness of you on him. Daemon groaned at the feeling.

“Let me suck your cock my prince, I want to,” you said as your fingers teased the head of his shaft. He grabbed your hands and removed them to place above your head, his knee lifting to brush against your still sensitive center causing you to shiver.

“I’d rather just fuck you. I can’t wait much longer,” he said, taking one of his hands and stroking himself again. You nodded as he switched positions, his back now to the harsh wall. He lifted your body up and you felt his cock graze your entrance causing you to moan out as you wrapped your legs around his torso.

“Now my dear, when you cum, I want you to look at me again and say my name, understood?” he asked. You nodded before you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him harshly before you felt him slide into your cunt. You hissed at the stretch of him but soon both of you moaned in unison at the feeling of being united.

Daemon muttered in another language again and pulled his lips from yours. 

“Your cunt is so tight, fuck,” he said, moving slowly with you at first. He gripped onto your behind, his own ass rubbing uncomfortably against the wall but to give him some strength to fuck into you. 

“My prince, you feel amazing,” you muttered between moans. Daemon chuckled briefly before swallowing another kiss from you. His tongue moved against yours gently at first. He had not had such a good fuck in quite some time, surprised at how well you took him. Desires became wants, his cock slapping in and out of you at a faster pace, hitting you at such an angle that you could almost be soaring the skies above Westeros. 

Daemon’s hand gripped onto your cheek, pushing your skin up as he held your face close to his, breathing in each other. 

“I could take you as my wife you know, instead of that bastard you call a husband,” Daemon groaned. Your eyes slipped open to look at him eye to eye, mouth agape with an escaping whimper. He laughed quietly.

“Is that something you desire?” He asked. Your eyes closed again, pretending to ignore the seriousness in his tone of voice.

“Fuck– you would have me so easily? By the gods if he were to die, I would not reject your offer,” you moaned. Your head was in the clouds as you leaned back. Daemon took the offer of your neck to bite gently, not caring if it would bruise.

“Consider it done,” he said, pumping into your cunt faster.

“Oh fuck Daemon I’m going to–”

He lifted your head to his and stared at you with cold eyes.

“Open your eyes, look at me,” he bit. You could barely muster your eyes open, his cock piercing into your cunt as he moved his thumb to your clit to edge you even closer to your destination.

“Tell me, if your husband was dead, would you marry me? I could make you a queen” He said. His finger held just above your clit causing you to whimper out again.

“I–you’re not a king though,” you responded.

“I will be, trust me. Now, answer my question or I’ll take the desire for myself only,” he said harshly.

You wanted to cum desperately as he continued to fuck into you. Opening your eyes you nodded and cried out as his finger found your clit once again to rub.

“Yes, yes, fuck I’ll be your queen—”

You screamed out his name as you came, scratching his back with your fingernails. He soon spilled his seed into your cunt, bucking up into you wildly with groans as he felt your cunt choke his cock. His forehead was slick with sweat as you both leaned against each other trying to catch your breath. Letting you down onto wobbly legs, he turned your body around to face the wall and pressed both of your hands there with his softening cock sitting against your backside. Daemon brushed your hair aside, kissing at your ear, neck and finally on your shoulder. His fingers found your mound, pushing his cum back into your entrance while the other hand reached out to thread your fingers into his. You gasped at the feeling of him touching your cunt so soon again.

“I will be waiting for you then. When your husband passes, I will swoop in and take what is mine and treat you like a queen you rightly deserve to be,” he whispered. Your body felt like it was still on fire as you felt the cold air of the room when you turned around to survey the rest of the room and the fucking of others.

Prince Daemon was gone, leaving you nude as you covered up your body.

By The Seven Gods, what have you done?

The journey to Dragonstone took longer than you could have imagined, the rain not letting up until Caraxes landed. The beach of Dragonstone was dark as you stared up from your hooded cloak. Daemon came up behind you and gripped your shoulders as a final crash of thunder was heard in the distance.

“Welcome, my queen to Dragonstone.”

Valyrian Translations:

Bona's nykeā sȳz hāedar = that’s a good girl

Ao rȳbagon sīr sȳrī = you listen so well

OK OK, what did we think of chapter 2? We finally got some background on how they met and it'll only get steamier from here.

Since this blew up please let me know if you would like for me to add you a tag list!

#daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon fan fic #house of the dragon

[doodle-pops]

Promises of Tomorrow, Today

Royal Guard!Beleg x reader

A/N: I just love the idea of Beleg serving as a Royal Guard and then falling in love with some angst :) Can't tell you how proud I am of this fic >.<

Warnings: flashbacks, mentions of nudity, suggestive, mentions of premarital sex, groping each other in semi-public, talks and plans of eloping, kissing/making out, mentions of faking death, arguments, Beleg and reader are displayed as mortals in this AU

Words: 3.7k

Synopsis: Breaking his oath and choosing death as his punishment, Beleg faces a crisis where matters of the heart refuse to accept his self-made trial, and a second chance for love to bloom without fear and the looming of oaths and death.

Citizens of state,

By decree of His Royal Majesty, all males over

the age of sixteen are to come forth and present

themselves as soldiers for the upcoming war.

You are tasked with the honourable duty

of protecting your women and children,

young and old, helpless and sick.

On this day forth, you are reqired to give your name

and dedicate your life to your Kingdom

The King

The first time you heard those words, there was no reaction from you, none whatsoever. You stood in the stone archway of the city hall with your Royal Guard to your right, listening to every word your father carefully chose to announce his declaration of the upcoming war. It was considered normal for a Kingdom to witness war, yours suffering two and surviving the aftermath for many years, it was a part of the entire order of ruling. There were few who were blessed to remove themselves far away from the constant chaos the realms would throw themselves into. Whether it be for a lover or wealth and riches or for an old family feud, most of the time, your home found itself participating due to its allegiances with many.

When the true meaning of the war struck you, there wasn’t anything you could do. Watching the countless young boys—maturity had not graced them—carrying the weight of the sharp and polished metal in their hands, accompanied by silver garnishing them from head to toe, your stomach lurched. Many of the faces you sullenly observed as you strolled through the courtyard were grim and hollow. Your father was sending hungry men out there to fight for your home. What little strength could they possibly have to swing a sword and defend their possessions?

Their stringed arms swung about the air attempting to strike at the wooden dummies, others, at their living target. Anyone could see the fear and weakness these men possessed. How could your father possess thousands of skilled and battle–hardened warriors but still require the lesser and meek people? Was there, not enough pain and suffering by sending skilled warriors who were sons, fathers and brothers? They were dancing with one foot in their grave with death.

But even you would come to hurt with them as well.

Your eyes scanned the area for that familiar mop of silver, but your heart dropped at the loss of his figure. There was no glimpse of him anywhere. Deep down, you knew he would be hiding from you, slowly retracting his presence and passing your protection to another Royal Guard he trusted while he disappeared. His name was known for being the best at the tournaments, having knocked countless of their horses and leaving many broken and battered. His speed and agility had caught your father’s eyes, but it was his charming smile he cast when he caught your floral bouquet during the standing ovation. None but yours has captured his eyes…and heart so much, that in his haste, he bent the knee and pledged his servitude to your house.

Your Royal Guard.

He followed you everywhere you went, standing five steps behind and always at your beck and call.

Rounding the corner and coming to an empty tunnel, your footsteps echoed before you came to another to your right and there he stood. His posture was rigid and straight. His left hand was on the hilt of his sword and his right was limp at his side. You knew he already sensed you—he called it his keen animalistic senses the Gods blessed him with—yet he made no move alerting you of his knowhow. His eyes remained ahead as he watched the autumn leaves fall to the ground and transform into a boat in the puddles. Autumn was his favourite season…no, it was spring, but it became his favourite after your confession and dance in the rain. He hated the cold, but when he met you, it became his hymn.

Heels clicking in the distance as you approached him, the corners of your lips upturned as you covered the grounds and appeared at his right side. Neither of you said anything as you observed strong gusts of wind tearing the fragile leaves of the trees and scattering them about without a care. You wished to reach out and hold him, touch him in any way before you parted. Your last with him was months ago and he dared to not touch you again until everything was over. All you had were fragmented memories of lying on a pile of straws in a hidden room.

The cool summer wind curled through the vents of the old storage mill while you and Beleg lay curled up beside each other bare. An old tarp was laid on the ground for you both to sleep on while his cloak covered you, mostly the lower regions. His left arm acted as his pillow while his right did the same for you. Your right leg was slung across his hips and half your body draped over his.

Not much was said between you both, not much was ever exchanged between you both. He understood and knew his place as a Royal Guard even though he broke his oath multiple times to have you to himself. While he sometimes claimed it was done out of lust, he would debate and whisper three words he normally rolled his eyes at when others said it. However, tonight, there wasn’t anything said between you both since the declaration was made that morning. In a fit of rage, he rushed to meet with you after dark to release his frustration.

“I could do it, you know, but I would not place you through that harsh life,” he whispered to break the silence, “I can be selfish…well, I am selfish as my friends say. But I cannot watch you suffer by my selfish actions.”

The day you mentioned running away with him after he broke his oath to bed you, it was all he constantly kept reminding you about. He knew you like the back of his hand within the first three months, you were too predictable. He loved you, but he could not bring himself to run away and make you leave your luxurious life behind. There was nothing he could truly provide for you outside the Kingdom. A life as a hunter was not always fruitful, could you settle for that?

“I would still run away with you if given the opportunity Beleg.” You reached your right hand up to cup his face and bring his focus on you. You saw the hesitancy in his forest–green eyes; he wanted to agree but he thought of the repercussions. The Kingdom would label him as a kidnapper and a bounty would be placed on his head.

