#family law harrow

[saddest-girl-in-the-whole-world]

"ACAB includes your favourite blorbo too" Yes okay cool but not Pyrrha Dve. Not Pyrrha "joining an anti government necromantic cult the first chance she gets" Dve. Pyrrha is so not included in ACAB that when she woke up from 10000 years of her soul being drowned out the first thing she does is join a revolutionary group to take down that necromantic cult because now THEYRE the new government.

[sayruq]

Dear friends and kind strangers,I urgently need your support to help me raise funds to evacuate my family out of Gaza. This is the only way to help them survive. It breaks my heart that it has come to this, but this fundraiser is my last window of hope to secure the necessary funds to evacuate them. My father and my two brothers urgently require medical attention, and time is of the essence. I am Eman Abu Hayya. I have survived four Israeli assaults on Gaza before leaving to pursue my studies in Philosophy in Doha, Qatar, back in 2017. While I reside in Qatar, my entire family remains in the Gaza Strip, trapped amidst the cruel and harrowing reality of ongoing genocide. My aim is to facilitate the evacuation of my loved ones from Gaza to ensure they receive the critical medical care they urgently need and to shield them from the constant threat of Israeli bombings and the dire scarcity of clean water, food, and healthcare. My family consists of 11 members: my mother Najat (49), my father Akram (60), three brothers Ahmed, Yahya and Zakaria (30, 27, and 22), one sister Shaima (24), two sisters-in-law Wafa and Hana (25 and 24), and three young nieces and nephews Najat, Hayat and Gaith (aged 1, 2, and 5). They deserve the chance to live full lives, and I cannot bear the thought of losing any of them. My two little nieces’ names mean Life and Survival (Hayat and Najat), respectively. Let’s help make these two names a living reality through your kind donations.

Please help Eman. Donations have slowed down but my family's situation remains dire. Her family's house was destroyed. One of her brothers sustained a serious injury during the bombing which requires surgery while another has a serious medical conditions requiring immediate medical intervention. On top of all of that her father has diabetes. Not to mention the two children above.

Please please donate. Share if you can't

[leascorner]

b.b. | With child

Summary: He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours.

Pairing:  Benedict Bridgerton x f!reader

Warnings: angst ('cause I can't write anything else), alluding to sex (no description whatsoever), discussions around pregnancy, pregnancy, mention of alcohol.

Words Count: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Had this in the work for the longest time. I was actually thinking to publish it for his season (#4 I hope!). But we got new stills of Season 3 and it's nearly Valentine's Day so... Enjoy!

“Are you-” you asked when you noticed your sister-in-law had let her glass of wine and her plate untouched.

Your words stayed lost on your tongue, yet Daphne, sat in front of Benedict and next to you, knew exactly what you were about and nodded slightly, tears in her eyes. You let out a small cry of excitement and leant in to hug her. While you wore the most delighted expression, Benedict’s heart sunk a little at the news.

His sister was with child. Again. She was the second women of his family to be expecting this year, while he had yet an exciting news to share himself.

You both had wed a little over than a year and a half ago now and were yet to be blessed with a child. You were doing your best, of course, but none your efforts had been fruitful so far. Benedict did not mind; he had waited his whole life to meet you, he definitely could wait a little bit longer.

He did not mind, or so he thought…

Tonight, he thought life was particularly unfair to him. Every pregnancy announcement was only nourishing this harrowing feeling in his chest. All he could feel was his siblings’ bliss and it made him sick to the stomach. Yes, he was sick with jealousy - and ultimately selfish. He just couldn’t wait to feel your belly growing, to hold your children, to watch them playing around with their cousins, for them to grow older and become adults themselves. Just this simple thought made his very own heart felt extremely heavy.

Politely and quietly, he raised his glass wishing his sister a healthy pregnancy, before drinking away his sorrow.

The ride home that night was particularly quiet.

Silence had never been a thing between the two of you. Benedict was usually the most talkative, telling you about his days, about whatever painting he was going to paint, about that book he had been reading. You would listen, looking back at him with your big bright eyes and a soft smile onto your lips. Other times, he would watch you pacing back and forth in his study while passionately debating about politics. He would be drawing imaginary circles on your soft skin as you were lying in bed, you telling him about another one of your days chaperoning one of his sisters. He would listen to your laugh at one of his jokes. Even your fights would be followed by soft apologies, quiet words, whimpers, and love.

On the contrary, that night, the air was thick with something he couldn’t quite describe, and the coach was wrapped up in dark clouds, a genuine storm in the awakening. Sat on the opposite side, you were looking through the window, your face only light up by the few shines of the full moon. Benedict was so focused on his own thought that he didn’t realize you hadn’t had a word for the rest of the night.

He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours. It only made him angrier at the entire world. Why couldn’t they let you live this as well?

He would have liked to discuss this with you - his regrets, his hope - but he was too afraid you would realize what a failure he was. How disappointed with him you were. How you would hate him for not being able to offer you this. So, he sat back in his seat and watched out of his own window.

When the coach stopped in front of your residence, Benedict got out first, offering his hand to help you getting down the small step like he always did. You smiled at him, thanking him politely, and let go of his hand as soon as your two feet were on the ground. It didn’t mean anything, he tried to reassure himself, you needed both of your hands to grab the tissue of your dress to prevent the hem from getting wet and dirty. Yet, he couldn’t help the sharp pain in his chest.

Silently, he followed you inside, hat in his hands, jaw locked. You were welcomed as usual by your housemaid, who got both of your coats and stayed there, in the uncomfortable silence, arms full, waiting for one of you to dismiss her. As you took off your gloves and didn’t dare look at Benedict, he nodded sharply to let her know she could go and watched her somehow disappear in an instant.

Suddenly, it was only the two of you again and it was all too much for him. He couldn’t breathe properly; his chest being crushed by the invisible weight of his sorrow. He couldn’t bare staying with you one more second. He needed to get out of here.

“Good night,” he said firmly, before walking to his study.

Would he have looked back he would have seen you watching him disappear in the corridor. You, all alone in the middle of the hall, arms dangling. He would have seen the frown on your face and the hurt in your eyes. Would he have looked back he would have run back to your side. Instead, he did none of that. He continued marching, head up high, trying to escape his own misery.

You sighed before turning in the opposite direction and to your shared bedroom.

Benedict went to bed less than an hour after you.

He had been haunted by guilt as soon as he had reached his study, sadness evaporating once he had stepped inside the room. Instead of turning back and chasing after you, he had tried to put his head in order. He then had tried painting whatever he was feeling, but he could only stay in front of his white canvas, terrified of laying his brush on the cotton. He had tried writing it, but he couldn’t concentrate enough; his thoughts always drifting to you, alone in your bedroom. He had then settled on having a drink to wait long enough for you to fall asleep before he could go to bed - his other option would have been to sleep in his study if he got too drunk, which he did not.

He had thought long about the whole situation. It wasn’t like you were not trying. Sometimes, even with doing the right things, it didn’t happen. He would need to accept this. And he couldn’t continue being a terrible husband. It wasn’t your fault; it wasn’t anybody’s fault actually. What he knew more than anything though was that he loved you. Whatever would happen, he could not afford to lose you.

He had decided he would come clean tomorrow, but for now, he only wanted to sleep with you by his side.

In the dark of your room, Benedict undressed and lied besides you as silently as possible.

All he could hear was your uneven breathing; whatever dream you were having did not seem to be pleasant. He reached out to your arm, hoping that you could feel his presence through his touch and know he would always be there for you.

It wasn’t until your body was rocked by a hiccup that he understood that you were not having a bad dream, you were crying.

“Y/N?” he asked, lying on his side to face your back.

“I am so sorry,” your voice was only a whisper.

He gently made you roll on your side. Even in the dark, his right hand was able to find your face and his thumb to rub the tears away. Before he could ask what was wrong, you spoke:

“I am so-” You chocked on – yet – another sob and it took you a couple of seconds to even out your breathing so you could speak properly: “So sorry- for not being able to get you- get you what you ever wanted.”

“My love,” he sighed, grabbing the back of your neck to bring you closer. Instinctively, you hide your face in his chest, and he started stroking your hair to try and calm you. “My love, do not ever feel guilty on this.”

“I have tried every tea, every method that is supposed to help,” you cried some more.

It broke his heart to realize the burden on your heart - of course, if he was feeling it, you would have too. He finally understood how selfish he had been, how centred on his own pain he was and so oblivious to yours. It had never been a subject between the two of you, but it was slowly crushing you both.

“My love, this is not your fault.”

“You don’t see the pity in their eyes. You don’t hear them whisper.” You sniffled against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. “We are even blessed Lady Whistletown has not written about us.” He heard the frustration in your voice and the ton of it made him understand how you had tried to suppress the guilt but failed. It pained him that out of all of this, it was you who were the one being charged guilty by everyone - you included. As if you couldn’t imagine it being his own fault. As if you couldn’t imagine it being anyone’s fault but yours.

