#Lady quits celibacy

[suzannahnatters]

all RIGHT:

Why You're Writing Medieval (and Medieval-Coded) Women Wrong: A RANT

(Or, For the Love of God, People, Stop Pretending Victorian Style Gender Roles Applied to All of History)

This is a problem I see alllll over the place - I'll be reading a medieval-coded book and the women will be told they aren't allowed to fight or learn or work, that they are only supposed to get married, keep house and have babies, &c &c.

If I point this out ppl will be like "yes but there was misogyny back then! women were treated terribly!" and OK. Stop right there.

By & large, what we as a culture think of as misogyny & patriarchy is the expression prevalent in Victorian times - not medieval. (And NO, this is not me blaming Victorians for their theme park version of "medieval history". This is me blaming 21st century people for being ignorant & refusing to do their homework).

Yes, there was misogyny in medieval times, but 1) in many ways it was actually markedly less severe than Victorian misogyny, tyvm - and 2) it was of a quite different type. (Disclaimer: I am speaking specifically of Frankish, Western European medieval women rather than those in other parts of the world. This applies to a lesser extent in Byzantium and I am still learning about women in the medieval Islamic world.)

So, here are the 2 vital things to remember about women when writing medieval or medieval-coded societies

FIRST. Where in Victorian times the primary axes of prejudice were gender and race - so that a male labourer had more rights than a female of the higher classes, and a middle class white man would be treated with more respect than an African or Indian dignitary - In medieval times, the primary axis of prejudice was, overwhelmingly, class. Thus, Frankish crusader knights arguably felt more solidarity with their Muslim opponents of knightly status, than they did their own peasants. Faith and age were also medieval axes of prejudice - children and young people were exploited ruthlessly, sent into war or marriage at 15 (boys) or 12 (girls). Gender was less important.

What this meant was that a medieval woman could expect - indeed demand - to be treated more or less the same way the men of her class were. Where no ancient legal obstacle existed, such as Salic law, a king's daughter could and did expect to rule, even after marriage.

Women of the knightly class could & did arm & fight - something that required a MASSIVE outlay of money, which was obviously at their discretion & disposal. See: Sichelgaita, Isabel de Conches, the unnamed women fighting in armour as knights during the Third Crusade, as recorded by Muslim chroniclers.

Tolkien's Eowyn is a great example of this medieval attitude to class trumping race: complaining that she's being told not to fight, she stresses her class: "I am of the house of Eorl & not a serving woman". She claims her rights, not as a woman, but as a member of the warrior class and the ruling family. Similarly in Renaissance Venice a doge protested the practice which saw 80% of noble women locked into convents for life: if these had been men they would have been "born to command & govern the world". Their class ought to have exempted them from discrimination on the basis of sex.

So, tip #1 for writing medieval women: remember that their class always outweighed their gender. They might be subordinate to the men within their own class, but not to those below.

SECOND. Whereas Victorians saw women's highest calling as marriage & children - the "angel in the house" ennobling & improving their men on a spiritual but rarely practical level - Medievals by contrast prized virginity/celibacy above marriage, seeing it as a way for women to transcend their sex. Often as nuns, saints, mystics; sometimes as warriors, queens, & ladies; always as businesswomen & merchants, women could & did forge their own paths in life

When Elizabeth I claimed to have "the heart & stomach of a king" & adopted the persona of the virgin queen, this was the norm she appealed to. Women could do things; they just had to prove they were Not Like Other Girls. By Elizabeth's time things were already changing: it was the Reformation that switched the ideal to marriage, & the Enlightenment that divorced femininity from reason, aggression & public life.

For more on this topic, read Katherine Hager's article "Endowed With Manly Courage: Medieval Perceptions of Women in Combat" on women who transcended gender to occupy a liminal space as warrior/virgin/saint.

So, tip #2: remember that for medieval women, wife and mother wasn't the ideal, virgin saint was the ideal. By proving yourself "not like other girls" you could gain significant autonomy & freedom.

Finally a bonus tip: if writing about medieval women, be sure to read writing on women's issues from the time so as to understand the terms in which these women spoke about & defended their ambitions. Start with Christine de Pisan.

I learned all this doing the reading for WATCHERS OF OUTREMER, my series of historical fantasy novels set in the medieval crusader states, which were dominated by strong medieval women! Book 5, THE HOUSE OF MOURNING (forthcoming 2023) will focus, to a greater extent than any other novel I've ever yet read or written, on the experience of women during the crusades - as warriors, captives, and political leaders. I can't wait to share it with you all!

#watchers of outremer #medieval history #the lady of kingdoms #the house of mourning #writing #writing fantasy #female characters #medieval women #eowyn #the lord of the rings #lotr #history #historical fiction #fantasy #writing tip #writing advice

[theridgebeyond]

you know I would make a Tumblr poll about which Lutheran religious community I should take voluntary vows of celibacy in but then I'm afraid I might do it

#the religious community part not the celibacy part lol #did you know that lutheran deaconesses use to have little nun outfits? #and lady lutheran franciscans get to wear ren fest monk robes?? #also there's lutheran franciscans??? #then there's the order of st. julien which is like semi-cloistered but i don't think i'm ready to quit my day job and dreams of foster care #just yet #nun posting

[zoeysdamn]

"Is that a ring?" - Knight!Nikolaï x reader

A/N: you know what I love with @corpsebasil Knight Nikolaï AU? Crushing angst and secret lovers/marriage trope, yes. I wrote angst already so let'ssssssssss goooooo

absolutely self-indulgent, I'm weak okay

“Is that a ring, Sir Nikolaï?” 