“You know life would be dangerous if we left, love,” he reminded you with a whisper. His body shifted to lie on the right side to face you.

“If I did not know, then I would not have suggested it.”

You were so naïve in his eyes, and he loved it about you.

Sacrifice was necessary at times if he wanted it to work.

Peeking up at him, his face was still afront and stone set. He wasn’t great at hiding his thoughts especially when they involved strategic planning, so you could see his thoughts written all over his face. Dropping your eyes from his face, they roamed his full-plated armour. He was dressed in silver accompanied by his silver hair tied into a man–bun. Returning to look at the withering tree before you, there was a curt intake of breath followed by a pregnant pause. Beleg’s stance shifted to stand at ease and the hand on the hilt of his sword dropped. Within an instant, you were pulled into a choking embrace.

All sense of composure left you the moment his arms surrounded your waist, and you returned the gesture despite the uncomfortable poking of his armour. Both your faces easily buried into each other’s neck, breathing in the scent of lavender and mint. His chest plate moved aggressively against your unprotected chest from his laboured breathing the tighter he squeezed you. His body pushed and pressed with half its weight as he backed you against the cold cobblestone wall. A loud gasp left your lips the moment you collided with the frigid stone and was soon muffled but the scent of mint waffled through your nostrils. Lips that were a mixture of pillows and sandpaper dragged against yours, desperate to taste you one last time.

His ragged breathing was stuffy in your ear the more he panted as his lips interlocked with yours aggressively. The loud smacking of wet lips echoed in the tunnel, but you two were too far lost in the closure of one another to care. He made the first move in the open, all you were required to do was follow suit.

His right hand travelled lower to grip your leg and hoist it around his waist while his fingers massaged the flesh through the material. The other hand was busy cupping the nape of your neck and tilting your head upwards to angle the kiss deeper. He was torn between wanting to devour or cherish you at the moment. All sane actions were lost and forgotten; all that mattered was you and him currently. Gasping when you felt him tilt your head at an unorthodox angle, he bit your bottom lip, seeking entrance which you granted with ease. The minute his tongue slipped past your lips to meet yours, the grip and weight on your body increased and a growl emanated from within.

Your body was easily hoisted off the ground despite the leg wrapped around his waist; you had to scramble to wrap the other around him. They were both entangled in his cloak. You could feel the palm of his right hand cupping your butt while respectfully restraining himself from squeezing it like he desired. You on the other hand were losing a battle of the tongue as he pried songs from you. Not once did you two stop to cater to the passing soldiers from above who could be your audience as you both moaned and groaned into each other’s mouths. The longing desire between you both blinded all other voices of reason…for you.

Wrapping his tongue around yours and dancing with your muscle, he pulled more songs from you and groaned in response. Breaking the kiss to drag his lips across your jaw, nipping and biting as he moved, and down your neck, he froze once his lips collided with the juncture of your shoulder. Hovering his lips over your slightly reddened skin, you could feel the heat from his warm breath and shivered. At that moment, his eyes reopened and focused on the grey wall behind you. Thoughts hurdled across this mind, contending with him to make his final decision and end his games. Consciousness returned and seized control of his mindless body, urging him to have some pride and dignity. He was a Royal Guard, not your lover.

Unhurriedly, he straightened his posture and towered over you once more, flashing you his forest-green eyes that were filled with confusion and anger. Inch by inch, he pulled back until he settled you onto the ground and returned to his stationed distance.

“Beleg, what’s wrong?” you inquired while licking your lips to soothe the swelling of them.

His response made your heart sink when he bowed at a right angle and greeted you formally. “Your Highness, apologies. I was…savouring one last moment between us.” His eyes refused to meet yours and chose to settle at your feet.

Tears immediately prickled the corners of your eyes as you stared at his retracted demeanour. What happened to just now?

“Beleg—”

“With all due respect if I may, it is Ser Beleg Cúthalion, Your Highness.” He corrected.

“What is the meaning of this?!” you cried.

Hearing the crack in your voice and knowing that tears were streaming down your face, he still kept his face to the cobblestone and bowed with greater depth. “Your Highness…this should end between us. I should have never initiated anything from the very start. I knew you were gullible and I abused it to satisfy my personal needs. I-…I found it impossible to comprehend that I would have nothing as a Royal Guard, and yet there you were, as beautiful as the dawn. I desired and I craved you like you were the air I needed to breathe.”

“Beleg…”

He straightened his posture but still refused to look at you. “I had my fill, and I loved every minute I spent with you, despite craving more. There’s a difference between us and it is a wall impossible to climb,” he paused to exhale and sniffle, “I tried to climb it out of foolishness believing that I was blessed, and if I was caught, my life would be lost. I’ve already lost my dignity and oath the day I took you, please allow me to keep whatever little I have left.”

You didn’t bother wiping your tears away and left them to fall, staining your garment with darker blotches. Your eyes were reddened, cheeks swollen, and lips curled back, ready to snarl. If only you could lunge at him and shake the stupidity out of his yolkless brain to make him see how much you did not care, you would. You were willing to leave your entire life behind to spend out your days with him. Nothing mattered, not even if his trade was being a hunter or a carpenter, you loved him and wanted to spend eternity with him. And here he was, unenthusiastically putting up a fight—it wasn’t much of a fight, to begin with.

“Please tell me that you are joking, and it is all part of something greater perhaps?” you pleaded as you took a step closer. Only he took a step backwards. He could hear the sorrow in your voice slowly chipping away the happiness while his temper grew to unparallel lengths.

“I am not Your Highness! You cannot survive on my love—can it cloth your skin, put food on our table? Can it provide us wealth and comfort?” he shouted in anger while maintaining his voice, nothing above the howling of the wind. The temperature had dropped, and a storm was brewing in the mix.

Crying out at his rejection, you refused to accept such truth and pushed against the door he wished to shut in your face. Not after all you two had been through. “So that is your reason?!” you exclaimed, “after spending a lifetime with me beneath starlit tapestry, it meant nothing to you? Do you think that I would love you for pleasure and not desire a future with you? I want to be with you!”

Taking one step closer to you, he trembled in rage at your stubbornness. You were so damn difficult! Why couldn’t you accept his reason and be done with it? Why couldn’t you just accept heartbreak and run off crying? Responding in exasperation, he pinched his nose, “Do not be foolish. You are royalty, above my status. We cannot mix, we cannot be. Do not provoke what little oath I have to myself as your protector. I’ve already betrayed the King by sleeping with his child.”

“I do not believe you! This isn’t you Beleg—you would never tell me these things!” You shook your head, dismissing his explanations.

“I stand as a solitary sentinel, oathbound and condemned to embrace a lone demise. What love could a man, treading the path of death, offer a courtesan who dances amidst the starlit tapestry?” he murmured, his voice a lament, a hollow vessel drained of life's essence.

“Many things,” you hopefully whispered, “so many things that can only be should you choose to live beside me, and not by the grave’s shadow. Your fate is not written in stone yet. Defy destiny's grasp, fight it! You are a warrior with a lion's heart. Fight for us!”

Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he spoke up once more, this time crestfallen, “Why do you foolishly cling to me still? I have a war to fight, if I survived, I will not choose the life of a commoner for you. I do not wish to hear you ask when next is our meal or for new clothes. I know I cannot provide those things for you—I will not be so selfish.”

“Then I will!” you exclaimed and ushered to stand directly before him. Your hands stretched up to cup his cheeks and twist his head to look you in your eyes. Even tears were building up and being collected in his lashes. “Let me embrace selfishness, folly and clumsiness, for my heart beats only for you! The opulent and cold-hearted suitors hold no appeal as my love is yours alone. There is no joy in this world if you are not there to share it with me! Your very existence is my will to live! Does your heart not return my plea?”

Here was the opportunity to reject you completely and leave you run off to cry your heart out. All he had to respond with was ‘no’ meaningfully. It was there on the tip of his tongue ready to eject into the air and hit you directly in your emotions. Break you down and allow you another form of happiness in the end…but he couldn’t. His heart squeezed the word into his throat and suffocated it.

“Beleg, your heart, does it not respond?”

It does, every day and night, but I mustn't give in!

“Does your heart not answer?!”

He looked at the ground and grunted.

“Beleg?!”

“It does! It beats for you day and night, but—”

“But nothing! That is all that matters.”

Silence settled over you both, drowning your thoughts and voices as you continued to lock each other in an intense stare-down. Tears were matching tears. His hands left his sides to grip your wrist and bring them to his lips to kiss before returning them to his cheeks. There were small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled sympathetically. You were the most foolish and naïve person he had ever met. There wasn’t a bone of fear or danger, just a leap of fate and chance, and a measure of courage. He bore all the sense and sensibility to keep you out of trouble.

Beleg was rummaging around his head to find a suitable answer to reject your offer despite your wonderful heartfelt confession, but there wasn’t anything he could manage. You had a solution to everything no matter how crazy the suggestion was. At times, he felt as though he was both royal and guard.

“What sorcery is this that ensnares me in such sweet foolishness? Where have you concealed my reason and prudence? How do you lead me astray, causing me to surrender to this… What mystical incantations have you cast upon my heart?”

“It is the tapestry of emotions called love. We are but humble captives of its gentle grasp,” you confessed with a tender smile, your eyes shimmering as if they held the constellations themselves. “But if you truly desire our union, then fake your death before the battle.”

His head jerked back at how easily the response flew past your lips and eyes darted around for the sake of suspecting eavesdroppers before returning to yours. You were contemplating this for months he could tell.

“And what of you?”