“Perhaps, I-” he stopped, running a hand through his hair out of frustration. “I drink loads of Colin’s stupid tea; I paint with all sorts of chemicals substance. Perhaps, I can’t-”

“Ben, of course, no!”        

“Perhaps we won’t ever-” he confessed, but he couldn’t even say it out loud. It was all too much.

You moved against him, and he felt both of your hands grabbing his face, your forehead resting again his. He felt your hot breath against his skin, and he hugged you tighter, crushing your bones, making sure you were close.

He had you, he kept repeating himself. It was all that mattered. Of course, it was a dear wish of his to see mini versions of yourselves running around, but not at all costs. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice what you both had, right here, right now.

“We are both healthy, it is more than all I could ever wish for.”

“Will this ever be enough for you, though?” you asked so quietly he nearly did not hear you.

Benedict frowned. Was it really what you thought? That he would leave you? That your own self was not enough for him? He had been an even more terrible husband he had thought to lead you thinking this. He had failed you on so many levels.

“I was so absorbed by my own desire of having my own family,” he whispered back like he was telling you a secret, “I never asked if you also desire to have children of your own.”

“Ben, of course, I want your children!”

Benedict wanted to express how grateful he was to have you in his life, but no words came to his mind at that moment. He only reached out to your lips, trying to express how much he loved you.

If he could not tell you, he could still show you…

Hours later, while you were lying in bed, your head on Benedict’s chest, his left hand drawing invisible love words on your back and the other holding you close, he thought that there was nothing else he would like to do than stay with you, like this, forever.

“We should just take some time away from here.”

“What do you mean? The season only began-”

“To hell with worldliness. Some time away, just the two of us.” The sun was slowly peeking through the blinds, its yellow light was painting on your naked skin a glowy spectrum. “I heard South of France is particularly beautiful, this time of the year.”

Your chin on his chest, you looked back at him, eyes bright. He was looking at you the same way you had catch him do a million time: a soft smile on his lips, his eyes filled of this spark, shinning only for you. You didn’t care how beautiful France would be, he was the most beautiful view you had ever laid eyes on.

His hand brushed some hair out of your face, and you grabbed it to kiss his knuckles.

“France, it is then.”

Little did you know, you would be coming back home a few months later, bearing your own little miracle.

One of the many to come.

[danmei-confessions]

I think we should talk about Wu Zetian, China’s only female emperor, who historically has been regarded as a horrible and brutal leader.

She was born a commoner, became a concubine to one emperor, married his son and then took the role of emperor for herself when he died. She was politically adept, highly ambitious and extraordinarily intelligent.

History has accused her of smothering her newly born daughter and blaming a rival for her death. She had that rivals hands and feet cut off and then had her thrown into a vat of wine in which she was left to drown. She gouged out another rivals eyes and had acid poured down her throat. She wiped out 12 entire branches of a clan. She poisoned her mother. Just how accurate these things are is up for debate, but while these things might not all be true, she certainly did have several family members killed. And she did deal with her rivals and her detractors ruthlessly. Yet none of these things would have attracted criticism if she had been a man. She was no more scandalous than any other ruler during that time period.

But! Her rule was peaceful and prosperous. She avoided wars and welcomed ambassadors from as far away as the Byzantine empire. She changed laws so common people could be chosen for roles in government for their abilities rather than their name or status. She acknowledged and acted on criticisms from her retainers. She built watchtowers along the Silk Road so merchants wouldn’t be harrowed by bandits. Her reign saw women given more freedom(the ability to divorce, hold government positions, travel, hunt and ride horses, to be recognized by scholars).

She supported Buddhism and helped the religion spread and grow through commissioning temples, monasteries, and even a statue of the Buddha said to be carved in her own likeness. In the eyes of the common people, she likely would have been an incredibly popular ruler.

She remains a controversial figure primarily because of stories about her personal actions against her rivals by male Confucian officials who were prejudiced against strong and ambitious women and while they undoubtedly exaggerated aspects of Wu’s life, there is still substantial verifiable evidence of her ruthlessness.

We should also be aware that although she allegedly held her power through murder and merciless, according to Confucian philosophy, ‘while an emperor should not be condemned for acts that would be crimes in a subject, he should be judged harshly for allowing the state to fall into anarchy’ and viewed under this lens, Wu did effectively fulfill her duties as a ruler.

So we have a leader of ancient china who had two faces, one who committed acts of vile cruelty against her family and rivals and one who gave her citizens peace and prosperity.

Through a modern lens she can be viewed as an evil woman who rose from humble beginnings and coldly and calculatingly murdered her way into arguably the most powerful position in the world. A rich woman who threw crumbs to her peasant people while she lived luxuriously. She is a deadly woman, a black widow, an evil stepmother, a kinslayer. But according to historians, “without Wu there would have been no long enduring Tang dynasty and perhaps no lasting unity of China.”

The comparison to a modern mr beast obviously doesn’t hold water, but we can certainly analyze jgy to a more comparable historical figure and argue more accurately in a historical context if jgy was a good leader as the de facto emperor as the cultivation worlds Xiāndū.

It’s easy to see the comparisons between Wu and jgy, both were undesirable and deemed unfit by society. But both were politically adept, highly ambitious and extraordinarily intelligent. Both had family members murdered, perhaps sharing between them filicide. Both had a clans murdered to a man. Both are thought to have had their faces carved on religious relics for their narcissistic pleasure. Both had watchtowers built as a defense for their people. And both were torn down by the men following after them, vilified and distorted. Both forever destined to be speculated upon and misunderstood. Both of their legacy’s destroyed by rumor and falsification. It would not surprise me in the slightest if mxtx didn’t draw on Wu at least a little bit in the creation of jgy. Both Wu and jgy are culpable for some pretty heinous stuff, that can’t be denied. But like Wu, jgy also has a second face.

Moral bias and character motivation aside, his efforts to build watchtowers, his patronage of religion in the building of Guanyin temple, his fight against political corruption, his years long peaceful reign, his charity, all these things lead to the conclusion that under the rule of Confucian, he more than aptly fulfilled his role as a leader for his citizens.

And if you really want to look at Jgys leadership through a modern lens, we really don’t have to look much further than Ingersoll. “If you want to find out what a man is to the bottom, give him power.”

And really that’s part of the tragedy of his character. Because of his background he excelled when he was in a role of leadership. He was good at it.

Whether or not jgy as a literary character is a good person, is subjective and should not be used to measure his role as an effective leader.

All of that being said, jgy is my bestfriend and I love him and would I die for him.

.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

ok but chubby!Aeg with a new wife reader and him just fucking her constantly with a breeding kink and barely letting her out of his chambers until his family finds her would be incredible...

And good luck with your period beautiful, it seems I'm headed there as well

sorry for the delayed response lovely, hope you are better now xox this ask is delicious, thank you for sending it in! any type of Aeg with a breeding kink is something else...

Duty to the Realm.

PAIRING: chubby!King!Aegon ii Targaryen x Queen!fem!Reader

WORDS: 3,522.

WARNINGS: arranged marriage, breeding kink, lactation kink, pregnancy kink, slightly cruel!Aegon ii, female receiving (f*ingering), edging, overstimulation, creampie, cockwarming, swearing, posessive!Aegon, p in v sexual intercourse, mentions of pregnancy/birth.

A/N - I may have gotten carried away a little bit, but that's okay. shoutout for my bitchass anon, that seems to be OBSESSED with me, enjoy reading and hating on this asshole.

​​The marital duty expected of the woman to the man was one of a common, natural phenomena, that many in the realm would often not bat an eye to, yet one that held great anticipation for you, in your case. Particularly considering, your lawful husband was no other than the sole King of the Seven Kingdoms. An heir was the ultimate and primary responsibility, expected of you both to fulfil. A royal decree and order of the Faith.

He was to bed you as much as it pleased your Sire, as you were to carry and birth as many lively heirs as possible, blessed as the Gods saw fit. Your anointed Septas had spoken to you countlessly to this coming night, and your dearest mother before her untimely passing: all reinstating the other, that childbirth was no easy game. A duty of womankind and also an honour. To be blessed by the Mother herself, with the gift to carry and birth healthily.

Nonetheless, arrangements made, your House meticulously selected, as your husband to be, Aegon the Second of his name, had been thoroughly consulted by his liege council, thought that the most viable candidate to bear the shared responsibility of carrying out the infamous Targaryen dynasty, was you. Now that the Dance had come to its long-awaited end, Aegon the ultimate successor, reparations needed to be made and lines secured for the generations forthcoming.