The question came out from the mouth of the lady-in-waiting with a gasp and made every head in the room swirl to the knight. Looking up from the handkerchief he just picked up, Sir Nikolaï found himself lost for words. When the piece of fabric dropped from the edge of your lap, he couldn’t help himself but practically dropped on his knees to catch it and bring it back to you. What a devoted knight he was to his princess. And one of the maidens clearly noticed the glimmering band around his finger. 

You couldn’t help but to let out a faint giggle behind your hand. Just as quick, the knight recomposed himself with his usual polite smile. 

“Ah, yes, it seems that it is indeed, miss Ankorov,” Nikolaï agreed politely, his natural nonchalance back as he straightened himself. 

Your ladies in waiting exchanges confused looks and giggles at the newly found information. Sir Nikolaï, the most dedicated, handsome, sworn to celibacy and never once seduced  knight, had a ring on his finger? Since when?

As the ladies exchanged hushed whispers among themselves, you shot an amused look at Nikolaï. He answered back with a quick wink without anyone else noticing. Oh, this was going to be fun. 

“I didn’t realize that wearing a piece of jewelry would be so disturbing,” Sir Nikolaï chuckled charmingly – eliciting more giggles from some of the women in the room. “I apologize for the turbulence, ladies.”

“Not at all!” assured one of them, blushing in embarrassment,  “It’s just that…well…”

“We are quite surprised to see you wearing such a ring on that particular finger,” quipped another, wiggling her eyebrows a little to her embarrassed colleague. “Is it what we think it is?”

“And what do you ladies think it is?” 

Chuckling softly, you hid your amusement by taking another sip of your tea. This should be an interesting exchange to watch, you thought. One of the ladies noticed your amused smile and gasped softly. 

“Do you know what it is, your majesty?” she inquired, greedy for the gossip. 

Setting your tea cup slowly, you raised an eyebrow to the blonde knight. “Actually, I don’t. Would you please be so kind as to enlighten us about that infamous ring of yours, Sir Nikolaï?” 

He bit back a smile at your feigned confusion, while the ladies in the room looked at him with expectation – knowing that Sir Nikolaï would never refuse a demand from the princess. So he straightened his back and put on the most charming smile of his. 

“It was given to me by someone very dear to my heart, ladies.”

Of course his carefully picked, provocative chosen words made another round of hushed shrieks erupted among the handmaidens. Even you feigned a shocked gasp – very useful to hide your giggles at how easy it was for him to mess around your poor ladies-in-waiting’s brains. All of their minds clearly got into certain places very fast. And yet, by the magic of etiquette, none of them dared to ask the infamous – scandalous question. 

“Someone dear to your heart?” repeated one of them, giddy with gossip. 

“Indeed”, nodded Nikolaï, still collected and professional as ever. Oh, how he was making them stall with the small answers.

“May we inquire who? Or maybe you’re bound by secrecy by that love of yours, Sir?” giggled the youngest lady, filled with romance novels thoughts. 

The question elicited a soft chuckle from the knight. Thankfully none of the other ladies in the room noticed it, but it came with a warm twinkle of affection in his eyes. 

He bowed slightly, disguising his smile to the eager ladies-in-waiting. 

“I’m only sworn to my lady,” he smoothly said, “I’m afraid she’s the only one I can truly be faithful to, sorry ladies.”

Some of the ladies pouted, deception draping over their features. “So there’s no one?” 

As an answer, Sir Nikolaï offered them an apologetic smile. “I would be a poor excuse of a knight if I vowed my life to someone other than my Lady.” 

The ladies in waiting groaned at his words, disappointed by the lack of juicy gossip after all. Soon, the topic drifted to something else entirely, and Sir Nikolaï’s ring was long forgotten. Maybe it was a family heirloom from his mother after all? It would make sense. But fortunately for the knight, the ladies in waiting’s mind ended up filled with other things as the afternoon passed. Ultimately, the ladies had to leave and bid their goodbyes with a respectful bow. Once they exited the room and the door closed, you let out a long sight, as you got up on your feet. Those afternoons with your ladies in waiting were great, but sitting for hours had your legs tingling. Stretching your legs you moved to the window, eager to feel a bit of natural light. Still, the best feeling was the warmth of Sir Nikolaï’s hands on your shoulders, sliding to hold you close as he pressed a kiss on your temple. You leaned on his chest, humming at the peaceful sensation the embrace brought. When a ray of light caught the surface of the golden band on his finger, a fond smile graced your lips. 

“So,” you started teasing softly, “tell me about this someone dear to your heart, Sir Nikolaï.”

The blonde knight chuckled, nuzzling his nose in your neck. 

“You’re never gonna let this down, are you?”

“Never,” you smiled. “Please oh good sir, tell me more about this dear lady of yours,” you asked dramatically. 

Sir Nikolaï laughed lightly, gently turning you around to face him. Your breath stopped for a second when your eyes caught his, and the pure look of adoration he seemed to always have when he looked at you, no matter how many times he did. 

“Well,” he started softly, “she’s a sight. She’s kind, brave, beautiful, and has quite a good taste, if I may add.” 

A light laugh escaped you at his last comment, and Nikolaï’s smile got even wider at the sound of it. Saints, your laugh. 