“I would fake my death as well. During the war, attempts to break in occurs. I shall use that as my opportunity of escape and reunite with you, and we can live across the sea where no one would recognise us,” you explained in an excited hush-hush tone. These were your thoughts brewing in a cauldron over the past few months since your first night spent together. All it took was for him to understand and agree.

He bubbled over your suggestions for minutes while refusing to remove himself from your hold. The wind blew and scattered loose leaves throughout the tunnel, the sound of soldiers marching in the courtyard echoes and the song of the bird and beast rattled in the background. He stewed long and pensively over everything, searching for any loopholes that could possibly disrupt the flow of the progression. His blood and heart were singing the more his thoughts channelled until he found nothing.

“And what if no one breaks into the castle?” he challenged.

Shaking your head with a nonchalant smile, you pacified his worry. “There are other means to faking my death during that time without suspicions. All you have to do is fake yours before the war and meet me at an assigned location. I’ll bring enough gold to start us off, we’ll live fine. We can marry like we desire and be together.”

“…I have my doubts about this. This is persecution and death for me, while treason for you.”

“I know, I can see it in your eyes,” you hummed and smiled with your eyes. “But just, try. For us, for me.”

Closing his eyes and heaving, he internally fought the urge to reject the chance to elope, the change to hold you forever in his arms. To kiss, to cherish, to freely love under the moon and stars, all without hinderance. Break my oath to have the love of my life, but it’s already broken. Ha! Nothing ever comes without risk to get reward, even if death clung like a leech… Then so be it!  

“…Alright, I’ll try. I make no oaths.” He nodded sceptically at first and slowly broke into a steady rhythm before rapid assurance. The hands that held yours glided down your arms you to cup your face and pull you in for a quick kiss. This time, his lips were softer and gone was the sandpaper sensation as they glided across yours. They moulded easily against yours and left a warm fire burning in the pit of your abdomen.

“I’ll take that as a sign of approval,” you breathed hopefully. “Now that everything is partially settled, I demand that I see you tonight at the old mill. You started something without finishing it Ser Beleg Cúthalion. We can argue during or after our rendezvous if your blood is stilling boiling,” you teased and pulled on the collar of his shirt under his armour. His squeaked at your abrupt action and stumbled further into you.

Awkwardly coughing, he grinned. “As you wish Your Highness. Consider this a celebration for our plan set in motion.”

Masterlist | Underrated Character Event Masterlist |

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#underratedcharacterevent #beleg x reader #beleg imagine #beleg scenario #beleg cuthalion #beleg strongbow #beleg #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fic #silmarillion scenario #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fic #royal guard au #royal guard!beleg #marchwarden of doriath #doriath #x reader insert #slightly suggestive #angst with comfort #angst with a happy ending #silmarillion #x reader angst #doodlepops writings ✨

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Aaron Kimberly

Published: Dec 18, 2021

Between 1995-2006 I was a part of the butch lesbian community. During those years, despite my life-long and sometimes intense gender dysphoria, I hadn’t given any serious thought to medically transitioning. It wasn’t even on my radar as a possibility until after 2000. The idea of medically transitioning seemed fringe, far-fetched, and risky.

Most of the butches I knew also had gender dysphoria (GD) or rather, Gender Identity Disorder (GID), as it was called then. Many butches I knew in Winnipeg, Halifax, Toronto, and later Vancouver, were strong, stoic people. I admired many of them. I know that their lives weren’t always easy, but they carried themselves with dignity. They had butch “brotherhood” and femmes who adored them. Many were “stone” which meant that their GID made it difficult for them to relate to their female anatomy so didn’t allow themselves to be touched by anyone, or rarely. They were often harassed and abused for being masculine women, as I was. It was often stressful using female public washrooms, because our gender ambiguity made people so uncomfortable. There was a term “butch bladder” to reference the ways we’d avoid using bathrooms in public.

In the early-mid 2000s, more and more FTMs were appearing in the community, alongside the butches. Many lesbian spaces welcomed them, some didn’t. It seemed to me at the time that butches were presented with two options: we could choose to be butches, or we could choose to be FTM “trans guys”. Why people chose one or the other...that was very individual and personal. It really came down to which option solved a problem and made life easier. The problem could be homophobic parents, fatigue from being harassed, differing degrees of dysphoria and bodily discomfort, not understanding what GID is, poor social or occupational functioning, trauma, other mental health challenges like depression or the anxiety that seemed inevitable for us. Some transitioned but still identified as butch women. They chose medical interventions to look more masculine, not to identify as men. Some trans guys said they never had GID at all. I don’t know what their motivations for transitioning were. Some said “political reasons”. There were some who were big fans of Queer Theory icons like Judith Butler and Judith Halberstam. Those women adopted male personas - intentional “female masculinity” - as an expression of Queer Theory, not to be men/male. I chose to transition soon after a gay man was beaten to death in a nearby park.

If kids with gender dysphoria today are anything like who we were 20 years ago, I feel saddened by their trajectory. Others see benefits: Access to medical interventions has been made easier. They no longer have to do a “real-life test” (live their life as the opposite sex for 2 years without medical assistance). They don’t have to go through months or years of therapy and assessment. More is now known about the effects and risks of hormones. The surgeries have improved, are easier to access and now paid for by insurance. (I paid for my own mastectomy out of pocket, and was on the SRS surgery waitlist for 10 years.)

But, what have we done? Have we eliminated all of the conditions for why a butch girl would find their innate masculinity hard to live with? Have we made the lives of butch women better and safer? Have we eliminated homophobic families, communities, employers, clinicians and policies? Are we educating young people what gender dysphoria is, in evidence-based terms, supporting them to integrate that into a healthy identity and self-image? Do we tell masculine girls how attractive they are? Do they have an abundance of healthy role models? Are they fully embraced and integrated into their workforces, educational settings, faith communities… or, are butches still getting weird looks from strangers? Are they still getting yelled at in public bathrooms? Are young, obnoxious young men still yelling slurs out their car windows as they drive by a butch woman? Do gender non-conforming women still fear for their lives in some places? Can they get Brandon Teena out of their heads? Can they travel the world freely? Can they find clothing they like that fits their bodies well?

I’m not convinced we’ve made any real progress at all. I think we’ve just made it easier for people to jump ship, younger and faster, and gave it a different spin. We now call that “self-actualization”. We’ve facilitated a better illusion. We’ve convinced more and more people that the illusion is real. We continue to push for better surgeries. Penile and uterine transplants are on the horizon. Young people are flooding into clinics. They can’t keep up with the demand. Activists have pushed Queer Theory as an explanation for our difference, displacing evidence-based clinical definitions of GID/GD. It’s no longer talked about as a condition that requires treatment but a natural human variation that requires affirmation in whatever form we demand (often life-long medicalization). I’ve travelled that road to its end, and its hurt just as much as it’s helped.

The surgeries available to FTMs right now are awful. A double mastectomy and phalloplasty or metoidioplasty are gruesome procedures to go through. The US surgeon I went to for metoidioplasty boasts low complication rates, but the anecdotal evidence I’ve witnessed (myself and everyone I know who had the procedure there and elsewhere) is close to a 100% complication rate. One guy at the surgical recovery centre I stayed at started to hemorrhage and was laying on the floor unable to reach the call bell when another FTM patient found him and advocated for him to be rushed to hospital. Fistulas and strictures are the most common problem. I chose metoidioplasty because it’s thought to be the less risky of the two options. I immediately developed two large fistulas (meaning that my urethra burst open in two places) that needed additional surgery to repair. I couldn’t bathe or go swimming for a year until those openings were repaired. I have chronic perineum pain, altered bowel function due to changes in my pelvic muscles, and no sensation in most of my chest. When we have complications, local physicians and surgeons don’t know what to do. So we have to wait, and travel to whoever can help.

Listen, I don’t doubt that sometimes medical transition is helpful for people. It’s not my place to say they can’t or shouldn’t. But let’s not sell this like it’s a Disney park ride. The marketing of everything trans is ridiculously misleading. Don’t put sparkles and rainbows over real pain as though that helps at all. It’s insulting.

If we really want to help these kids, we need to make it easier for lesbian kids. Butch kids. All gender non-conforming kids. The quirky and awkward kids. Kids who feel they don’t fit it. Let’s get better at working with parents and preserving families. Be honest about what medical transition is really about. No one really changes biological sex and these procedures are really hard to go through. Why are we putting all of our resources into escaping brutality rather than eliminating brutality? We’re cutting up our bodies because our lived reality is worse. Why do we celebrate that?

Medical transition is but one option for those with GD. We need to reclaim our understanding of GD as a condition so that we can have reality based-conversations and solve real personal and social problems. “Trans” as a concept, masks many underlying issues. A queer theory-based understanding of myself worsened my GD. Medical transition became an addiction. The illusion only works if we’re lucky enough to pass and everyone else plays along perfectly. It’s an exhausting game of whack-a-mole to dodge the reminders of my female past and female biology. How is that kind of dissociation desirable? Some people may benefit from medically transitioning, but we still need a reality-based understanding of ourselves, to keep our feet on the ground.

Our children deserve better. If this sounds transphobic to you, you’re a part of the problem. Owning our reality for what it is isn’t self-hatred. It’s self-acceptance. Having different ideas and a different vision of how to move forward isn't hatred. Hatred was the skinheads who circled around us at the small 1992 Winnipeg gay and lesbian march, long before Pride was a parade. Hatred was the men who drove from the suburbs into Vancouver with the intent to "kill a fag" and murdered Aaron Webster in Stanley Park. I’m well acquainted with phobia. This isn't phobia. This is love.