The wedding was a swift and grandiose occasion: rich food and wine, opulent gifts and crowds [many faces unfamiliar to yourself] gathered in abundance, the union was legitimised by the Faith of the Seven, binded by law. Aegon scarcely spoke to you during the special occasion besides catching his lingering, lilac eyes fleeting over towards you. Strangely you had also noticed, Aegon would not allow for you to speak for yourself. Often promptly intercepting, answering general questions and well wishes on your behalf, before a peep escaped your reddened lips: you found it odd and somewhat harrowing.

It was an ambivalent feeling, as though Aegon acknowledged your physical presence, yet refused to grant you the privilege to speak nor appreciate you? You felt trivial against his stance, nothing more than a vessel at his complete disposal. You came to the haste, haunting conclusion of neglect... "Aegon does not love me."

Aegon took you to bed that dreadful night, ruling against his Council for a meek audience to be present. He vowed a promise, his lingering words "the deed will be done" remained echoing in your thoughtlessly numb mind.  The door locked as Aegon saw to it himself, no words spared other than fleeting glances, as he took a swift swing of his Dornish wine that accompanied him, as he departed from the feast with you. Observing Aegon this near, his authority in the realm, was not the only quality in him that held a substantially formidable presence...

Unlike his younger brothers, Aegon was fuller in size. His stocky thighs and legs accentuated in size by the tightly fitted breeches, was accompanied by a portly round stomach that looked tense and swollen from the delectable wedding feast and drinking. Not that you had much of an appetite that evening, however, Aegon did not halt when a full serving was laid in front of him, nor the seconds that he demanded for, or a slice of the exquisite cake. One thing you had noticed tonight that you had never heard of before, was that Aegon had an impressive appetite. Whether it was from the nerves of having to bed a woman he scarcely knew, or the undeniable, looming fear of failing to provide an heir, he ate intensely and seemed to enjoy himself rather. The way he'd savour his last few bites, eyes rolling back in satisfaction, how he did not shy away from sculling two full pitchers worth of wine [yet remained stable on his feet and wickedly alert]. Although, a strange, yearning sensation began to churn below, a dull ache growing stronger right between your inner thighs, as you fleetingly observed Aegon's large hand tenderly palming over his distended belly. Close enough in his proximity, you heard an occasional low belch escape from Aegon's plump, greasy lips, poorly attempting to muffle his discomfort with a tight fist over his mouth.

Now in the privacy of your shared, royal chambers, his arms looked strong and sturdy: the flesh of his fingers pooling tightly around his precious rings. Although his face was wildly handsome as most Targaryen men beared celestial-like attributes, history would tell. The ruggedness remaining evident from blatant, healing scars strewed across the side of his cheek and forehead, proof of the recent battles he had bravely fought and won, did not hinder your undeniable attraction towards him. And yet, there was also a softness to his features, the flesh of his jaw ample and blurred, his cheeks plump.

You prayed in that very moment, that Aegon was just as pleased about you, as you were with him.

Undressing himself off his fine fabrics, lashing the pieces onto the floor as though they cost nothing, your tense body froze completely, as Aegon took slow strides towards you. Only inches apart, his rough hands snaking their way behind your illustrious gown, untying the strings effortlessly, as though this was not the first time he had bedded a woman.

"You know what is expected of you," Aegon firmly uttered, his tone unfaltering and deep, you felt your body grow rigid, as his rough hands met your bare skin, the gown loosely falling off your body.

Your naked body rigid, and mind frail, you could not muster the valour to respond timely, seemingly infuriating Aegon.

"Speak woman, use your words for me."

Feeling his thumb simultaneously flicking at your sensitive, perked nipple, sent shivers down your spine, his fierce, glowing eyes cursing from your breasts to your timid face.

"Y-Yes, my dear," You delicately stuttered, your sullen breath hitching in your throat, as you tried to focus solely on fixating your gaze on Aegon and not daring to look to the ground.

"Hmm, therefore you realise what is expected of me, yes? As your dutiful husband and as the King of the Seven Kingdoms, you understand what I must do to you, yes?"

Aegon's hand that was previously occupied playfully kneading and teasing your breast, now sneaked below to your waist, along with his other, his fingertips firmly tightening around the curves for your hips. His head tilted down, lowering his taller height to meet yours, as his lips found their way melting over your flushed skin.

"Y-Yes my King. Y-Yes, Aegon. A child I must bear, an heir... As many heirs as you see fit my King, I will do as you ask, as you please."

A low growl etched from Aegon's throat, animalistic even, as they momentarily broke free from you, as his thumb now gently grazing over your blush cheek and shut lips.

"Together we share this burden, but rest assured, my dear. I will do everything in my power to ensure the Kingdom has an heir. If that means fucking you day and night, sealing you in this room and chaining you to this bed then so be it. Till your dripping proudly of my seed until you take. Not until I see your belly swell greatly with my babe growing inside, may I let you roam the halls freely once more. Understood?"

"Understood."

That night Aegon took you to bed with caution and great intent. He was effortless in handling you, guiding and adjusting your body according to his positions, lifting and carrying you as though you weighed nothing more than a feather. Kissing you abundantly and with passion, often suckling at your tender flesh around your neck and breasts, you felt the spots that he had latched onto growing sore. His eager mouth occupied, his free hand found its way to your cunt, now moist with excitement, throbbing for something more. He remained generous, inserting two of his longest, thick digits inside, pumping himself in a steady, slow pace, feeling your keen walls stretching mildly, clenching around the base of his knuckles, the deeper he plunged himself in. With each helpless moan that slipped from your mouth that he earned, the deeper he shoved himself in, feeling a slick smirk spread against your neck.

"That's it, my love. You don’t even need to tell me just how bad you need your King to fuck you, I can practically feel your body begging for me, baby."

Countless more breathless moans escaped your lips that you'd desperately bit shut, that you could no longer resist. The silent void of the room gradually filling with the natural sounds of lust, as you stuttered and whimpered your King's name aloud.

"Ugh- A-Aeg. I need my King n-now. I w-want my Aeg-"

"Fuck-" Aegon spat, his teeth softly biting down on the ample flesh of your breast, tugging at your tender skin, causing a sharp jolt of pain to shock you, before letting loose. All the while unknowing to you, your Grace had a third digit inserted deep within your walls, his fist now coated in your pooling wetness, oozing between the gaps of your entrance, as his pace had hasten, his thick fingers deeply inside pumping and pushing against the natural tightness of your enclosure. The strange, dense weight and friction of his fingertips rousing against your sensitive clit.

"That's right. Warming you up so, yet it seemed you were already a soaking mess for me, my love.”

Muffled moans as you weakly attempted to fight the urge to scream and beg for more. Aegon's wicked fingers inside, tormenting you as he quickened his pace and the ferocity of his motion. Your back arching lusciously, as your hips bucked upwards and back again, motioning for more.

"Think you are ready for me, baby? Think you are ready to take my cock, till I fuck you full of my hot seed. Are you ready to be a mother?"

"Y-Yes, Aeg!" You breathlessly yelp, your hands having instinctively found their way to his platinum locks, the mottled strands caught in your fingers, as you grasped and pulled at his roots. As your arms outstretched below your sides, your breasts naturally shoved and pressed together in unison, accentuating your obvious cleavage more so, that Aegon helplessly found himself tempted. Only a second bypassed, before the bulky King found himself crawling further up atop your yielding body, with great effort, huffing and puffing as he subtly caught his breath, before burying his handsome face between, suckling at your hard, perky nipples. His heavy, round belly laid sprawled against your own abdomen, feeling his clothed, rigid cock beneath his tight pants, the tense bulge probing at your inner thigh walls.

"Soon these will be greatly full of the Mother's blessed milk, and I will relish myself with the spoils of my babe growing inside. Knowing that it was all my undoing, that made you so. Gods be good, they will be full enough, practically leaking from the vast supply. Our babes will be well fed, and I, too, hmm."

"A-Aeg, I need you. F-Fuck a babe into me, a-and I shall feed and fuck you, a-as you please."

"Mhmm, my good, pretty wife. Already at my mercy-"

Feeling the rush movements of Aegon's free hand below [as the other remained steadying himself], you had no sense of what was occurring below, nor could you see, as his stout belly blocked your view. Yet the sudden, grazing sensation of his moist, hard cock teasing at the entrance of your wet, throbbing folds, you could bear it no more.

"You promise you can take me, baby? Show me how well of an obedient wife you can be, just as much of a pretty one you are."

No warning and no remorse, Aegon shoved his thick, stiff cock into your aching, tight cunt. Despite Aegon's perilous efforts of 'warming you up', nothing amounted to the concoction of sheer ecstasy and pain that coarsed through your veins, as your King's cock, stretched you out, pushing your limits beyond comfort. And yet, you could feel the familiar, dull throbbing sensation growing more palpable by the second: desperately trying to clench around the girth of his fat, bulky circumference, your nails digging into the plump adipose flesh of his broad shoulders and back, as you remained stagnant and tense around him.