Another ray of the soft late afternoon light glimpsed on your collarbone, catching his eye. His fingers delicately pinched the glimmering surface, pulling on the thin, almost invisible to the eye, golden chain. No one ever noticed it, but he knew it was here, almost burning and begging him through your dresses and delicate silk tops. And when a golden, delicately carved gold ring looped around the chain finally emerged from the censoring fabrics, he felt his heart soar with joy. 

“It appears you also do have someone dear to your heart, my lady,” he smiled softly. 

You grinned as you nuzzled yourself close to his chest, “I do, dear husband, I do.” 

His lips caught yours in a loving and long awaited kiss as soon as the words left your mouth – and you gladly responded to it with a smile. 

Unlike your beloved knight of a spouse, you couldn’t wear your ring in public. Sure, you had other rings, but this one would certainly be suspicious. So you wore it underneath your clothes, always close to your heart ; until you can one day wear it on your hand, just where Nikolaï had put it when he married you in secret, away from everyone’s eyes. 

“Aren’t you going to show me how dear I am to you, Sir Nikolaï?” you asked huskily after you parted away from your kiss. 

He grinned and immediately holstered you in his strong arms. “Most certainly, my beloved wife.”

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #knight nikolai #knight nikolai lantsov #fluff

[valeskafics]

"Two That Are One" - Sith!Aemond Targaryen x Jedi!Reader (Part 1 of 5)

Summary: Aemond Targaryen struggles with his inner darkness. And loses.

TW: profanity, innuendo, canon typical incest, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, character deaths, violence

Word Count: 2,553 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Those who can trace their origins back to the planet of Valyria before its doom are more often than not Force sensitive. With the Targaryens and Velaryons being two of the only Valyrian families with surviving members, that means it’s almost expected for every child coming from that line to be Force sensitive.

When you are born to Jedi Master Daemon Targaryen, no one is surprised that he broke his vow of celibacy that he made when becoming a Jedi. He always believed that the Jedi of old were too dogmatic in their teachings and that love was an aspect of the light side of the Force. He and his wife, Lady Laena Velaryon, have three daughters, the eldest being you, followed by your sister Baela, and then your youngest sister, Rhaena. Your mother sadly passes on soon after Rhaena’s death, leaving you to be the maternal figure for your sisters.

Baela begins showing evidence of being Force sensitive quite early in life, even before you do. A bit of a late bloomer, your abilities manifest by the age of seven. That is when your father starts his own academy for training younglings. Rhaena feels bitter when she is not allowed to train alongside you, Baela, and your cousins, but you try your best to include her in other things. At first, the academy only takes you, Baela, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Aegon, and Helaena.

A few years later, your cousin, Aemond, begins to show Force sensitivity, later than most younglings do, but your father still takes him on to teach. Aemond and you become fast friends, much to everyone’s surprise. He becomes your sparring partner, your constant companion. You feel some bitterness as you grow older at how easily everything comes to him, how he’s able to master the Force with so much less effort than you.

But still, you adore your cousin.

Aemond feels much the same. Though he’s only a couple of years older than you, he feels extremely protective over you. Your sisters seem closer to your cousins than they do to you, something he notices with his own brother as well. When he came to the temple, he was nearly ten years old, you being around eight. He remembers calling you “an annoying little kid” the day he met you and despite your friendship, the nickname has stuck.

“Hey, kid, wanna spar?”

“C’mon, kid, why so slow?”

Kid. Little dragon. His favorite names for you. All to throw you off from the fact that he’s desperately in love with you. It’s pathetic really, he thinks to himself, the way he hangs on to your every word, the way he enjoys when you manage to pin him to the ground in a sparring session, how he gazes over at you when he’s meant to be meditating. He knows that Daemon can sense his feelings for you and that he tries to keep you separated due to that. But there is an innate need in you and Aemond to be near each other. When you’re away from him, you grow restless. You see each other’s dreams and at times, even hear each other’s thoughts. You never mention this to anyone, the two of you keeping it your little secret, not completely understanding it yourselves.

Then, one day, Aemond begins pulling away from you. You don’t know why he’s doing it, but it hurts. You try to spend more time with Jace and the others, convincing yourself Aemond is just doing extra training with your father, but then you notice his late night walks becoming longer and longer, to the point that you hardly see him actually use his sleeping mat.

After a particularly long sparring session, where you and Aemond both get quite worked up, you two go to gaze at the stars together, laying back on the grass, pointing out the constellations. You mention to him that your father once told you that the darkness is part of the beauty of space. Its complexity.

Aemond looks at you, his gaze heavy and meaningful, “Maybe there’s a darkness in me too.”

“There’s a darkness in all of us, Aemond,” you move your free hand to rest on his cheek, smiling when he leans into your touch, “It’s not what’s inside that defines us, but the choices we make, the actions we take,” you pause before confessing, “If there’s a darkness in you, I certainly have it too.”

Aemond raises a brow, “You? That’s impossible, you’re the purest light I know.”

“I’m not,” you shake your head, turning away from him in shame, “I don’t tell you a lot of things because you have this idea of me in your head that I don’t want to spoil. I like that you think so highly of me. But the truth is, I’m angry. All the time. With Father for not talking about Mother. With Rhaena for how she resents me for being Force sensitive. I even hate you sometimes. I hate that all this comes so naturally to you while I have to work so hard,” you ball your hands into fists, feeling your nails leaving crescent shaped marks along your palms, evidence of your frustration, “I’m from the Targaryen line too. It��s unfair.”

Aemond moves closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “Hey. I’m glad you’re sharing this with me. Having feelings doesn’t make you a bad person. It would never make me think less of you.”