#Aaron Kimberly #Gender Dysphoria Alliance #butch lesbian #queer theory #gender ideology #medical transition #gender dysphoria #butches #female masculinity #religion is a mental illness

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

The Resurrection of Jesus

1 But on the first day of the week, at dawn, they came to the place where his body had been put, taking the spices which they had got ready. 2 And they saw that the stone had been rolled away. 3 And they went in, but the body of the Lord Jesus was not there. 4 And while they were in doubt about it, they saw two men in shining clothing by them: 5 And while their faces were bent down to the earth in fear, these said to them, Why are you looking for the living among the dead? 6 He is not here, he has come back to life: have in mind what he said to you when he was still in Galilee, saying, 7 The Son of man will be given up into the hands of evil-doers, and be put to death on the cross, and on the third day he will come back to life. 8 And his words came back into their minds, 9 And they went away from that place and gave an account of all these things to the eleven disciples and all the others. 10 Now they were Mary Magdalene, and Joanna, and Mary, the mother of James: and the other women with them said these things to the Apostles. 11 But these words seemed foolish to them, and they had no belief in them. 12 But Peter got up and went to the place where the body had been put, and looking in he saw nothing but the linen cloths, and he went to his house full of wonder at what had taken place. — Luke 24:1-12 | Bible in Basic English (BBE) The Bible in Basic English is in the public domain. Cross References: Matthew 16:21; Matthew 17:22; Matthew 27:56; Matthew 28:1-2; Mark 6:30; Mark 9:30; Mark 16:1; Mark 16:11; Mark 16:13-14; Luke 2:9; Luke 7:13; Luke 24:1; Luke 24:3; Luke 24:8,9 and 10; John 2:22; John 19:40; John 20:3; Acts 1:21; Acts 2:24; Galatians 2:15; Revelation 1:18

#Jesus #resurrection #empty tomb #Mary Magdalene #Joanna #Mary (mother of James) #report #apostles #disbelief #Gospel of Luke #Luke 24:1-12 #New Testament #BBE #Bible in Basic English

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Several people have been kind enough to let me publish their thoughts on fandom, community, and queerness to celebrate Pride in the Library. Today's piece comes from @writcraft.

The Local Government Act 1988 was enacted in Britain nearly a decade before the publication of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, the book that would eventually lead me to fandom. This odd piece of legislation covered a variety of things from pet licences to housing arrangements. It also contained the infamous Section 28, which had an enormous impact on LGBT Britain during the late 1980s and 1990s. 

Driven by a moral panic over the inclusion of a book called Jenny Lives With Eric and Martin in school libraries and the stigmatised nature of desire between men at the peak of the HIV/AIDS crisis, Section 28 was the product of a Tory government determined to eradicate any kind of perceived radicalism from education. One of the more famous clips from Thatcher’s 1987 speech on the matter is here if you have the stomach for it, primarily shared due to its eerie similarities with the agendas espoused by conservative politicians around the globe today.

My teen years were shaped by Section 28 and the HIV/AIDS crisis, a time of tabloid press sensationalism on the one hand and silence on the other. Media visibility was complicated by a single shared television in the family home and in those fleeting moments I encountered queer narratives, they often leaned into coded stereotypes, death tropes, loneliness and isolation. Intimacy between women was susceptible to the male gaze, whilst trans folks and bisexuals were largely invisible or negatively portrayed. Nobody in my school year or university class came out during their time in education. We were there, but many of us explored our desires only in the shadows. This climate complicated my same-sex experiences and gender ambivalence, making it all too easy to dismiss them as something other than queer.

My introduction to fandom was through academic research and archives like The Hex Files and The Silver Snitch. When I first met the people behind the stories it was, unusually, not in an online forum, but face to face at a fan convention, where I delivered a paper on the queer pleasures of slash. At the time I was ricocheting in and out of the closet in my day-to-day life and I had no connections with any queer community, just a disparate handful of people I was inexplicably drawn to who tentatively shared their secrets with me and I, in turn, shared mine with them. 

During the fan convention I set up my LiveJournal, made early connections that would blossom into decade long friendships and found myself immersed in a space filled with creative, queer, kink-positive people. The friendships I made, and the ones that came after, gave me the confidence to live a more public queer life, to show up in my local community as an activist, writer and researcher. I have travelled around the world and raised a glass with fandom friends in numerous queer spaces from The Stonewall Inn to Manchester’s Canal Street.

Creatively, fandom gave me the space to revisit, reflect and reclaim. Because canon is so devoid of explicit queerness, it leaves open the question of political and social attitudes towards gender and sexuality. Stories like Little Compton Street, The Beauty of Thestrals and Other Unseen Things, Pride, Harry Potter and the Bisexual Awakening, Born Sick and Secret Love Song allowed me to imagine how Harry and Draco might navigate a world that reinforces binaries and closets, exacerbates internalised homophobia, renders bisexuality invisible and complicates queer awakenings. It has been cathartic to pour queer hope and defiance into those socio-political climates and equally cathartic to explore queer pain, grief and longing.

I do not have a rose-tinted notion of fandom as a queer utopian space. I am well aware of the pervasive issues that marginalise fans of colour (see Squee From the Margins: Fandom and Race by Rukmini Pande). In this particular fandom with an author whose views I find abhorrent, I no longer hold any nostalgia for a franchise I have not invested in for years. What keeps me here is friendship, creative possibility, the understanding that my stories are not for everyone but the hope that some readers might find comfort in the exploration of themes I continually return to. If you made it this far, thank you for reading. Huge thanks to @thedrarrylibrarian for giving me the opportunity to share a little about my topsy-turvy queer journey during Pride month. If you have any questions about anything I have shared, my asks and DMs are always open.

Thank you, Writ, for joining me in the Library and sharing so much insight about earlier days in fandom. I appreciate that you took the time to discuss complicated topics and provided the opportunity for everyone to broaden their horizons and better informed participants in fandom. Most of all, thank you for taking the time to celebrate Pride in the Library with me.

If you want more @writcraft, be sure to check out their work on AO3! Writ has an unbelievable talent for combining history and the impact of real legislation into fic. She recommended some of her fics earlier, but I want to spotlight their fic, The Beauty of Thestrals and Other Unseen Things. I loved the way that they were inspired by Queer history in the UK, and I loved the gentle way that she explored that real heartache and bravery through Harry and Draco. This fic, like so many of Writ's fics, reminds me that there have been countless Queer people throughout history and I'm not alone.

🏳️‍🌈 Lots of Love and Happy Pride! 🏳️‍🌈

#pride in the library #pride in the library 2023 #lots of love and happy pride #friends of the library #writcraft #thank you for joining me! #pride 2023 #fandom community

[smutbae]

Royal Guard! Law X Princess! Reader NSFW 🔞 Part One

Tw: degradation, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, dom/sub, impiled yandere behavior from law, smut.

*minors dni, get the fuck away from here*

Once upon a time….

There was a large beautiful kingdom located in the North Blue. Inside the kingdom held a powerful and influential family. There was the mighty king and his lovely queen, along with their only child, the princess. The princess was known throughout all the North Blue as being an innocent and gentle soul whose beauty could brighten a gloomy day. She had the whole country in the palm of her hands and at first it was rewarding to be able to one day rule over the great country. But as the years went on and more responsibilities came to her, the young woman realized she did not want this lifestyle and the overbearing duties anymore.

Looking well past the lavish gifts and food being provided to her, she witnessed how horribly the king and queen treated their citizens. Regular men and women were working back-breaking hours only to receive scraps to feed their children. If they complained or protested in any way, they were subjected to public humiliation or were beaten down by the guards until they stopped breathing. Their poor children were forced to watch as their beloved parents were being whipped until there was no more skin on their backs. The shock and horror on the children's faces were forever sketched into the princess's memory. 

Once the princess became of age, she sought out ways to take over the kingdom; to change the vile ways her parents have so long enforced onto their people. Unbeknownst to her, the king and queen had assigned their daughter a new guard to watch over her. His name alone struck intense fear into the hearts of many people. Formerly known as the Surgeon Of Death, he changed his path and became a royal guard known as Law. Tall, dark, and mysterious were the only attributes people knew about him. When he first met the princess while returning from an important mission, he was notably stoic and cold to her. Believing her to be a rotten spoiled brat with the image of a pure golden child, he tried to distance himself from the young woman but failed miserably and hilariously.

As months went by and seasons changed, so did his attitude towards her. The young woman proved him wrong many times and grew to like him more than a close disgruntled friend. Her actions of kindness and compassion to her citizens made his stone heart beat with admiration and even love. But love is a rather strange thing; well it can be filled with peace and everlasting happiness, it can also cause destructive behavior and bring out the worst in people. 

A once pure and innocent woman can turn into something vindictive and deadly….

Before, the royal guard was always giving you a hard time. Scolding you for a few small mistakes, following your every move when you think he is not near, burning daggers into any man who poorly attempted to woo your affections. Yet you never expected something like this.

Your royal guard, Trafalgar Law, would be giving certain looks that you knew were far from innocent. Then came the lingering hidden touches to your arms and waist while you studied or attended to others; it had you craving him more and more each passing day. Unbeknownst to the king and queen, Law would have you on your hands and knees every other night. Moaning your kind little heart out while he has your body writhing in raw unadulterated pleasure and tonight was no different. You had just gotten done with your studies and about to make your way down the empty halls to your bedroom until Law stops you by gently grabbing your arm. You turn to him and smile dreamily, his warm husky scent overwhelming your senses.

"Is there anything you need, Trafalgar?"

"My lady, would you care to join me this evening? Perhaps in your chambers?"