"That's it, baby- Fuck. D-Doing so, so well for me. I can just fucking feel how tight you really are around me, fuck! L-Let me just break into you, easy, easy now-"

Moaning cries and whimpers filled Aegon's ears, yet he remained focused. His pace although messy and sloppy was steady, slowly slowly, thrusting himself as equipped as his larger frame would allow him, his solid weight weighing him down against you, you move no further than squirm with remaining, great effort. Feeling his pulsating cock inside, striking adamantly against your cervix, and the pressure of his swollen, distended gut, pressing from above, with each passing second as you felt an immense, stimulating arousal brewing from below. The fierce, physical tensity of Aegon's size inside and out, was invigorating, as your body obediently attempted to adjust to your husband's size.

"Good-Good wife. That's it, baby, I'm going to cum any second now. Fuck this pretty, tight cunt of yours was needy for her King to spoil. I can feel how desperate you are for my babe, huh?"

"Y-Yes, Aeg-"

"I'm going to keep you locked up, all for myself. Till I can fuck as many heirs as I see fit. U-Until this entire quarter is full of our babes, till the realm can hear their cries. You and this tight cunt of yours are not leaving. Not until I'm fucking satisfied. All mine, now."

"Of-Of course, my King-"

"Fuck, Y/N, was I right about you, huh? Obedient from the start, you greedy, little brat, you wanted this just as much as I. Could you imagine yourself as I did, only full of my royal seed, only you worthy to take me."

"O-Only me. M-Made just for you, Aeg, as the Gods deemed it."

"No, woman. I deemed it. I made the decision. I wanted you. O-Only this cunt to take my seed, these hips to grow wide for the birth, and this belly to swell proudly. Till I see these tits leak and you waddling around, begging me to hold and carry you, this was all my undoing from the start. I am the King, the closest thing to the Gods, and farthest from men."

"Th-Then I am eternally at your mercy and will. M-My beloved-"

As you felt the tense excitement sparking below, the invigorating relief as your wetness had reached a peaking climax, the shudder of chills that echoed through your body, the momentum evaporated, as you twitched and felt feeble against Aegon’s sturdy build. Your wetness drenching his cock, as it once more, oozed heavily against your folds and inner thighs. Aegon's immediate, instinctive release adjunct to your own, earned a mouthful of deep, growling moans and breathless swears from the King himself in relief. His hot, ample seed shot through inside, painting your inner walls, as you felt his body weight drop even more against you, all energy exerted.

Shifting himself to your side, as to not suffocate you against his bulky frame, embracing your flustered, exhausted self in his strong arms, his twitching, thick cock, however remained buried inside.

"Tonight we shall remain united as man and woman, like so. Heed my words earnestly, Y/N. Until I see this belly grow round and full, you will stay in this chamber, until I say otherwise. You obey no other orders unless directly from me, understood? I will send maids to help you, you will not lift a single finger so long as you are my wife. You answer to no one but me.”’

Feeling your nod against his plump, meaty chest. Aegon’s hands found their way to your unkempt, loose hair. Brushing the strands off your sweaty, blush face. Although his words were stern and mildly threatening, his actions remained tender.

“B-But what if the Gods do not see me fit to mother your heirs? W-what if I am… What if I am barren, my King?”

Aegon’s silence was eerily unnerving, although his breath did not hitch in shock of your sudden question, his breathing now regained to stability, remained unfaltering as he contemplated.

“You are my wife, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. If anyone wishes to question your purpose in my life, regardless of whom, will answer to me… The King. And they will anguish as I see fit.”

The bright days and chill nights had passed since the wedding night. Aegon, committed to his promise, whenever his duty fulfilled and time free, he would return to you, only to embrace you, love you and fuck you. Proudly filling you day and night full of a fresh batch of his seed, despite practically still being a drenching mess from when he had last left you. Servants attended to your every need: when he felt he had you exhausted, pushed to your limits, your body delicate and tiresome eyes drifting off to a deep slumber. He would let you be, only sharing close proximity as he embraced you cozily. He ordered the chefs to have your supper and meals sent piping hot, in a timely manner and occasionally found himself joining you in attendance, than his own family feasts. A table set up for the both of you, an intimate quiet dinner between a husband and his wife. He much preferred your company, anyways.

His family, more often the Dowager Queen and Hand, himself, promptly questioned Aegon regarding your whereabouts, he would disclose to you.

“At one point my dear mother had feared you’d run away,” Aegon chuckled, as he scoffed a piece of his roast down, followed by a scull of his wine.

“And what if I had? Would you let me be, or have Ser Arryk sent out to seek me out, dear husband?”

Aegon’s familiar eyes flashed towards you instantly, although the longing, tender look was replaced with a cold, menacing pierce.

“Go against this union, means you go against my decision… The decision of your King. I would send out a whole battalion if need be, and when I have you in my grasp, I will rid you of this luxury and see to it that I lock you up in one of the cells below the Red Keep. Fuck you like a common whore, and summon you like a predator to its prey. Until I’m certain you’ve learnt your lesson… Now are you still tempted to run?”

Shaking your head promptly, Aegon’s half-hearted smirk was enough to ease the tension. With all the intimacy involved, you had both gradually become quite comfortable with one another, enough to speak your minds, as Aegon often urged from you on your behalf. Although, only between you two. He firmly ordered for servants and guards alike, to be absent during your shared moments, in an attempt to ease you into speaking with confidentiality and also, to avoid whispers being spread. After the Dance, Aegon was often sceptical of people’s intentions, considering all the treachery he’d been exposed to during the early years of his reign.

Regardless, it was Aegon who was the first to notice subtle changes, only adding it all up when you had meekly disclosed to him that you had not bled in the past two months. Immediately he sought a guard to fetch for the maester and soon enough, his long-awaited wishes had been confirmed.

Aegon often watched over you more intensely now, his eyes ogling over your swelling belly, how the waistline of your gown had grown slightly tighter around your stomach, and your breasts looking fuller, more sensitive under his teasing touch. Relieved, however it was far from the end for Aegon... The King himself, had become even more brutally protective over you, and the babe inside, still adamant on keeping you confined, rested and guarded.

"No harm will come towards you or the babe, so long as I breathe and rule."

He even had Sunfyre tenaciously fly above your tower, granting him peace of mind that no threat could overpower the fury of a dragon.

Nonetheless, the Gods had blessed you to full term, and a healthy babe was born. A son, a true embodiment of the Targaryen dynasty, and the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Aegon was beyond sated that you and the babe had recovered from the gruelling nature of birth, and seldom to his words, he allowed you free to roam, with the newborn warmly nestled in your arms, and Aegon relentlessly by your side. That was until, the King felt the desire for yet another heir to be proclaimed."Need I remind you of our wedding night, my beloved... You promised your King as many heirs. It is only natural as a true-born Targaryen, that I take what is mine."

general taglist - @evenstaris @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylas-the-grim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @bucknastysbabe

credit for divider - @/babesindestroyland

[tabarkraed]

Giving birth is a profound and transformative experience for any mother, but the stark contrast between bringing a child into the world during a war and in a peaceful environment is heart-wrenching. Imagine the emotional turmoil and physical hardship faced by mothers who deliver their babies in the midst of conflict, within the confines of a makeshift tent, surrounded by the constant threat of danger.

For my friend’s @bilalhammadsblog sister and sister-in-law, the journey to motherhood was fraught with fear and uncertainty. Instead of the calm and controlled environment of a hospital, they endured labor amidst the chaos of war, with explosions and gunfire as their background noise. The tent that served as their delivery room was a far cry from the sterile, well-equipped birthing suites that most mothers have. There was no access to pain relief, professional medical care, or the comforting presence of loved ones.

The conditions were harsh and unsanitary, increasing the risk of infections and complications. The lack of clean water, proper nutrition, and essential medical supplies made every moment perilous. These mothers had to summon unimaginable strength and resilience, not only to give birth but also to protect and care for their newborns in such dire circumstances.

In contrast, mothers in peaceful settings prepare for childbirth with a sense of excitement and anticipation. They attend prenatal classes, have regular check-ups, and often create a birth plan with their doctors. Their biggest concerns might be about the birth itself or the baby's health, but they are surrounded by support and resources. Hospitals are equipped with advanced technology, skilled professionals, and all the necessary amenities to ensure a safe and comfortable delivery.

For these war-affected mothers, there is no such assurance. Their overwhelming joy at meeting their babies is tinged with the constant worry of how to keep them safe and healthy in an environment that is anything but. The basic comforts and reassurances that should accompany childbirth are replaced by the harsh realities of survival.