“Thanks, Aemond,” you mumble, resting your head against him, the warmth of his body bringing you the comfort you so desperately need right now, “I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“You won’t ever have to,” he promises, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, allowing his lips to linger there a moment longer than necessary, “I swear.”

That proves to be a lie.

As time passes, Aemond pulls further and further away from you.

"Aemond!" you run after your cousin, confused, "Hey, wait up! I thought we were getting lunch?"

Aemond pauses for a moment or two before continuing on, away from you, "I have to meditate. Sorry, kid."

You frown slightly at his coldness, after all, he’s your best friend, the closest thing you have to a brother. Why is he acting like this?

While Aemond stands in the forest just outside the Academy, he finds the man he has been sneaking away to meet. The one who tells him he can help him with the darkness that threatens to consume him.

"Grandfather," Aemond speaks softly, "Help me. Help me get through this…"

"It is the girl, young Aemond, that troubles you, is it not?" Otto responds, his visage shrouded by his black cloak.

"I feel something for her that I shouldn't. It is not the Jedi way."

"If you did as I say, young Aemond, and become my apprentice," Otto begins, "Your predicament would be solved. Such attachments are encouraged. Passion fuels your anger. It makes you stronger. Her destiny lies with you, young Aemond. And yours with me."

That night, Aemond greets you as he enters the tent where the two of you, Baela, and Jace sleep.

"Oh, so now we're talking?" you narrow your eyes at him, "How kind of you to grace me with your attention, Aemond. I thought I'd die without it."

"Shut up. I'm dealing with a lot," he mumbles, lying down on the sleeping mat beside you, staring at the ceiling, "Hey, little dragon?"

He is greeted with a moment or two of silence, followed by your annoyed sigh, "What?"

Aemond rolls over to face you, his face illuminated by the moonlight that filters into the tent, "Why did you choose the Jedi way? I mean, our parents never explicitly said we had to train."

You roll over to face him as well, scrunching your nose in deep thought - Aemond smiles slightly at the sight, thinking you look adorable - before you respond, "To protect what our parents fought so hard to build. To maintain peace in the galaxy. To make my father proud and to honor my mother’s legacy."

"Do you remember her at all?" Aemond asks curiously.

You shake your head sadly, "No, not really. I mean, she was beautiful. And smart. And I know she loved me. It's like, snippets, like a highlight reel of a fathier race, you know?"

Aemond nods, "Yeah, kid. I know."

"Why're you asking me these questions all of a sudden?" you narrow your eyes suspiciously, "And why do you keep sneaking off in the middle of the night to who the hell knows where?"

Aemond’s eyes widen at your sudden hostility, wondering what brought this on and how in the world you realized he’s sneaking out, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

You scoff and turn your back to him, "Yeah. That's what I thought. You can't even tell your family. Good night, Aemond."

"Kid-"

"Good night."

Aemond tosses and turns the rest of the night, unhappy and feeling farther away than ever from the light. He stares at your sleeping form, your body rising and falling with each breath you take. He wonders how somebody so innocent and pure could possibly feed his darker impulses. It made no sense. You are all that is light and good in his world. Why do you make him want to turn his back on everything your family stands for? He sighs and lets sleep take him, dreaming of a world where you could be together. A world where he could be someone else.

Several weeks later, your father has a vision. And he moves to strike Aemond down before his vision can come true. Aemond awakes as Daemon’s lightsaber is pointed at his neck. For a moment, he glances over at your still sleeping form before Force pushing the older Jedi back, making him hit his head on the side of a table, enough to knock him unconscious.

Aemond carries you to safety before he sets his plan in action, leaving you on the outskirts of the forest, praying to whatever deity may exist that you don’t wake up and see what he’s done.

Aemond loses his eye to little Luke, who swipes his saber blindly at his uncle, wanting to defend the rest of your family. Daemon wakes just as Aemond has finished off the youngest Strong brother and is about to turn on his own siblings. Baela is the only one who manages to hold her own against him and pulls Rhaena along, running to Daemon. Your father and sisters panic, looking everywhere for you, while Aemond simply goes to his grandfather, stating that his task is done.

Daemon finds you after several hours, lost and alone in the forest. In your hand, you hold the Jappor snippet you carved for Aemond as a child. He left it in your hands before leaving you behind to train with Otto. Not as a Jedi. But as a Sith. The Republic soon falls to his hands, Otto being crowned the Emperor while Aemond stays at his right hand.

Daemon goes into a self-imposed exile while You, Baela, and Rhaena find Rhaenyra, your cousin and their aunt, a former senator of the Republic, who stands against Otto Hightower and his apprentice, Darth Perzys.

Aemond.

Rhaena soon begins demonstrating slight Force abilities, and you and your sisters become the lead pilots for the Rebellion against the Empire. You do your best to liberate as many of those that are being victimized by him, to find as many Force sensitives that are spread across the galaxy to help them, to bring them under the protection of the Rebellion.

Until one day, your ship is pulled into a tractor beam. And you are brought aboard, what you are quickly told, is Darth Perzys’ ship.

Aemond’s ship.

You’re put in an interrogation cell, made to wait to see him. When he finally enters, you hardly recognize him. He’s dressed all in black and a mask covers his face.

He says your name, his voice heavily modulated. But it’s still Aemond.

"I want to see your face," you speak calmly, refusing to show him any fear, "I want you to look me in the eyes as you kill me."

"Kill you?" Aemond’s mechanical voice rings out across the room, confusion evident in his tone as he speaks, "Why would I do that?"