He ducks down slightly to whisper his request lowly in your ear. You quietly swallow the nervous lump in your throat and nod your head as he pecks the corner of your lips sweetly, knowing well that the kiss was far too tender for what is to come. You take him by his large tattooed hand and lead to your bedchambers, knowing neither servant or royal would be awake at this late hour; so he can have you to himself without all the secrecy.

Law locks the doors swiftly as the two of you make it inside your room. With a mischievous smirk, he pushes you up against the doors with your arms raised above your head, your ample cleavage spilling over the top of the flowy white gown adorning your body. His other hand holding your waist with a possessive grip, he lowers his head down to the junction that connects your neck and shoulder, kissing and sucking dark marks on the soft flesh causing you to let out low moans and gasps. 

"I wonder, what would the king think of this? His most trusted royal guard, fucking his lovely little princess until she can't think straight. It would break his old rotten heart, wouldn't it y/n-ya?" 

He says this in between kisses on your neck and cleavage. A lusty moan escapes your lips when he bites the top of your right breast, licking over the newly created mark to soothe the pain. Your shapely hips wriggle up against his lean muscular frame, his prominent bulge feeling wonderful close to your clothed cunt.

"Traf-"

"That's not what you call when we're alone."

"Sir. Please sir, fuck me until I drip with your seed."

Law groans huskily at how his title falls from your lips and slowly trails both of his hands down to your ass to roughly squeeze, a cute whine encouraging him to kiss you. His sensuous tongue parts your lips and begins eagerly exploring your mouth. His half-lidded gray eyes look down upon your heated face. He wraps his long strong arms around you and lifts your body up with ease. Your legs come around his thin waist as he makes his way over to your welcoming bed.

#reader insert #x reader #fanfiction #one piece smut #trafalgar law x reader smut #trafalgar law x reader #law one piece #law smut #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece fic #smut

[raspberryfingers]

A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 29)

WARNING: Mentions of death

—————

Margaery and I had still been sitting on the floor of her balcony when Ser Elias knocked on the door. It was so loud and quick we had both known instantly why he had come. Our presence was needed urgently in the great hall.

“Are you certain you’ll be alright? I can always speak on your behalf,” I offered, rising from the stone ground and brushing my dress off. Margaery shook her head with a sort of acceptance.

“I’ll be fine. It is important that they see me.”

I reached for Margaery’s hands and helped her up, letting out a small sigh of exertion as I did. We quickly made our way to the door, opening it to find Ser Elias looking at us frantically. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off with a nod.

“We know, Elias. Is my husband already in the great hall?” I questioned, linking my arm with Margaery’s as we followed him down to the more public areas of the Red Keep.

“Not yet, my lady. But the shouting over the subject of succession has already begun,” he informed, looking at me over his shoulder as we went down the stairs.

“And what has been the most prominent verdict?”

“As one might expect, the various lords are quite against Myrcella becoming queen, even despite the fact that she is a child of Robert Baratheon. When I was there with your father and grandmother, the discussion had moved to the subject of a possible child. That was when Lady Olenna sent me to come find you two. She correctly assumed you would be together,” Elias explained, looking between us as we approached the entrance of the great hall.

I pressed my lips together somewhat nervously, looking over at Margaery and giving her hand a squeeze. She would have to admit it was not possible that she was pregnant, for otherwise the kingdoms would remain in absolute ruin for months.

“It is not too late to go back, Margaery. I can always tell them you are too grief stricken to appear at court,” I whispered, trying to save her whatever pain I possibly could; it was my job as a sister.

“I promise I’ll be alright, (Y/N). I would rather take the slight embarrassment than lie and watch all of King’s Landing crumble under the issue of succession,” she said, letting go of my arm as we reached the double doors. I wanted to tell her it likely would anyway.

As they opened, I could hear nothing but yelling. Men and women covered the entire room, all of them either arguing or trying to stop the arguing but inevitably joining in. I allowed Margaery to go first, letting people notice that she had arrived.

“Everybody move aside for Queen Margaery!” Ser Elias shouted, voice booming out and echoing against the high ceiling. As people realized my sister was present, it became quieter and quieter, though the harsh whispers never stopped. Margaery and I made our way through the middle of the room, and although she continued up the steps towards the throne, I detoured and stepped into the crowd. My grandmother and father were both relatively easy to find in the middle of the room, and people moved aside for me anyways, lest they somehow offend the Nightshade of the Garden and Tywin Lannister’s wife.

“My lords, my ladies. I understand better than anyone that the death of the king was extremely sudden and unexpected. I also understand that with no brothers, the subject of who will sit on the iron throne now has become a rather intense topic. I am sorry to inform all of you… that I am not- not currently pregnant, and it is entirely impossible that I am simply unaware of being so.”

Margaery’s voice was rather loud in the hall, even despite the fact that people were whispering amongst themselves as she spoke. When she had finished and people realized there was absolutely no possibility of the king having a son, the yelling resumed.

As my sister came down from the platform, many were asking her what was to be done. The only words I could read on her lips were ‘I don’t know’. Margaery made her way to us, and my grandmother instantly embraced her. I sighed out as I looked around at the conflict, feeling a miserable migraine coming to me.

Gods, where was Tywin?

The lack of my husband's presence was making me nervous, for what could possibly be taking so long? Plus, he was desperately needed here, as people had begun physically fighting each other too. If he didn’t arrive soon, people were going to end up dead. I could only hear the shouts of anger, now entirely about the subject of Tommen’s uncles and whose claim was ‘better.’

“The kingslayer cannot break his vow! He gave up all titles and therefore cannot become our king!”

“And you would have the imp instead? He’ll go just like Robert Baratheon did, whoring and drinking until his last day. Plus, we’d be putting some half Frey on the throne after him, what kind of king do you think a Frey would make for?”

“Even if it wasn’t a very good one, at least it's the correct way to pass on the throne! Jaime Lannister doesn’t even have any heirs.”

“And if we put him on the throne, every lord in Westeros will be begging him to marry their daughters. Jaime Lannister makes more sense than the imp by a mile!”

“Lord Tyrion is ten times smarter than that golden handed knight. Why would we give the kingdoms to a swordsman and not someone strategic who has already got experience with it?”

“Nearly every king in our history has been some dumb cunt with a sword, don’t you already know that? Who gives a damn about having a strategic king, that’s why we have Tywin Lannister!”

“As I said earlier, the imp is the only legal choice! Jaime Lannister’s oath to the kingsguard is too binding to look past, and it’s not as if King Tommen had any other uncles, you dumb cunt!”

“Who says that it’s got to be an uncle? If you want a king who can get something done and rule well, why can’t it be-”

My eavesdropping was cut off by the distinct slamming of the great hall’s doors, and more than a few conversations were silenced by the man at the top of the steps. My husband stood there entirely still, and in less than 15 seconds every argument had gone completely silent and every physical fight had been resolved. It had become so quiet that you could’ve heard a pin drop, and all the nobles had organized themselves into the proper order, a clear path in the middle of the room and the most high status among us at the front. Well, my family had already been relatively close to the front, but everyone else had moved more definitely behind us. It gave me the odd sensation of watching a chess board rearrange itself.

Tywin descended into the room, and his footsteps on the rough stone floor were the loudest sound in the room. Cersei, Myrcella, and Prince Trystane followed behind him, and several bowed their heads in respect. It deeply saddened me to see their red, wet eyes, but it made me simultaneously even happier that I had gone with Jaime to retrieve Myrcella, or else Cersei might’ve not had any children at all now. 

I watched the trio behind Tywin stand at the front right side of the hall, though he continued up the steps towards the throne. He stood before it, turning to address the crowd. His eyes met mine before he began, though only for a moment.

“My lords and ladies, as the hand of the king, it is my duty to make certain that whatever happens following the king’s death happens smoothly, and that presently means I must address quite a few things. To begin with, the assassins responsible for King Tommen’s death have been found and are currently in the black cells. They will be tried at the end of this week and charged on the same day. They will be punished accordingly. Secondly, I am well aware that the subject of succession is unclear, and that there are varying opinions on the subject. However, this is no excuse for the pathetic kind of behavior I saw upon entering this hall. There will be no immature comments made nor brutish fighting over the subject, for it will not be tolerated.”

The words slipped so easily from Tywin’s mouth it was as if he had said them a thousand times, and I had never seen a man in such a stressful position looking so relaxed and collected. My husband.

There was utter silence, as though everyone knew he wished to continue. He took a deep breath and blinked a few times, scanning the crowd. When he landed on me, I watched his eyes flicker back and forth between Margaery and I, and I understood that he was asking a question. There had been a slight change in his eyes, though not enough for anybody but me to notice. I shook my head ‘no’ at him; my sister was certainly not pregnant. 

He faced the entire hall again, lips parting in preparation to speak. It had been so natural that I doubted a single soul there knew I had just told him all he needed to know. They would most assuredly wonder how he had so quickly been informed of Margaery’s status despite not being present to hear her say it. 

“Because there is no possibility of King Tommen having a son, the subject will be decided as it has been in history. Or at the very least in a similar manner, for I wish to be much more efficient with the decision of successor than King Jaehaerys and his great council was. Court will reconvene after dinner in three or so hours, at which time a vote will be held over the next ruler of Westeros,” Tywin explained, his voice loud and clear as he spoke. He did not falter once, and he was moving his eyes around the crowd at a constant speed. He was not anxious nor was he frozen, the sign of a perfect public speaker. 

He descended from the platform, leaving the hall just as quickly as he had entered, and I found myself smiling as people turned to watch him exit. There was a soft shuffling of feet and clothes, but not a word was uttered. Once my husband had gone out of the double doors, people began to speak again. 