Every cry of their babies is a reminder of the fragility of life in a war zone. The emotional toll is immense, as they grapple with the fear of losing their children to preventable illnesses or injuries caused by the surrounding conflict. The physical exhaustion from childbirth is compounded by the stress of providing for their newborns in such conditions, often without adequate rest, food, or medical care.

Despite these overwhelming challenges, these mothers display an extraordinary level of courage and love. They hold on to hope and fight every day to give their children a chance at life, even in the face of such adversity. Their strength is a testament to the incredible resilience of the human spirit, even in the darkest of times.

Please open your hearts 🤍

and donate to support these courageous mothers and their precious newborns. Your generosity can provide the essential care and comfort they desperately need during this harrowing time. Every donation is a lifeline of hope and love for these innocent lives. 🙏🏻🙏🏻

[rennybu]

AAAAUHG.. so many things come to mind so i will start with... i like to imagine he and Fenris are the same height :') (5'11"). This got a bit long but i'm always happy to talk about this guy!!!!!!!!! @trebuchet151

he's got a big garnet signet ring with the Amell family crest carved in it, and that's about the only recognizable thing that denotes his lineage... he has always liked stamping wax seals on letters with it!!! he's a ring guy generally, he likes mixing and matching stones and metal.

his hands are very scarred and rough from reckless casting, and especially casting fire magic without a staff (in a pinch).

He has a heart tattooed on his ring finger for Fenris :') their wedding was very. Andraste as the witness, on the road, impulsive. Vows for themselves, nothing legally binding. Fenris has a plain gold band on a red cord somewhere on his person at all times.

his testosterone is taken via oral tincture, some kind of oil solution he takes drops of daily. like a mild and highly personalized potion recipe! it's the only reason he sometimes needs a home base or shop to set up in, to prepare a big batch. He stores it in little glass vials he collects from trinket shops. Malcolm found the recipe for him after he came out in his tweens.

Bethany is kind of sainted in his mind, when he's exasperated or stunned he might utter an "oh Bethany" (in the tone of "are you seeing this shit") rather than an "oh Maker"

He struggles a lot with empathy, in that he frequently can logically recognize when he should feel for another person's situation, and yet finds himself unmoved. He will deliberately go out of his way to care for others, sometimes more than is needed, to try to make up for what he perceives as a personal flaw. This is how he ended up like a wrung out mouldy rag, emotionally, by the end of DA2.

His spell class is fucking terrifying, he has a lot of mana and not much hp, but is really reckless about his reserves. He combines force magic with fire magic, trapping foes and incinerating them, and sometimes leaving himself winded in the wake of too much magical exertion at once.

he's pretty spry and strong but doesn't have a great constitution. He tires out quickly in fights, hence trying to end them explosively and quickly.

Was briefly stalked by a sloth demon, perhaps around Act 2, and passed a very "get off my doorstep" homebrew harrowing as a result. Burnt it out of his shadow and got some spring back in his step, around roughly the same time he recognized his feelings for Fenris, settled into his role as Hawke within Kirkwall, etc. He Killed Dysphoria, Forever!!!

His love for Merrill makes him very "blood magic is okay", he loves her worldview and wisdom about its use, but his upbringing prevents him from extending that grace to himself. He was forced to use blood magic in his duel against the Arishok in order to survive it!!! Angst. Hates himself quite badly for this. Until Merrill is like "why are you special" and he's like ooohh. I get it

We all kno Hawke goes thru hell but I love reflecting on Orson's arc from early family life to Now/post-DA:I, he found closure among his friends and family and was able to fully remove himself from a public leadership role and is doing much better for it. He's a bit of an anarchist i guess, jack of all trades with a pretty rigid set of personal morals that sometimes forces him to act outside the law. He's very grey market, hard to contact, arrive in the nick of time.

He and Fenris do not ever shut up around each other. Two dudes who talk about fuck all, very intelligently. If you see Fenris in the wild, Orson is probably around, too. They love hunting Venatori and only sometimes get in the way of other spy/subterfuge activities.

he smells like BRITTLE sun-baked wood, with a hint of oily herbal medicine.

[haggishlyhagging]

Women were also regularly employed in brewing, at least as much as men. Medieval peasants drank rather a lot of small (or low-alcohol) beer and ale. In the tenth-century Alfric's Colloguy, which records theoretical dialogues between a teacher and his students, one young man states, "I drink ale, usually, if I drink at all, and water if I have no ale. . . . I am not rich enough to be able to buy myself wine: Wine is not a drink for boys or fools but for old men and wise men." By the late medieval period, in brewing centers such as České Budejovice, from whence the name Budweiser comes, beer was being made on a large enough scale that it was being exported to Bavaria.

Medieval people desired to drink beer and ale not because water was unsafe, but because farmwork is extremely hard. Small beer and ale added additional calories to their daily uptake in an enjoyable way. Although the wealthy were probably able to procure professionally made and imported beers, most people, especially in the earlier medieval period, made their own ale or bought it from nearby producers. Ale was brewed primarily from barley and did not include the hops of beer, which meant it could not be stored for long before going off. As such, those who wanted ale had to be constantly brewing it to ensure a steady supply, making brewing a very common cottage industry. Women who brewed for their families would often brew excess for sale, allowing them to bring in a bit of money. Because brewing was a craft that could be learned at home, women could be employed as brewers in larger commercial breweries.

We find women in the brewing trade consistently: records show them paying taxes on their gains from brewing, and registering with the authorities who oversaw standards. When someone performed below these standards, they were frequently written up, so we can find the women who were not meeting them. The Durham Court Rolls from 1365 record that Agnes Postell and Alice de Belasis were fined twelve denarii for selling bad ale, about the equivalent of two days' work for a skilled craftsman. Similarly Alice de Belasis was separately fined two shillings, or the equivalent of five days wages, for poor-quality ale, which a court proved had no strength at all. Punishments for brewing bad ale could range from fines to ritualized humiliation. In England, the Domesday Book first recorded the use of the cucking stool (which would become the ducking stool in the early modern period) in Chester to punish those who sold bad ale or ale in incorrect measures. They would be forced to sit in a chair out side their home and be jeered at by locals. Fourteenth-century Scottish laws noted that any alewife who made "evil ale" was either fined "eight shillings" or placed in the cucking stool, a nod to women as the primary brewers in the region who could face the largely gendered humiliation as a result.

We also learn of women in the brewing profession through records of accidents. For example, one coroner's roll indicates that at around noon on October 2, 1270, Amice Belamy was carrying a tub full of gruit, an agent for flavoring ale, with Sibyl Bonchevaler at her work in Lady Juliana de Beauchamp's brewhouse in Staple, Eaton Socon. As they went to dump the gruit into the boiling vat of beer, Amice slipped and fell into it and was trapped by the tub that fell on top of her. "Sibyl immediately jumped towards her, dragged her from the vat and shouted; the household came and found her scalded almost to death. She was given the last rites of the church and died on the day following. This harrowing story reminds us what a physically tasking and dangerous job brewing, especially in large quantities, could be.

This episode is also interesting because the two women were working for another woman, and a lady at that, Juliana de Beauchamp. Brewing was commonly associated with women across class lines, since the brewhouse is listed as belonging to the Lady Juliana. All in all, during these years a woman was just as likely to be brewing ale as a man, if not more likely in some instances.

-Eleanor Janega, The Once and Future Sex: Going Medieval on Women’s Roles in Society

[katakaluptastrophy]

Last night I saw a comment on a cosplay video about how different John Gaius and Abigail Pent are as characters and this has been floating round my head like a screensaver, so have some jumbled thoughts.

Obviously, yes, Abigail and John are hugely, hugely different.

But...

There's a superficial link, to Harrow: they're the two people her parent trauma specifically latches onto in HTN. You know, the mother and father that were willing to pay a terrible price and break the apparent laws of nature for love of the Ninth? This will be important later. Harrow fixates on Abigail's hands, and the only memory we get from her of Pelleamena is of her hands guiding young Harrow's as she learned necromancy. And when Jod tries to touch Harrow, she immediately links it to her memory of her father (and of being handed a noose...).

But on another level, there's something else. Academics whose research brought them into a position of ambiguous heterodoxy? Notable in a peer group of matched sets for being the one that doesn't quite fit the norm? Active collectors of found family? Yes, but let's think back to Harrow's parents now. Who were willing to pay a terrible price and break the apparent laws of nature for love.

Abigail Pent risked the total and final destruction of her own soul, and while dead herself and without blood or offering summoned an impossibly ancient ghost through the sheer force of someone else's enthusiasm, despite the fact that, in her own words: "it shouldn't have worked." And all to help a frightened teenager that she met once at a dinner party.

John Gaius sacrificed the whole of humanity and the solar system for what he tells himself is his love for the earth. And continues to funnel the whole machinery of empire towards revenge for the earth.