"You killed Luke. Jace. Joffrey. All those innocent people and countless others," you respond coldly, struggling to keep your temper in check, doing your best to do as your father taught you, "Why wouldn’t you kill me?"

"Do you really not know why I spared you that night?" Aemond questions with genuine curiosity, "For someone so smart, I'm surprised you haven't caught on."

"Caught on to what?"

Aemond removes his mask and you stiffen slightly at the sight of the face that haunts your dreams. The face of the man you still care so deeply for, who you will always care for. He’s older now. His hair is longer, his jawline is more prominent. A scar runs along his eye that Luke stole, red and angry. He’s placed the kyber crystal from his old saber where his eye once was, glowing a brilliant blue. You feel an overwhelming sense of sadness at the thought that the saber he actually uses now must be red.

"I want you here, little dragon," he presses a gloved hand to your cheek, "I want you to be by my side. To rule beside me."

You shake your head, stepping backward, "You're crazy. I'd never betray my father."

"And where is Daemon Targaryen, little dragon?" Aemond questions, taking a step toward you for every step you take away from him, “You’re his eldest. The one he trusted the most. I know he must have told you where he was off to.”

His face is right up against yours and he has you backed against the wall. Your noses are nearly touching as you stare up at him. And while his once beautiful blue eye has now turned yellow, from his fall to the dark side, you still see him. You still see Aemond.

"I don’t know."

Aemond lets out a huff of breath in annoyance, “Tell me the truth.”

"You know just as well as I do that no one has seen my father in years. Not since everything you did," you hiss angrily, "Stop with these mind games. Kill me or release me, Aemond. Make up your mind."

Aemond stares at you for a long moment before sighing and putting his mask back on, exiting the interrogation room and speaking to Cole, "Escort Jedi Master Targaryen to my personal chambers. She will remain there for the duration of her stay."

"Commander, you can't be-" Aemond cuts Larys off with a turn of his head, "Yes, sir."

You struggle against Cole and Strong as they drag you to what is to be your new home for the time being. You close your eyes and do your best to reach out to your sisters with the Force, hoping that somehow they sense your distress. Hoping that somehow they come to save you.

Because every moment you’re with Aemond, you feel the call of the dark side, beckoning you closer, if only to be with him.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #hotd fic #hotd x reader #house of the dragon fic #hotd #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #my writing #across the stars fic

[scotianostra]

On 28th February, 1539, Thomas Forret, the Vicar of Dollar, John Keillor and John Beveridge, two black-friars, Duncan Simpson a priest, and a gentleman named Robert Forrester, were all burned together on the Castle Hill on a charge of heresy.

The persecution of Protestants in Scotland, at least if measured in martyrdoms, peaked in 1539, shortly after Cardinal David Beaton, a zealous opponent of reform, was appointed primate of the country, although from the info I have picked up one John Lauder, would have been the man condemning these men, he was Scotland’s Public Accuser of Heretics at the times. Heretics being anyone who didn’t follow the Catholic faith.

Of the five “heresiarchs” executed in Edinburgh, none had quite so fascinating a tale as Thomas Forret, an Augustinian monk turned Vicar whose passion for Scripture and preaching, coupled with frank observation of the institutional Church’s doctrinal and practical failings, earned him a place at the stake at the crest of the Royal Mile, just east of Edinburgh Castle.

Forret had been warned by the high heid yins about his behaviour on the pulpit a few times, one occasion said his sermons might lead to “make the people thinke” but, a very smart man, he rebuked the accusations of going against the lords work by quoting scriptures and his quick wit. At the time in Scotland the sermons were traditionally performed by “Black Friars” and “Grey Friars” That’s Dominican and Franciscan Monks to you and I!

It would all come undone in 1539 when Forret attended the wedding of the Priest of Tullibody, which attendance, no less than the marriage itself, flouted the Church’s stance position on clerical celibacy. Forret had added insult to injury by eating meat at his fellow curate’s wedding celebration, despite the fact that it was Lent.

So grievous were Forret’s collective crimes that, at his trial, he was condemned to death “without anie place for recantatioun.”

Subsequently brought to the place of his execution, a certain Friar Hardbuckell encouraged him to save his soul by confessing his faith in God. “I beleeve in God,” Forret replied. Hardbuckell then encouraged him to confess his faith in the Virgin Mary by adding the words “and in our Ladie.” Forret answered, “I beleeve as our Ladie beleeveth,” thereby maintaining to the end the perfect and full sufficiency of Christ’s saving work for sinners.

Forret’s wit and knowledge of Scripture stayed with him to his very last breath. Having been preceded to the gallows by one of his fellow martyrs, Forret called the same a “wily fellow” who wished to arrive at the feast awaiting them in heaven before the others in order to secure a good seat. As the noose was placed around his neck, he began to recite Psalm 51 in Latin: Misere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love.” Thus he continued “till they pulled the stoole frome under his feete, and so wirried [hanged], and after burnt him.”

Pics are of a memorail stone and bridge over the River Devon between the village of Blairingone and Dollar on the border of Clackmannanshire and Kinross-shire

Much more on the unfortunate man here https://www.reformation21.org/.../scotlands-protestant...

#scotland #scottish #history #religion #martyr

[themotherofblood]

Earned It

Tywin Lannister x Reader

Tears of Gold AU

A/N: Finally a pure smut chapter. Tywin is most defo a kinky whore. Sure he has ptsd from whores because of his father. But this man in his prime was definitely a man whore before he fell in love with Joanna

Tw: SMUT! blowjob, kinda breeding kink vibes, kinda cumplay vibes.