The two men I had been listening to beforehand continued their conversation, giving me quite a shock in the process.

“As I was saying, if you want an efficient king who works hard and rules well, why not just put Tywin Lannister on the iron chair? His ass was probably shaped by the gods for the damned thing, and you just saw the way he handled that.”

“Ha! You’re probably right. I suppose he’s the one already doing it all anyway, even if he isn’t the most direct claim.”

“Not only that, but he has serious experience. I doubt there’s a man alive who’s spent as much time in charge of all seven kingdoms. There’s not a damn thing he wouldn’t know how to handle.”

“I wonder who he’d choose as his hand. It would be rather odd to see him without the pin, if we’re honest. Maybe he’ll go on doing it all the same.”

The two men shared a laugh, and their conversation was certainly much more relaxed than it had been previously. They’d found common ground.

“Perhaps his brother. Kevan Lannister has always been a smart man, he’d do the job well. Seven hells, maybe he’d even choose his wife. I hear she’s sharper than valyrian steel.”

“She ought to be if they’re going around calling her all these names like ‘Bladed Tongue’ and ‘the Nightshade of the Garden’.”

“Yes, well, in any case, I think Tywin Lannister is who people ought to consider. It’s the only reasonable choice, especially after that display he just gave. Come, let’s go have dinner in one of the halls. I expect there will be some good conversation.”

I saw the two men move away in my peripheral, and I exhaled the breath I’d been holding in. Somehow, I thought breathing might make them realize I was rather close and make them stop. Not only that, but I feared the slightest movement might make me begin to shake.

Tywin? The king?

I swallowed the dryness in my throat, processing now that my grandmother had been speaking with Margaery and I for the last several minutes, though I had not a clue what she was saying. All I could think about was what I’d heard.

I wondered if perhaps other people in the hall had also considered that my husband had a claim, and suddenly I felt stupid. I hadn’t even thought about the possibility of Tywin having a claim, because to me he was always going to be the hand of the king. How could he be anything else?

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the two men I’d been listening to the entire afternoon had a point. The gods had shaped Tywin for the throne. Not once in all of his years had he cut himself on the damned thing, and though it was probably just a coincidence, it was odd to consider that nearly all bad kings had ended up hurt by it at some point. 

Not only that, but there were plenty of tales of Tywin’s confidence and natural look upon the throne. If I was correct, even Stannis Baratheon had thought Tywin was king when he visited Kings Landing as a boy. 

I had begun to shake now, for all of these facts were unable to leave my head. It was dizzying, and I wanted nothing more than to lay down. To lay down in Tywin’s bed in the tower of the hand with his arms holding me tight.

“My dear, are you quite alright?”

I snapped out of it when I realized my grandmother was addressing me, and I once again attempted to swallow the awful dryness in my throat that seemingly could not go away. I nodded, but both her and Margaery knew better than that. My father had excused himself from the conversation at some point, it appeared. 

“You’re shaking, (Y/N),” Margaery pointed out, deep concern in her face. For a moment it felt like I was her younger sister. She had just lost her husband and here I was, making her feel nervous.

“I’m fine, I promise. I’ve just begun to feel a bit ill, that’s all. I’m not sure why,” I said, sighing out and squeezing my eyes shut. The migraine was even worse now.

“Dinner ought to help. Come, both of you. We’ll all eat in my room tonight,” my grandmother suggested, offering my sister her arm. Margaery took it gratefully, and I could see in her eyes that she was still beyond upset. Even in my state of shock, I wished more than anything that I could take her pain for her. Such was the duty and love of an older sister. 

With each step towards my grandmother's chambers I felt as though I might faint, which was an odd thing. It was even more strange for me to consider how I was actually feeling about what I’d heard. Was I opposed to Tywin being king? Did I like the idea? Did I like the idea of being queen?

Surely that was the role my sister was born for, not me. It had always been that way. Tommen the king, Tywin the hand, Margaery the queen, and I the leader. It felt as though we were filling in shoes that weren’t ours.

At least, I would be. Tywin had always been called the king without a crown, after all. But I was certainly no Margaery, compassionate towards all and constantly public about it. Only used to leading soldiers, I was the very opposite, and I feared that my husband was too. 

With that in mind, I also considered how despised he was for the sacking of King's Landing. Surely the commoners had not forgotten, and with so many assassinations, how could I not be wary? Although I wanted to take Margaery’s pain for her, I was not sure that if I were in the same situation I would be able to take my own pain. 

These thoughts were all abandoned with the opening of my grandmother’s door, however, and I took a deep breath to fully bring myself back to the present. She muttered something to a maid about fetching supper, and just a moment later I found myself sitting at the table with her and Margaery.

Gods, I really was out of it. All of us were.

“Grandmother, do you think he suffered? Do you think- do you think it was painful?” Margaery asked after a moment, sipping her wine in consolation. My grandmother thought about it for a moment, and then shook her head.

“No, dearest. I expect something like that is quick and painless. You mustn't worry yourself with it.”

I watched her reach across the table to grab Margaery’s hand, and I drank from my own cup to hold back the knowledge that it had not been quick and painless. I knew that for certain, as the Battle of Blackwater had been one of the most horrific sights and sounds in memory. It made my heart break for Tommen.

The maids had come back in with our food then, and I was more than just a little shocked. It had been under 5 minutes, which was certainly the shortest I’d ever waited for a meal. I guessed that they wanted to make sure that at least this aspect of our day wasn’t awful.

“(Y/N), may I ask you, who do you expect will be the next king? I doubt they’d put Myrcella on the throne, and your husband probably has some insight,” Margaery inquired after a moment. The room had been far too silent for a while, and the air felt stale somehow.

“I expect her husband will be the next king. I heard quite a lot of chatter about it in the hall,” my grandmother answered rather drolly, not giving me an opportunity to. She knew that I would attempt to lie and say that Tyrion had the best claim.

Margaery made no effort to hide her shock, and I found myself not wanting to meet her eyes. I instead acted as though the food on my plate was insanely interesting, moving it around with my fork for a moment before taking a bite.

“Truly?”

That was directed at me, not my grandmother, and I was forced to speak upon it. Finally lifting my head up, I took a deep breath and replied.

“I’m not entirely certain, Margaery. I heard discussion of it in the throne room, but it’s also entirely possible that Tyrion could become king. Myrcella is a woman, and Jaime’s role in the kingsguard is too large for people to overlook I fear. So that leaves Tyrion and my husband, who I somehow hadn’t even considered a candidate until just a few minutes ago.”

I felt cheated, in a way. Tywin had certainly known that he was a viable option, and yet he had said nothing about it to me. Why? Did he fear that the subject would overwhelm me or frighten me?

Well, I supposed it had done both.

“And, if Lord Tywin were to become the king, then that would obviously make your sister queen. Unfortunately, I don’t think you’d be able to seduce this one,” my grandmother added on, smiling at her own joke about my husband. It admittedly made me laugh a little, but not enough to take away the fear of being queen. 

“Yes, and I don’t think I’d want to seduce this one. You’re the only one who’s got the patience for him,” Margaery said with a small giggle, giving my hand a squeeze from beside me at the table. I scoffed despite knowing that she was entirely correct.

“Well, I fear I wouldn’t be nearly as good of a queen as you were,” I noted, voicing one of my biggest fears. The prospect of Tywin becoming king, I knew, did not scare me half as much as the prospect of me becoming queen.

“Well don’t, it’s not true. You may not be so sociable as me, but that’s only because you’re more genuine. You’re adored in Highgarden, I’m certain the same is possible in King's Landing. You’ve always been rather strategic with your reforms and innovations, which would be quite useful,” Margaery assured me, and I could tell that she meant it. 

“And you’re not upset? You’ve always wanted to be queen,” I questioned, knowing that since the day she’d learned to speak it had practically been the only thing she desired.

“Well, I am upset. I- I’m going to miss Tommen quite a lot. I wouldn’t say that I loved him as you love your husband, but I did care about him. I cared about him very much. But as for my position, I’m not upset at all. If there was somebody else that I would want as queen, it’s you,” she said, continuing to soothe the nerves that seemed to be consuming me.

“It would be rather amusing if after all of this Lord Tyrion was chosen after all,” my grandmother joked, suddenly deciding to join our conversation. I smiled, knowing she was right. There was no reason to become anxious about it when I had no idea who the lords of the court would end up picking. It was also somewhat surprising to me that Tywin had opted to make the vote so soon, but the more I thought about it the more I realized it was probably smart.

To have it done quickly and put a new king on the throne made significantly more sense than notifying all seven kingdoms that once again, the line of succession was a bit murky. To do so would’ve been inviting others to take their chance at claiming the iron throne. Gods, men were so stupid.

In any case, to do it this way would put a Lannister on the throne and cement our position there. In that sense, our position applied to both my marriage and my own identity. The Lannisters on the throne and the Tyrells right beside them.

Plus, whatever child that Loras and Sansa had would end up married to the child of Tyrion and Roslin Frey, and that meant we would stay connected to the throne. Although, realizing that made my blood run cold for a moment. If Tywin did end up on the throne, would he choose Tyrion as his heir?

He had seemed quite adamant that he did not want children from me, but would he now desire a different heir than Tyrion?

I exhaled, escaping my thoughts as I ate. I was getting far too ahead of myself, and I needed to stop thinking so much. No matter what happened in the next few hours, I felt certain that it would all be worked out. With Tywin at my side, how could it not be?