There is, of course, one fundamental difference: Abigail put herself on the line, John anyone and anything but him.

[jcxbliss]

“til my legs give out’ teaser

Pairing - Choi Seungcheol x Female Reader

Genre- Apocalypse, Horror, Survival

Synopsis- In a world ravaged by a zombie apocalypse, you struggle to survive amidst the chaos. While scavenging for supplies, you encounter a mysterious guy, a wary yet resourceful stranger who offers a cautious alliance. Together, you navigate the dangers of the undead and find fleeting moments of hope in a shattered world.

Warnings - Graphic violence, strong language, explicit sexual content, substance abuse, disturbing imagery, and intense psychological horror, exploring mature themes and the brutal realities of survival.

Authors note - This story is not for minors so don’t not interact. If you enjoy darker fiction this will be for you, if you don’t I advise you to skip this series. This is also a slow burn so please please bare with it! Love ya all!❤️🫶

Three years ago, the world was torn apart in a nightmarish wave of chaos. It began subtly enough—a strange illness spreading rapidly, affecting millions. The initial reports described it as a virulent flu, but soon the true horror became apparent: the infected were no longer alive in any conventional sense. They became grotesque, mindless creatures driven only by an insatiable hunger.

You remember the day society crumbled vividly. It was an ordinary morning when the first outbreak occurred. You were at work, watching in disbelief as the news flashed across the screens: hospitals overrun, cities in lockdown, and the government declaring martial law. At first, there were frantic calls to stay indoors, to shelter in place, but the situation spiraled beyond control.

Your once-bustling city turned into a ghost town. The streets, once filled with the hum of daily life, were now eerily silent except for the occasional screams and the relentless groaning of the undead. In the initial days of the outbreak, you tried to reach your family, battling through gridlocked traffic and marauding mobs of infected. Each attempt to call them ended in desperation, as you watched helplessly from a distance as the world descended into anarchy.

The government’s efforts to contain the crisis were futile. Quarantines became death traps, and safe zones were overrun within hours. The infected, relentless and insatiable, breached every barricade, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake. You found yourself fleeing from one temporary refuge to another, each more perilous than the last.

One particularly harrowing night, while scavenging for supplies in a crumbling supermarket, you heard the frantic cries of someone else in the building. You found a group of survivors huddled together, but their numbers had dwindled rapidly as the infected breached their makeshift barricades. You escaped with a few others, narrowly avoiding death, but the cost was steep. The faces of the lost haunted you, a grim reminder of the world that once was.

As the days turned into months, your survival became a series of narrow escapes and fleeting alliances. Trust became a luxury you could no longer afford.

Today was supposed to be a simple run for supplies. You had done it countless times before—scouting abandoned stores and gathering what you could to keep yourself alive. This time, though, something went terribly wrong.

You had chosen a small, out-of-the-way supermarket, one that you knew was less likely to be overrun. Everything was going smoothly as you made your way through the aisles, filling your backpack with canned goods, bottled water, and other essentials. The quiet of the empty store was almost unnervingly peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos you had grown accustomed to.

But then you heard it: a sudden, deafening crash from the back of the store. Your heart leapt into your throat as you froze, listening intently. The sound of shuffling feet and guttural moans followed, growing closer with each passing second. You cursed under your breath, quickly stashing the supplies and grabbing your makeshift weapon—a metal pipe you had found a while back.

The supermarket’s back door had been forced open, and as you peeked around the corner, you saw a group of infected pouring in, their twisted forms staggering and clawing at anything in their path. Panic surged through you, and you turned to flee, but the sound of more crashing from the front of the store told you it was already too late.

You darted through the aisles, your pulse racing as you navigated the maze of shelves. The infected were closing in, their growls echoing through the once-familiar space. You reached the exit only to find it blocked by a fresh wave of undead. Desperation gripped you as you searched for an alternative route, adrenaline pushing you to the brink.

In your frantic escape, you knocked over shelves, sending a cascade of cans clattering to the ground. The noise only drew more attention. Your only option was to head for the back storage area. You slipped into a narrow hallway, your breath coming in ragged bursts, and tried to find a way out. Behind you, the moans of the infected grew louder, their hunger palpable.

You spotted a small window high up on the wall and knew it was your best shot. Using a stack of crates, you managed to climb up and push the window open. You barely had time to squeeze through before a swarm of infected burst into the hallway, their claws scraping against the walls.

The drop from the window was jarring, and you landed awkwardly, but you didn’t stop to assess the damage. You ran into the forest, your heart still pounding from the near-miss. Now, as you flee through the trees, the terror of the failed supply run clings to you like a shadow. The forest is your only sanctuary, but it’s also filled with its own dangers, and you know that survival in this world is a constantly shifting line between safety and horror.

As you sprint through the forest, the undergrowth becomes increasingly tangled, each step more labored than the last. The ground beneath your feet is a treacherous mix of roots, rocks, and fallen branches. Your mind is fixated on escape, but the physical exhaustion and sheer terror are taking their toll.

A particularly thick branch lies hidden under a pile of leaves. Your foot catches on it, and you go sprawling forward, crashing onto the forest floor. Pain erupts in your ankle as you twist it awkwardly upon impact. You wince, the jarring shock almost making you gasp aloud. Dirt and leaves cling to your clothes, and a sharp, stinging pain radiates from your twisted ankle.

Panic flares as the guttural moans of the infected grow closer, and you know you can’t afford to linger. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you push yourself up with trembling hands, feeling a wave of dizziness from the effort. You force yourself to stand, leaning heavily on one leg as you test the injured ankle. It throbs with each movement, but the distant sounds of pursuit drive you to continue.

You begin to hobble through the forest, your gait uneven and labored. Every step sends a jolt of pain up your leg, but you refuse to stop. The infected are still out there, their relentless groans a constant reminder of the danger. The forest seems to close in around you, the shadows deepening as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

Despite the pain, you push through, each step a battle against your own body. The pain in your ankle grows sharper with every movement, but the adrenaline coursing through you keeps you moving. You force yourself to focus on the immediate goal: finding safety, even if it means stumbling through the forest with a throbbing, injured leg.

As you continue, the trees begin to thin, offering a glimmer of hope. You spot a small, overgrown trail leading deeper into the woods and decide to follow it, hoping it might lead to a better hiding place or an escape route. Your progress is slow and uneven, but the urgency to avoid capture propels you forward.

Eventually, the trail opens into a clearing with an old, abandoned cabin. You carefully make your way toward it, pushing through the pain as best as you can. The cabin offers a brief respite from the relentless pursuit, and you collapse inside, panting and wincing from the pain.

You take a moment to catch your breath, assessing the damage to your ankle. It’s swollen and bruised, and you know it will be difficult to move if you have to leave again. But for now, the cabin’s shadows offer a temporary refuge from the danger outside. You brace yourself, knowing you must stay alert and ready to move again if the infected come closer.

As you sit on the cabin floor, tending to your swollen ankle, the sudden creak of the door makes you freeze. The door swings open, and a man steps inside, his dark silhouette framed by the dim light outside. His rugged appearance and worn clothing suggest he’s been surviving on the edge, but his presence alone is enough to set your nerves on edge.

You scramble to your feet, the pain in your ankle making each movement sharp and labored. You clutch the metal pipe tightly, your knuckles white. “Don’t come any closer!” you warn, your voice strained with fear and pain. “I’m armed, and I will use this if I have to.”

The man raises his hands in a gesture of peace, but his expression is unreadable. “I’m not here to fight,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “I was just looking for a place to rest. I heard the commotion and came in to check it out.”

You keep the pipe pointed at him, every muscle in your body tensed. “How do I know you’re not a threat?” you demand, your gaze never leaving his. “I’ve had enough encounters with people who say one thing and mean another.”

The man’s eyes flicker with a hint of frustration, but he remains still. “Look, I get it. You’re cautious. But I’m not here to cause trouble. I just need somewhere safe to catch my breath. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have walked in with my hands up.”

You remain unconvinced, your grip on the pipe unwavering. “I don’t care about your hands. For all I know, you’re just looking for a chance to attack. I can’t afford to let my guard down.”

He sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as he takes a cautious step back. “Alright, alright. I’m not here to push my luck. I’ll stay back if that’s what you want. But I’ve got some supplies here,” he says, gesturing to the small backpack on his shoulder. “If you need anything, it’s yours. I won’t interfere.”

You glance warily at the backpack, the promise of supplies tempting but not enough to ease your suspicion. The man’s offer could be a ploy, and you’re not about to risk lowering your guard. “I don’t need anything from you,” you say sharply. “Just stay where you are and don’t make any sudden moves.”