Septas, their sworn celibacy is a thorn in most noble ladies side. Your own septa had only began to explain procreation to you as chastely as possible, after your betrothal was confirmed. Your handmaidens on the other hand were rather helpful on this ground. Most times as they untangled your hair, after a night with your husband. They’d tell you all these things, of how they have or heard about men being pleasured. You had heard of it, but your husband never asked for it, not even while you were pregnant.

You’d sat on your husband’s lap, the kiss of gratitude turning to lust, Tywin quite enjoyed how confident you were growing, learning to growl and take what is owed. Your hips slowly grinding against his crotch, your hands trailing down to the pins that held his shirt together, pulling them off one by one. The entirety of you sex history with Tywin, had mostly been him showing you things, teaching you to find pleasure, on him or yourself. He told you to crawl and you did. You weren’t as rich as him nor were you as influential as him, the only way you could think of showing him gratitude. Was in the bedroom. You slide off his lap, lowering onto your knees.

Tywin sat with his legs spread, his eyes looking down to you as his eyes slightly widened, as if he was feeding off of the scene in front of him. His pretty wife, looking up at him, nervous and wanting. Your chest heaved against your corset, tops of your bosom pushing outwards. Tywin’s hand stroked through frame of your face, lifting your chin up with his finger. “Are you sure, you want to do this.” He eyes held adoration and lust.

You nodded, biting your tongue in nervous excitement, your hands slightly shook as you undid your husband’s pants and breeches, his cock sprung free, a clear indication of what this entire situation was doing to him. You were proving a point, you were his. He needed to know that.

You remembered what your maid had told you, lick and suck but remember to breathe. So you did, in slow puffs through your mouth as Tywin guided your hand to stroke his length. You reached forward to take him in your mouth. Slowly suckling around the pink tip. Your tongue circling around it before lowering your mouth onto him. Tywin’s stoic stature faltered as his fist clenched against the arms of the chair, a sharp exhale leaving out him as he admits to his need.

“Gods, I have longed for this, so long my love.” His sentences still held its structure but you knew that your mouth around him was chipping at his facade. Your eyes fixated on Tywin as his head fell back in pleasure, his adam’s apple bobbing as a guttural groan left his body. Watching your husband in pleasure was by far the most captivating thing you had ever witnessed; absolutely unable to take your eyes of him as he drowned in the pleasure your mouth gave him.

You suctioned around his tip yet again, Tywin’s hand came to knit onto the top of your head, slowly guiding your head, the way he gently used your mouth made a mewl crawl up your throat. Your moan making another growl pour out of Tywin. “Gods!” His hips involuntarily thrusted into your mouth. Making you gag on him, any normal person would find this discomforting, but this rather pumped your ego to take him deeper. Both your inhibitions ran wild as your tongue laid flat against him, working him to his peak. A loud deep moan left him and his hand curled tighter onto your hair, tugging you back

You almost thought you did something wrong, but your worries were washed as Tywin yanked you up by your arms, lifting you onto his desk. His hand quickly diving under your skirts, sparing no time to find your wetness

“Enjoyed doing that to me, my love?” He said teasingly

You nodded letting out a shameless moan as your husband rubs quick circles onto your needy nerves. His hand tangled in your hair as he smashed his lips to yours, while your shaky hands undo the front of you dress. Presenting yourself to your husband. Tywin wasted no time in preparing you for him before he rubbed the tip of his cock within your moist folds, groaning as he shamelessly watched where the two of you connected and pushed in.

You laid back onto the cold table, as Tywin hooked his hands around your legs for leverage as he began to pound into you, his movement were precise as his hand laid flat against against your torso, his face scrunched in pleasure, his craven eyes on yours.

“Who makes you feel this way? Huh?” He asked clutching into your hips harder.

“Y-You do.” You whimpered

He was proving a point, no boy could give his wife the pleasure he gives her. No boy would treat her the way the great old lion does. His thrusts began to get harder, hitting all those salacious parts within you as his thumb worked on your swollen clit. You did nothing to hide the brazen moans that fell from you lip, the profanities slipping from lips were extremely unladylike but nothing about what your husband was doing to was ladylike. His fingers reached forward to grab hold of you bosom that bounced with every thrust he pushed in. Your ground your hips into his thrusts, meeting him halfway

“T-Tywin…” You mewled as your peak neared, you cunt softly fluttering against his cock.

“Come for me, wife… so good for me.” Tywin’s voice sounded hoarse from all the pleasure he was drowning in. A few more strokes and the knot within you came asunder, soaking your husband’s cock. Tywin to groaned and peaked, his warm seed filling your insides up as his last few thrust pushed all of it within you. As he pulled out, he watched as his cum seeped from your poor hole, he tutted as he took two fingers and pushed it back in.

“Wastage isn’t ladylike.” You clenched weakly as you tried to keep it all in, as you caught your breath. He gently pulled your dress back to the front, doing the ties on the bodice before helping you stand.

“Wait here, I’ll have them draw a bath for you.” Tywin kissed your forehead as he sat you in the Hand’s chair.

“Us” You corrected him, given him your most precious eyes, looking up at him through your lashes with your bottom lip pouted. Tywin shook his head in defeat as his lips curled upward. You win.

next chapter

#tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister #got x reader #house lannister #tywin lannister smut #tywin x reader #got x you #ruiewrites #desiblr #Spotify

[septemberrie]

fic asks

Thank you for the tag @junkshop-disco!