—————

After dinner the great hall was significantly calmer than it had been beforehand. I assumed most men had worked out their difference of beliefs over a meal, or I at least prayed they did. My family was standing at the front of the room, but truthfully I wished Tywin would come in already so I could join him. I’d been without him all day, and under such stressful circumstances it had been absolutely awful.

“Grandmother, how do you suspect they’ll count the votes? To ensure honesty, anyways,” Margaery questioned, which admittedly also interested me. There hadn’t been a vote in over a century and a half, and that scenario had been quite different.

“I suspect they’ll use colored stones. It is far easier to lie about the words on paper than it is to lie about the color of something. And that way everyone else can see it too,” my grandmother reasoned, sighing and snapping at some maid to go fetch her a chair. I didn’t blame her, we had been doing quite a lot of standing today.

The hall went suddenly quiet, and when I turned around I noticed my husband coming down the walkway in the middle of the room. To watch so many people go quiet out of respect was somehow frightening. Surely any man worth going quiet over was one you respected—or feared—enough to be king.

Tywin paused at the front of the room, turning his head to look at me and extending his arm. Understanding that he wished for me to be with him, I stepped out toward him and took his arm. Everyone remained silent until the two of us had settled into place on the right side of the room. 

Once the chatter started up again, I looked up at Tywin and opened my mouth. When I did, I found that no words could escape. It almost felt as though I was stuck in a dream. Tywin understood whatever I was feeling, for he sighed and leaned down to kiss the top of my head. I couldn’t help leaning against his arm, feeling so utterly exhausted by the day which would seemingly never end. 

Slowly but surely, all of the nobles in the Red Keep gathered on the floor and gallery of the great hall, either ready to vote or anxious to see who would be picked. Cersei, Jaime, Tyrion, and Myrcella had all joined us too. Prince Trystane looked beyond upset despite the fact that his wife was entirely content, and I had the feeling that he felt she deserved the throne. He was correct, for by right it was hers.

But when had the lords of Westeros ever permitted a woman to have what is rightfully hers?

Once Tywin had decided that a sufficient number of people were present, he broke away from me and ascended up the stairs. Varys and Pycelle followed behind him, and I guessed that he had asked them to be in charge of counting the votes. It made me rather happy, for Varys had always been adamant about the good of the realm even if Pycelle just sucked up to my husband.

“With dinner finished, voting will now commence. Grand Maester Pycelle will read off the scroll and call for the lords present. When your name is called, approach and vote,” Tywin said simply, not caring to get into the details. It was all quite artificial and ceremonial, but I supposed things like this had to be. Although, if I hadn’t been so tired, I probably would’ve teased Tywin for it.

I watched him come back down to the crowd, and I instantly took his arm once he had returned to my side. I was being overly clingy, but it was hard not to be when I was stressed and emotional like this. I was so anxious I felt that keeping my dinner down would be a strenuous task.

“Your vote will be signified by a rock. There are four here, red, yellow, blue, and green. They represent the following: red for Lord Tywin Lannister, yellow for Lord Tyrion Lannister, blue for Ser Jaime Lannister, and green for the Princess Myrcella Baratheon,” Pycelle explained, holding up each colored rock as he did. There was something so incredibly droll and procedural about hearing it that only Pycelle could’ve explained it.

Although, seeing the red rock made my insides turn, for how could such a simple and pointless object have such a large effect on my life? I would quite obviously support my husband no matter what, but I secretly prayed that we might simply continue living in relative peace.

For the next two hours, every man in the hall—besides those with a claim—voted. I could not see how many rocks of each color had been taken, for they were in a wooden box. The set up, put simply, was that of a table in front of the iron throne, with one box containing the stones and the other covered with a small opening at the top for the stones to be placed through. The sound of rocks hitting each other had been going on continuously, and I was grateful when it was over.

“Princess, My Lords, if you might come up here while the votes are read,” Pycelle said, turning to the front row once the last voter had returned to his spot amongst the crowd. Tywin stiffened suddenly, as if he was coming back to reality and wished otherwise. He turned and looked down at me, still clinging to his arm. Somehow, I was no longer the most dangerous woman in Westeros. I wasn’t the Bladed Tongue or the Nightshade of the Garden. None of that nonsense.

Right now I just felt like a frightened little girl.

That in itself was unsettling, because I hadn’t experienced such a feeling in over a decade. It was a sort of powerless feeling, the feeling one gets when they start to lose control of their own life. In the last two hours, I had clung so tightly to my husband out of fear that perhaps he might slip away too.

“Will you stand up there with me?” he asked, voice low and quiet. There was no visible emotion on his face, either. He might’ve been asking what the time was.

I found that words would not escape my throat, but I nodded at him as a reply. We went up the steps together then, everybody else following behind us as we did. Similarly, Trystane stood with Myrcella on the opposite side of the platform. I noticed that they were holding hands, and it made me oddly sentimental. Myrcella would have been a good queen. 

I was jolted from my thoughts by the sound of Pycelle clearing his throat, but I did not turn around to face him. I could see him in my peripheral, attempting to pry the top of the box off so he could count the votes. Awkwardly, Varys had to step in and assist him.

“V-Very well. The votes will be called out, and each stone will be placed into its corresponding basket. As I said before, red for Lord Tywin Lannister, yellow for Lord Tyrion Lannister…”

As Pycelle continued with his procedure, I heard Tywin’s sharp, annoyed inhale beside me. If not so public or dire a setting, I would’ve laughed. It seemed that despite all his devotion to the Lannisters, Pycelle was the singular most annoying man in all of King's Landing. And it wasn’t helping that his voice would bring the sentence upon us.

“The first vote… Lord Tywin Lannister.”

I heard the sound of the stone hitting the wicker basket, and it made me exhale shakily. I knew I had to remain calm, for it was entirely possible that my husband just so happened to be the first vote, but somehow I understood that wasn’t the case. 

“...Lord Tyrion Lannister.”

That had been the second vote, and it eased my nerves a bit. However, Tyrion was standing right beside me, and I could feel his nerves too. I couldn’t help but wonder if he wanted to be king, and I suspected that he did. Unfortunately for both of us, then, the next seven votes were for my husband.

It felt as though every time I heard Tywin’s name I got closer and closer to passing out, and yet I had to stand there emotionless. I wanted more than anything for Tywin to turn toward me and say it would all be alright, but he couldn’t. All either of us could do was stand there and begin to accept it.

There were then several more votes for Tyrion, and a few for Jaime and Myrcella, which rather surprised me. Neither Jaime nor Myrcella looked pleased to hear their names, but it made me rather happy, for I hadn’t entirely expected Myrcella to get that many votes at all. Still, the continuing trend was overwhelmingly directed toward my husband, and at a certain point we had both realized that.

I heard Tywin sigh, and for the first time I couldn’t keep myself from looking up at him. I watched him blink a few times, and his lips parted for a moment as he inhaled. His eyes scanned the great hall, and then he turned his head ever so slightly to look down at me. When our eyes met, I felt oddly comforted, because while there was a look of defeat in his eyes, there was somehow also a look of acceptance. He had been condemned to play this part, but he would do it and he would do it well. That was who Tywin Lannister was.

And nobody would know that he had sighed that day, and nobody would ever stop to consider that the look he had given me was not one of triumph but of apology. But it did not matter, because I knew. 

At that moment, when Tywin looked down at me and silently admitted that he would be king, I remember it clicked in my head. The sight of the White Hart suddenly made sense, and it made me want to cry. Even the most powerful man in Westeros was still subjected to the gods’ sick game. 

“And our last vote… the Lord Tywin Lannister,” Pycelle announced, the last stone clacking against the already full basket. My hand had begun to shake, and Tywin let go of my arm as a response. When our hands were at our sides, he took mine in his, giving it a good squeeze. It was the only comfort he could currently give to his overwhelmed wife, but it was enough. 

“With a total of 206 votes, there are 23 votes for Princess Myrcella Baratheon, 34 votes for Ser Jaime Lannister, 57 votes for Lord Tyrion Lannister… and 92 votes for Lord Tywin Lannister,” Varys read off, stepping before the entire hall as he did.

There was a sort of bone chilling silence as everyone in the great hall processed the news, and it almost made me laugh. There should not have been any shock, everyone present should’ve known this would happen. I should’ve known.

A man among the crowd stepped into the isle then, and the unmistakable sound of a sword being unsheathed was heard. I could see the metallic shine of his weapon, and all present watched as he lifted it into the air.

“To his grace, Tywin Lannister, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, the First Men, and Protector of the Realm!”

The man's shouts echoed throughout the room, and suddenly it was not just him but the entire hall. Hundreds of swords were drawn, and a rhythmic chanting of Tywin’s name was all I could hear. 

My husband remained unphased, of course, standing there just as he had been for the last few hours with a respectful and balanced expression. I, on the other hand, had begun to feel some sort of horrible pride. Tommen had died only hours earlier, and yet watching the entire hall cheer for my husband and choose him as their new king made my heart swell. 

There certainly was something sick about it, the continual replacement of kings and lords, and yet that never came into anybody’s consideration. All that ever mattered was that the iron throne was kept warm, not that the cold body was mourned.

And still, I was no better. I could’ve stood there for hours watching the way those men cheered for Tywin. Because yes, he certainly was feared by many, but no man could deny that he was fit for the throne. Tywin Lannister, the most powerful man in Westeros. Now he was its king too. 

But when he gave my hand another squeeze, I knew it was not those titles which mattered to him most, or perhaps at all. I understood it then, that the only title for which he cared was that of Tywin Lannister, my husband. 