He nods slowly, sitting down on a chair across the room, his posture relaxed but watchful. The silence in the cabin grows heavy with unspoken tension. You resume tending to your ankle, casting occasional glances at the man. His presence is a stark reminder of the dangers that lurk even in seemingly safe places.

The pain in your ankle is a constant reminder of the precarious situation you’re in. You’re wary and on edge, fully aware that in this unforgiving world, trust is a luxury you cannot afford.

[sapphim]

so I've been thinking about the politics of tranquility. I've spoken before about tranquility and the fragile illusion of chantry control.

I've been thinking about how the objection as stated to Ser Alrik's "tranquil solution" isn't that mages are being made tranquil, but that they are being made tranquil unwillingly, having passed their Harrowings. how Hawke says, "Doesn't Chantry law say that mages who pass their Harrowing can't be made Tranquil?" how tranquility is so ultimately distasteful, how its optics are so poor, that it is never meant to be meted out as a punishment, but as precaution. how an entire class of enchanters are free of its threat by law.

it is a "choice," an alternative to attempting and failing one's Harrowing. "they chose this," you are meant to be able to say, of the tranquil, "of their own free will. they felt it would be better this way. they're happier and safer now." how even Meredith rejects Alrik's proposal, despite presiding over such unlawful rites of tranquility from at least as early as Maddox, prior to 9:31.

I've been thinking about the level of responsibility that is placed on the shoulders of first enchanters like Irving or Orsino. how they can't control that templars expect to mete out punishment, but they can try to direct that punishment at certain targets to spare the others under their care. how Irving and Uldred, in cooperation with Greagoir, honeypot apprentices into taking up blood magic, to feed a steady stream of untrustworthy delinquents to the templars. how Irving plays favorites. how the first enchanter presumably has full control over the details of each apprentice's Harrowing.

I've been thinking about the apprentices who are browbeaten into believing they cannot possibly pass their Harrowings, or denied their right to one entirely.

I've been thinking about how, for poor communities, who can't demand a level of accountability from the chantry, mages taken to the circle often might as well just fall off the face of the earth. Carver says of the templars, in act 1, "So, they don't always just make you disappear, like it seems?" it's different for mages like Finn Aldebrant, or Connor Guerrin, or Emile de Launcet, whose families directly empower chantry rule and could cause a scene if they didn't like what they heard.

I've thinking about how the tranquil don't get to go home to their families, once their existence has been rendered "safe." because unpaid slave labor is an essential chantry asset, but also because the families who would still claim their mage relatives are exactly the ones who would be most likely to care about their mistreatment.

[maslows-pyramid-scheme]

The household was fast asleep when the six men broke in. They sought out Sobia Batool Shah, 22, and one of them attacked her with a hatchet, chopping at her limbs in an effort to sever her legs. “He was relentless and must have hit me at least 15 times,” she says. “I screamed in pain and pleaded with him to stop, but he was like a man possessed,” she adds. “I even told him I will not seek a divorce.” Shah was attacked by men from her own family – including her father, Syed Mustafa Shah, her uncle and cousins – who broke into the house, in Naushahro Feroze, in Pakistan’s Sindh province, as “punishment” for refusing to withdraw her application to divorce her husband. ... “It’s all about power control,” says Dr Summaiya Syed Tariq, chief police surgeon in Sindh’s capital, Karachi. Syed Tariq, who also heads the Sindh police medico-legal department, has seen hundreds of women physically and mentally abused, raped, burned and murdered over the last 26 years. “We are nurturing abusers who are worse than animals,” she says. On an average day, the department receives reports of about six cases of sexual violence and 10 to 15 cases of domestic violence across the medico-legal centres at three public hospitals in Karachi. “In the case of sexual violence against minors, my assessment is that for every three cases that come to us, seven more go unreported. And I am not counting the dead bodies that we receive,” Syed Tariq adds. Gender inequality is a global problem, but Pakistan’s indicators reflect especially alarming rates of disparities and violence faced by women. According to this year’s World Economic Forum’s Global Gender Gap report, Pakistan is ranked second from bottom out of 146 countries, behind only Sudan. It ranked 164 out of 193 countries on the 2023-24 UN gender inequality index. Abdullah Lakhair, deputy superintendent of police in Naushahro Feroze, says the victim’s father admitted the attack, telling police his daughter had brought “dishonour” to the family by filing for divorce. She had asked the authorities for protection after her father threatened to kill her previously. “Earlier last month, the district judge had referred her to a women’s shelter, where she stayed for two weeks, but then decided to return to her mother. The incident happened soon after,” Lakhair says. Shah says her father had left her mother and siblings and cut all ties with them. “Had it not been for my maternal grandfather and my uncle, we would not have had a roof over our head all these years. How dare he talk about his honour being sullied by my divorce,” she says. Lakhair says Shah’s father is awaiting sentencing and could face up to 14 years in prison. The incident has sparked angry reactions from the public and civil society organisations in Pakistan. Anis Haroon, a women’s rights activist and former chair of the National Commission on the Status of Women, travelled from Karachi to visit Shah in hospital. She is sceptical about the case sparking any meaningful change. “Like so many harrowing incidents in the past, this will soon be forgotten,” she says. Pakistan has the laws but no “political will” to implement them, she adds. “The legislators think their work ends after laws are passed in assemblies. They fall short of putting efforts towards their implementation,” Haroon says. After the attack on Shah, her mother went to neighbours for help, thinking her unconscious daughter had lost so much blood she must have died. “After giving her immediate medical help, we sent her to Nawabshah, an hour and a half from here,” says Lakhair. “She had to be given 10 bags of blood, which the police arranged. She is in safe hands, for now.” Although her father is in prison awaiting sentencing, Shah has been provided with round-the-clock police protection in the hospital. “My father has been apprehended but his brother has been granted bail. I am very scared,” she says.

[someone-will-remember-us]

A man who used AI to create child abuse images using photographs of real children has been sentenced to 18 years in prison.

In the first prosecution of its kind in the UK, Hugh Nelson, 27, from Bolton, was convicted of 16 child sexual abuse offences in August, after an investigation by Greater Manchester police (GMP).

Nelson had used Daz 3D, a computer programme with an AI function, to transform “normal” images of children into sexual abuse imagery, Greater Manchester police said. In some cases, paedophiles had commissioned the images, supplying photographs of children with whom they had contact in real life.

He was also found guilty of encouraging other offenders to commit rape.

He sold his images in internet chatrooms, where he also discussed child sexual abuse with other offenders, making about £5,000 during an 18-month period by selling the images online.

While there have been previous convictions for “deepfakes”, which typically involve one face being transferred to another body, Nelson created 3D “characters” from innocent photographs.

Sentencing Nelson at Bolton crown court on Monday, judge Martin Walsh said it was “impossible to know” if children had been raped as a result of his images. Walsh said Nelson had no regard for the harm caused by distributing the “harrowing and sickening” material.

He added: “There seems to be no limit to the depths of depravity exhibited in the images that you were prepared to create and exhibit to others.”

Nelson was caught after he told an undercover police officer in an online chatroom that he charged £80 to create a new character, using supplied pictures, Bolton crown court heard.

“He stated: ‘I’ve done beatings, smotherings, hangings, drownings, beheadings, necro, beast, the list goes on’ with a laughing emoji,” David Toal, for the prosecution, said.

The court heard that Nelson was arrested in June last year. “He said he felt vile and that his mind was corrupted,” Toal said.

“He considered that his offending had got out of control,” he added.

Police searches of his devices also revealed that Nelson had exchanged messages with three separate individuals, encouraging the rape of children under 13.

During the course of the investigation, officers identified suspects and victims worldwide, including in Italy, France and the US.

Nelson was later found guilty of encouraging the rape of a child under 13, attempting to incite a boy under 16 to engage in a sexual act, distributing and making indecent images, and possessing prohibited images.

Nelson appeared in the dock wearing a waistcoat and tie. He waved to his parents in the public gallery as he came into court, but sat with his head down for most of the hearing.

Defending Nelson, Robert Elias told the court he had lived a “lonely bedroom life in his parents’ home”.

“What he was seeking primarily was validation, congratulations and a sense of belonging in a community. He was earning relatively small amounts of money and desperately wanted validation.“He plunged down the rabbit hole to this sort of fantasy life and became completely engrossed in it. He has brought his life crashing down around him, to the shock and horror of his immediate family.”

“It is extremely disturbing that Hugh Nelson was able to take normal photographs of children and, using AI tools and a computer programme, transform them and create images of the most depraved nature to sell and share online,” Jeanette Smith, specialist prosecutor for the CPS, said.

“Technology is rapidly evolving and, unfortunately, so too is its risk to children. I hope this conviction sends a clear message to those who exploit this technology and inflict harm on children: you will be robustly pursued by law enforcement, prosecuted by the CPS and brought to justice.”