How many works do you have on ao3?

44!

What's your total ao3 word count?

560,688

What fandoms do you write for?

At this point, just Fate: the Winx Saga but I have a smattering of other fandom one shots on my ao3. Call me a serial monogamist, I guess? It takes a lot for me to be possessed enough to write, so it rarely happens for multiple fandoms at once.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Tempting Fate

Battle Lines

Point of No Return

A Man Plans a Tree in Whose Shade He May Never Sit

En Garde

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always mean to! but sometimes the Anxiety gets in the way. I made a concerted effort like a month ago to reply to some out of date comments and I'm hoping to continue.

What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have a history of writing one-shots of whump prompts, so some of those have quite punchy endings. Fate is a very dramatic show and so it's not a far leap to be cruel sometimes. But of my longfics, It Was Just Red is definitely the angstiest, but to be fair it's a prequel story to one with a happier ending.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I've written quite a few I would consider happy, one that comes to mind of late is A Lady's Guide to Fools and Fortunes, the Rivusa Bridgerton AU I wrote with Val.

Do you get hate on fics?

In a previous fandom I received hate for a twist ending to a longfic. To be fair to my audience, I didn't lay much groundwork (at all) for the twist; I was still a young author who thought it was fun to pull the wool over the eyes of my readers. After BBC Sherlock showed me how awful that was (plus general maturity), I have since learned my lesson.

I've also gotten a comment or two criticizing my characters' choices and I steam over them but ultimately ignore them. A character making a bad choice doesn't mean I'm endorsing that choice. I don't want to read a story about perfect people who never do anything wrong, and I'm definitely not going to write that either.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Are there different kinds of smut? Tropes, maybe? I have written everything from fading to black to fully explicit group sex. At this point I tend to fade to black except when I consider the detail important to the story (for example, choosing to break a vow of celibacy…).

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have never really grokked crossovers, I don't think I have that kind of brain where I can reconcile separate worldbuilding. It's never grabbed me as a reader, either, but I am a bit envious of those with the imagination to do it!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeppers.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I had one fic translated recently, with permission, and I'm glad I did because a hilarious catfight erupted in the comments, involving the anonymous aggressor informing my translator that her father, the owner of ficbook, was going to delete the fic, and co-opted a sock account to validate Anonymous Aggressor's paternity.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yessss my usual partner in crime is Val who is fantastic at motivation and bouncing off ideas. Mo my usual beta who provides amazing enough feedback I sometimes feel like I should list her as co-writer.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

I'm a multi-shipper; I tend to fixate on one character and I'm happy to explore their dynamic with a variety of ships.

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

In general if I start posting something then I'm going to finish it, no matter how brutal it gets. But starting to think that The Last Resort, my Rivusa fake dating AU with Val, might never recover from Fate S2.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I am pretty good at conveying characters' states of mind, through their internal thoughts and what they're physically doing. I think my writing has dramatically improved in the last two years since I got into Fate and most of that has to do with being thoughtful about showing what characters are thinking/doing and why, instead of telling.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Listen. I amn just a litle creacher. Sometimes I just completely miss certain things in canon and their implications, so off I go writing away my own interpretation that's "incorrect" (yeah yeah I know, fuck canon, but it matters to me! Sometimes!). I can be very guilty of projecting qualities onto my most fave and least fave characters that are a stretch when reconciled with canon.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Sure? I have learned not to treat your readers with kid gloves. They can figure out meanings from context.

First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter, on my neopets.com petpage because I didn't know about LiveJournal or fanfiction.net

Favorite fic you've written?

This is just cruel to have to choose! But I always circle back to Point of No Return. Rereading it now there are a lot of improvements I would make to the writing, but a) it's the fic that got me back into writing after a 5ish year dry spell, b) it hits pretty much all of my fave tropes/whumps, c) it led me to connecting with a new community that I now speak to daily and have even visited across the ocean! and d) it absorbed so much of my life (I wrote 60k in a little over a month) that I finally had the guts to share my writing hobby with my partner, who is wonderfully supportive. That fic changed my life for the better in so many ways.

I tag @whenshesayshush @faytalepsy @blue-aconite and whoever else wants to do this!

#my writing #ask games

[phantomphaeton]

The Bridgerton Brothers, Seduction, and Robert Greene

The English language is vast and there are a thousand unnecessary words for everything, but in many cases the different words that all describe the same thing actually provide small nuanced differences that can provide specificity for our understanding. Among those words—and this subject of this enormously long post—is the word rake.

At some point during my extensive Googling of the boys, all three Bridgerton brothers and Simon, the Duke of Hastings, have been described as rakes. The word is beaten to death throughout the two seasons we’ve had so far, and I am already prepared to have it dinned into my ear further during season three.

But with the show’s immense popularity, the word is making its way into mainstream vernacular again. Now let’s take a seat and pour out some whiskey coffee, and put our feet up by the fire while I take a closer look at the liberal use of the word in the series and how it specifically applies to the men we’ve encountered on the show thus far.

First of all—before I get to analyzing how the word applies to each of the Bridgerton brothers, the question must be asked: What the fuck is a rake?

Well, the most standard of sources (dictionary.com) defines a rake as ‘a dissolute or immoral person, especially a man who indulges in vices or lacks sexual restraint.’ In the words of myimperfectlife.com, ‘a rake walked so that modern-day players and fuckboys could run.’ 