TAGLIST:

@cheyxfu @lemonscoffee @groovy-lady 

@ladysindar @vesta-ro @exo-nova @paola-carter

@prettykinkysoul 

@fullmoonshadowwrites @kishie8 

@the-desilittle-bird @dianilaws @girlonfireice 

@muscari-fae @lostgirllulu 

@abigfanofgameofthrones @smalltownbigheart 

@frombloodandflesh @supernaturalismyreligion666

@thanyatargaryen @rey26 @hexandale @pkawaiidesu5394 @aimsro

#tywin lannister #tywin lannister x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #house lannister #charles dance #tywin x reader #asoiaf #a lion in the garden

[awek-s-archived]

i am a bit curious as to why you dislike idle. i don't particularly love them myself but i'm curious as to your reasoning

ok thank u so much for asking first of all because i feel like a lot of people over the years have been curious about this and instead of asking me abt my reasoning regarding anything to do w idle they kind of default to anon hate, so. DKLFGJKLDF

im gonna give background, i followed y/uqi predebut, since that video came out of her as a young trainee moving from china to korea and being a part of a series where trainees go up to strangers in the streets and ask them to listen to them sing to gauge some of the public reaction to them if they debut. she sang in front of this one particular girl who used to be a trainee herself but couldn't live with the pressure and kind of yearned for that dream still, i guess? anyway, she gave y/uqi a lot of advice that i feel really helped ground her and to this day i think she's actually the only or at the very least the most grounded member of idle. and the only one i actually have nothing against and would love to see thrive, because i sincerely think she would and i'll come on to that later.

the tldr version is that i don't agree with the rampant racism and cultural appropriation that they engage in from music videos to general looks to sounds and beats in their actual songs. it's a lot. i know kpop groups in general are very guilty of this and sometimes, not very often, when you tell them it's wrong they apologise and stop doing it. but idle fall under the same category as suju and m/amamoo in that they literally don't care that they're doing it, because they have seen and i believe apologised about it then continued to do the same thing. but my issue with them as a group wasn't ever really directed at specific members until miss s/oyeon's international fuck-up where she said she wants to make 'ethnic hip' music as basically her excuse of why she appropriates cultures.

i paid a lot more attention to their group behaviour after that and there was a time of hiatus where y/uqi and m/innie in particular were very chill and doing their own thing where they were extremely different from how they were when s/oyeon ruled over them. y/uqi went back to being the grounded, friendly, chaotic and generally nice person she was before with no issues or controversies and m/innie did also. i don't really care about the other two so i can't comment on them extensively but these two i paid attention to because i know i liked them from before. but miss s/oyeon?? well, she carried on the group controversies all on her own, lmao. more racism and cultural appropriation but this time she also blatantly plagiarised another producer's songs and released them, lied about asking for permission to recreate the song DOWN TO A T (the song is wave by a/teez btw). basically she admitted to stealing it without using so many words but continued to promote it and didn't give the credit that was due for her plagiarism. i think this was one of 3 (?) plagiarism accusations in the space of a few months. so she's very big on growth as an artist and thinks of herself as a big producer but ultimately all she does is steal the songs from smaller artists and smaller producers and pass it off as her own. obviously as a creative myself, i'm not ok with this and i think she's a poor excuse of an artist to do it. she doesn't deserve the title.

in the last couple of comebacks, she profited off m/arilyn m/onroe's death and image, which is disgusting to me. i don't care what excuse her fans think up to make it ok -- especially when this came out at the same time as 2 documentary series about m/arilyn and she was a huge subject of discussion globally again. so it was evidently a ploy for cash and probably a good stepping stone to s/oyeon trying to make ~empowering music~ for women. sadly all she's doing, if her lyrics are anything to go by, is promoting the exact stereotype of women that everybody else is trying to fight against. she's saying, it's ok for women to love themselves but creepy for them to engage in sex or for men to be physically attracted to them because that makes them perverts (nxde lyrics allude to this VERY heavily).

i also personally don't like the attempted profiting off lgbt fans with 'oh my god', which people made theories about BEFORE she publicly came out as saying that it represents love in all forms, and kept alluding to it AFTER to give fans something to talk about despite officially saying she doesn't want to limit it to homosexuality -- so, how was it a song for the gays then? it wasn't. she was going with the fan theory to get talked about. it's not a bad marketing strategy but it is vile from an actual gay person's point of view, and the fact that she backtracked officially to say it's not ABOUT anything specific while feeding into the ~ally~ delusions privately is disgusting to me, personally. and i'd get if it was taboo to the point of it being career-ending, but there are plenty of other kpop groups who have explicitly stated their videos or songs or dramas, or ANYTHING, are strictly in representation of lgbt love both before and after oh my god -- o/nlyoneof in particular.

more recently of course, the attempted dissing of rookie groups, however light -- those are children. you're a grown woman. if you want to write a disstrack, don't do it about people who are a decade your juniors, OR a decade your seniors. she dissed h/yuna and h/yojong in a song and then sent h/yuna a signed album this comeback. weird to me, even if there are no hard feelings. it's not about the action so much as the attitude with which she keeps doing those things. this is where my newfound m/innie dislike comes in too, because she recently PUBLICLY dissed i/ve for winning an award against idle despite the fact that idle had already won a similar award something like the day before or a few days before. but i think i'll get over it because i genuinely don't believe that that's her actual attitude, i think 100% it's s/oyeon's influence.

and my reasoning for THAT is y/uqi's recent interview, where she said she and s/oyeon don't get along virtually at all, and fight all the time. she (y/uqi) finds it funny and thinks it's a sign of being close and honest, which it can be -- but that's not a healthy relationship, period. if you can't talk to someone without arguing, you don't get along ever.. that's not a friendship. but it does in a sense bring me comfort because i hate the type of person s/oyeon is and the fact that y/uqi argues with her so much tells me that she's the polar opposite. furthermore y/uqi also mentioned wanting to be the leader in situations, and that just tells me everything i need to know re: how much they actually agree with s/oyeon's creative decisions for them as a group and perhaps as individuals too, since she's currently cube's favourite and has significantly more pull than anybody else at that company.

i know you asked about idle full group dislike but it does all come down to s/oyeon in the end, because i think all of this controversy and all this behaviour could've been avoided if somebody knocked her down a peg. but i think everything she does is shallow and performative at best, she's not a hard worker like everybody thinks she is, but she does see herself as a martyr in all aspects and i guess tries to capitalise off it. which ok, that's her business, but i think it's gross and unfair to drag the other girls down with her. nevertheless all her choices (that she's proud of, too, let's not forget) up to now have made the group as controversial as it is now and is why i dislike it so actively as a unit, even aside from the other individual members.

#wow this is mad long im sorry #asks

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

The five kingdoms of the sons of Fëanor: part 2

Maglor's Gap

Himring and the March of Maedhros

Warning. This post contains mentions of weapons use | animal death | orc death | use of animal parts | use of alcohol

🌟 Much like Himring and the March of Maedhros, Maglor’s Gap is dotted with stone fortresses made of rough stone.

🌟 However, in stark contrast to the more no-frills approach in Himring and the March, there is some semblance of elegance to be found in the keeps dotting the Gap due to Maglor’s own influence. Besides the usual pelts and furs and bone, furniture is more elaborately decorated, and the first weavings and tapestries were made with whatever could be found and easily assembled. Once order settles in, the elves of the Gap craft their own furnishings using feathers and animal teeth and tails from small animals such as ermine and sable.

🌟 Again, much like Himring and the March, garments worn by those living in the Gap consist of fur and leather. Beads, bones, feathers, and, in this instance, ermine tails, are used to decorate clothes. The pelts of smaller animals, such as pallas cats and foxes, are used to make mittens, hoods, and fur caps. Once a way is found to extract natural dyes from leaves and berries, color is used without restraint. The most commonly used decorative motifs in embroidery are horses, animals, birds, and flowers found in the Gap, sometimes even family mottoes. Any jewels that were brought over during the crossing are fiercely guarded and lent only for special occasions. On all other occasions, flowers, ferns, berries, and thin strips of ribbon are used for beautification.

🌟 Smithies are far more common due to a greater abundance of fuel for burning. Nevertheless, elves still make good use of anything and everything they can take off of dead orcs after skirmishes. Very little is allowed to go to waste by those living in the Gap, especially weapons and armor.

🌟 Military service comes in the form of several years of cavalry duty. As it is quite exposed, the Gap has to be patrolled all day and night, and on horseback, for both speed and convenience. The horses bred here are quite strong and heavy, capable of carrying heavily armored elves into battle, and are trained to withstand the noise and chaos of battle.

🌟 Elven males take up duties on the field. Elven women stay closer to home and see to the defenses of the keeps they live in. Many of the Elven women take up the bow and arrow for weapons.

🌟 Besides the standard sword and shield, bow and arrow and spear, a lance-like weapon makes its first appearance among the mounted warriors patrolling the Gap.

🌟 The meat of wild game, wild berries, root vegetables, and mare’s milk make up many, if not all, meals. Meat is often cured and preserved to last longer. Dried meat is reserved for those having to go on patrol. Horseflesh is also consumed. Alcoholic beverages made out of fermented mare’s milk are drunk in the absence of wine.

🌟 There is very little in the way of public feasts and frolics, as the Gap is a frequent target for Orc raids. If there are celebrations, they are quite simple and held only in a private capacity by individual families. Maglor, however, will host the captains that serve him at least every two to three weeks to develop rapport, and to learn more of the comings and goings in his domain.

#maglor #maglor imagine #maglor's gap #the sons of fëanor #the sons of fëanor imagine #headcanon #my headcanon #the silm #the silm imagine #the silmarillion #💫a world of whimsy writes