AI sexual abuse images are presenting new challenges in policing, with other forces turning to GMP for support with new investigations.

“The reason [this case] was very different is because it challenges the kind of view of what an indecent image of a child is,” DCI Jen Tattersall of GMP’s sex offender management unit said.

She added: “The computer-generated imagery trend is now becoming more prevalent, not only in GMP – but in other forces,” she added, saying that in the last week, detectives had begun investigations into two new cases involving computer-generated images.

“So at some point that is going to not be the exception any more, and it’s going to be the norm.”

The Nelson case was “the first to really test” the law around indecent images that had been digitally manipulated, she said, and GMP had worked with specialists at the CPS and the National Crime Agency to secure the prosecution.

As well as advances in technology, changes in behaviour in recent years have made policing the internet offences more difficult. “Covid has had a massive effect in the online space,” Tattersall said. “A lot more people are online.”

“The amount of platforms has just massively increased, so that’s a real challenge,” she added.

While AI can present opportunities for law enforcement, Tattersall said, the increasingly sophisticated technology also presents a significant threat for police forces, particularly as there is a risk that it may evolve faster than existing criminal legislation.

She added: “The reality is, it is going to represent a real challenge for us just because of how easy it is to do, and how easy it is to manipulate an image that is really innocent, and make it into something that is really abusive and indecent.”

However, she said the Nelson case “sends a clear message to criminals that you might use technology, and manipulate things, and test the flex of the law, but actually we are still going to prosecute you. We’re going to put you in prison”.

[raayllum]

Anyway earlier this month I said I had a lot of feelings about how visual framing is used in Viren and Harrow's relationship so time to talk about it, i.e.

Harrow is almost always framed as being above Viren

Now, some of the meaning behind this is obvious. In spite of their longterm friendship, the fact that Harrow was king and had the final say, and Viren very much did not (and likely went from being Harrow's closest advisor to second fiddle with Sarai, and then back again) is something that Viren concerns himself a great deal with: "My whole life I've been chasing after things I didn't have. Status, influence, power" (4x02). Due to this difference in status, Viren's plans are suggestions, whereas Harrow's word is law, and Viren each time has to present his ideas accordingly, and the framing reflects that:

We see this desire to be close to Harrow and power more generally bleed over into other areas of Viren's life, such as his obsession with the mirror. Viren assumes the proximity to power begets or informs importance/worth, and that because "the mirror was kept closest to where [the Dragon King and Queen] slept, it must be important."

This of course is a mirror (ha) to his image of himself, in which, "I thought you were going to be something special, something important!" (2x02) and exactly why Harrow's words of, "I see the problem now: it's that you believe you are special, above the laws of this kingdom."

His happiest moment with Harrow then arguably, within the text of the show, is when Harrow invites him up to be on equal standing (and also why said portrait is what inspires Viren to offer himself up as Harrow's "equal" - amid a self-importance kink, of course). When they were 'brothers', and why the dissolution of their bond undoes this framing entirely.

It's not surprising, then, that his psyche reenacts the Happy moment with the portrait with an even sweeter, cherry on top of not just Harrow's forgiveness, but his love, acceptance, and admiration, in Viren's dark magic dreams.

Symbolized by Harrow lowering himself in order literally lift Viren up from a kneel, to standing as equals, and into a hug (+ acceptance and a mutual assurance of familial connection/importance).

(Bonus points for Harrow's sword being changed into Viren's staff immediately after their hug, btw.)

But just like 2x05 with the portrait, this moment of reconciliation and happiness even inside Viren's mind cannot last forever, as he's pushed and stumbles into an even lower place than on his knees, and this part of the nightmare is over.

This is also, of course, the most overt framing to display power and control vs feeling powerless or helpless.

That said, while Harrow above and Viren below framing wise is the most consistent framing we see for the two (besides just regular shots with things like pillars and titan hearts in between them) are the ones where Viren is framed above... and it's not usually good.

We see the Standing to Kneeling to be on level with Harrow to Standing again progression as Viren makes his case regarding Zym. Like before, I think this serves a few purposes.

Viren standing at first when Harrow does not reflects their attitudes, specifically Harrow's relief that it's finally over and Viren's suspicion that it's not

Viren then moves to be on Harrow's level and this communicates how he's pleading / trying to have Harrow understand his point of view by bringing himself down to Harrow's level. This, of course, is ironic, because by doing so, Viren is bringing Harrow down to his level in terms of morality

Viren straightening up again indicates assertiveness, being active rather than passive, and perpetuating a path that offers agency, safety, and control, horrible as it is.

And it works, since as we know, Harrow goes along with and agrees to it in spite of his reservations.

However, the most interesting flip of "Viren looking down at Harrow instead" has always been this one at Harrow's funeral in 1x04, as Viren is attempting to rush things along and take his former's friend throne. All the power is there within his grasp as he stares impassively into the fire, and yet it rings hollow and reminds him ("In his final hours, he called me brother") of precisely what lies he's telling not only the populace, but also himself.

Because the only way for Viren to look down on and at Harrow was for him to be dead.

[halyasgirl]

Speculating on season 7, I'm wondering what might happen if the Katolis refugees meet Aaravos before Ezran and co. show up

Aaravos is last seen in the Valley of Graves, where Katolis buries their dead (especially those killed in conflict with Xadia), and I think it's possible that's where some will go in the aftermath of Katolis' destruction. But even if they recognize a Startouch elf, will any of them truly recognize him? He hasn’t been seen in 300 years, far beyond any living human’s firsthand memory. And while Ezran has apparently been leaving Katolis for Xadia at the drop of a hat, Aaravos has a reputation for staying to help humans, in direct contrast to Sol Regem and other Xadians (as far as they know). They might not know they have reason to fear him.

Aaravos does not lie and he wouldn't have to. Sol Regem tried to kill him, but Aaravos managed to kill him first? Definitely not incriminating. His home and family were ravaged by Sol Regem? How many bereaved parents fled Katolis? They can relate. Viren saved them with Dark magic and the Staff of Ziard, both of which Claudia attributes to Aaravos? Aaravos suddenly looks like the only person bothering to help them.

Meanwhile, Ezran returns from Xadia claiming that Aaravos is responsible for more death and destruction than any being in history! Where did he hear that? ...Well, the Archdragons, who are definitely our super-best allies despite oppressing us for centuries, abandoning us for years after the Storm Spire, and now have apparently attacked us, or allowed us to be. Where was Ezran? Attending a wedding. In Xadia. Where he drew Katolis into a war because he cared more about the Sunfire elves than his own people. Look around you, Ezran. Aaravos isn't the one who caused the death and destruction. (But he was).

And then Callum appears, with his Xadian girlfriend and father-in-law (the man who killed King Harrow), whom Callum spent time and the some of the world's most precious resources to save, because that's where their priorities lie.

Of course we know that's twisting the truth. We know that's not right. But you can see how the people of Katolis may understandably be very, very angry. And Aaravos has made Katolis into a second Elarion.

[omgthatdress]

I read several articles about the history of Black dolls when I was preparing my AG spam, and one of the consistent things that kept coming up was what a game-changer Addy was. There were only a few Black Barbies at Toys-R-Us, and Black baby dolls were pretty rare. Addy was finally a popular, easily-available, and high-quality doll that Black girls could have who looked like them.

And White girls bought her, too! I had an Addy! I a lot of ways, Addy was my first real intro to Black history.

Addy has earned a lot of flak for being “the slave doll,” but honestly, anyone who reads her books knows that she is so much more than that. She starts her story enslaved and makes a harrowing journey to freedom, and then learns how to live free. She goes to school, learns to read, and then teaches her mother how to read. She celebrates the end of the war and is able to reunite her family.  She offers a counter-narrative to the 12 Years a Slave-style hopeless trauma porn that often comes with slavery stories, how brave Black people brought themselves to freedom and built a community for themselves. Addy helped this little White girl learn that Black lives matter and that Black history is important.

Living in Florida and seeing Ron DeSantis do everything he fucking can to censor Black history (if you don’t know about it, please take this moment to learn about the Rosewood Massacre), I’m really, really, really glad I had Addy and her books to be my entry way to Black history. It may have started with slavery, but it sure as hell didn’t end with slavery.

ANYWAY. Here’s a pretty great article about how Addy came about.

As far as her fashion goes, it’s all pretty accurate! I love that finally an American Girl has her hair up!

In the book, Addy receives her dress from a woman running a safe house during her escape from slavery. Even thought it’s relatively plain, it’s much, much, much nicer than anything Addy has worn before, and it really hits home how much better her life is going to be now that she’s free.

(ebay)

Fun lil fact: in the 90s the gourd was made from an actual gourd (I had the actual gourd!), which had a little cork stopper in it, but a crop failure (and Canadian import laws) changed it to plastic.