The author Sarah MacLean, a prominent historical romance novelist, defines a rake as thus: A rake is a lovable scoundrel….Usually, a rake is someone who has been around and has had a number of relationships. He's probably pretty handsome. He's probably pretty charming. He's definitely someone who's not interested in marriage. Celibacy is off the table. No serious relationships of any kind. Essentially, the rake is the bad boy with the heart of gold. 

Eh, seems straightforward enough, right? Not quite. As it turns out, there were a lot of different types of seducers back in the day of quills and chamber inkpots. A rake was just one of them, and while the showrunners (and Julia Quinn) prefer to use the word rake as a broad-stroke description for all three of the men I’m going to be classifying (like amoeba or something—this is very clinical), the reality is that there are other names for ladies’ men that have been sidelined even though a powerful argument can be made that they are infinitely more appropriate for the individual characters. 

The author Robert Greene, whose works on human nature with respect to war, power, and seduction provide the main reference point for most all of this essay, defines a rake as thus:

A rake is a male seducer who catches the female fancy by incessantly pursuing her….a rake has an effect on women due to his ability to show an ardent devotion to her. She is attracted to him because he seems to be madly in love with her. He shows no hesitation or reluctance, and unabashedly admits his weakness when in her presence, hence making himself every woman's dream come true. He is an expert at using words and language to show his devotion….the Rake also keeps a part of his personality hidden, creating a sense of danger and thrill. He also has a reputation for being a ladies's man and being reckless in love, but he never downplays or hides his notoriety. Instead he uses it to his advantage to generate interest among women. 

With this definition before us providing the central argument of my entire essay, we can see that the word ‘rake’ has been too liberally applied for pretty much every guy on the show. So now I will proceed to conduct my analysis on each of the three gentlemen we’ve encountered thus far, why they are not rakes, and what type of seducer they are instead. This requires me to clarify an important point:

The three oldest Bridgerton siblings (Anthony, Benedict, and Colin) are all, at some point, described as rakes. The only thing this is meant to imply to us as viewers and consumers of Bridgerton content is that none of them are virgins, which honestly doesn’t really help us classify them. 

Let’s begin with our favorite unhinged, slovenly whore—the Viscount Lord Anthony Bridgerton.

It wasn’t tough to analyze Anthony in spite of the fact that the second season left me thinking he was insane. Anthony is defined—in books and on screen—as an incurable, Capital R Rake. If you know your alphabet, then you’ll know that after an R must come an S, and Anthony’s season saw him transition from a Capital R Rake to a Capital S Simp. In between him going feral for Kate’s perfume, picking out the sheerest shirts known to man, and eye-fucking Kate from across rooms while he emotionally masturbates to their fantasy future, we hear the word get thrown around a lot. It’s not hard to believe it—he behaves like a real fuckboy. 

But let’s take a closer look, shall we?

Anthony is the easiest character to classify as a rake. His opening scene in season 1—literally the first impression that we get of him—is him fucking a girl against a tree while his coachman valiantly tries to pretend that he is literally anywhere else. This falsely presents Anthony as a lighthearted, devil-may-care sort of guy. He’s living without a care. He’s enjoying his youth. By the end of the pilot episode we know better. We see him as an overprotective, overbearing, controlling, more-than-slightly misogynistic asshole who needs to introduce his face to a straight razor (and not just because of the sideburns).

His fierce protectiveness of Daphne, which bars her from expanding her social network with critical connections during this extremely important part of her life, does not win him any brownie points among fans. His hypocrisy in being so obsessively overbearing only makes us dislike him more—we as viewers know where he goes when these parties are over. He takes his sisters home and treats them like lambs to be herded, and then scurries off to the other side of town and crawls into bed with his mistress. We develop a deeper understanding of him as the show progresses, and by the end of season 2 he’s pretty much adored by the audience.

Is Anthony Bridgerton a Rake? The answer to that is in his romantic history.

Right from the start, Anthony is established as a sexually active man. He spends the entirety of the first season hung up on his turbulent relationship with his mistress Siena Rosso, a beautiful and strong-willed opera singer. The relationship appears shallow at first glance, but as the season progresses we as viewers come to understand that there is way more to this relationship than just sex. By the end of the season, we understand that this is not just a dalliance that Anthony is indulging in—it’s a full blown relationship between two people on either side of an irreconcilable socio-economic divide.

The concept of boyfriends/girlfriends did not exist at this point in history and would not exist for another two hundred years, but that is what Anthony Bridgerton and Sienna Rosso were. Its temporary end hit Anthony hard, and its rekindling was just the right high for Anthony to get before he was crushed by the second (and final) breakup at the end of the season. This is not Anthony being a rake. This is a serious, long term relationship progressing and then falling apart.

When season two commences, we see Anthony on a warpath to find himself a bride and fulfill his duty as Viscount. His time away from Sienna hasn’t done much for his neuroticism—he’s somehow managed to become even worse as he prepares for the new season. He overworks himself half to death, makes his peace with the end of his relationship with Sienna, and stresses…and stresses…and stresses.

In between all of this, we see that he’s found an outlet for his stress—he’s a regular at London’s brothels. He is seen dropping coins onto nightstands and shuffling quietly out of dark rooms half dressed before that fateful morning ride that introduced him to the woman who would become his Viscountess. He’s working on autopilot, a car crash waiting to happen. His family’s inability to distinguish any specific difference in his behavior now with his behavior in the first season shows us that this isn’t particularly new—it’s just who Anthony is.

Is Anthony Bridgerton a rake by these standards? No. 

Having a long-term girlfriend and then going on a rampage of paying for sex does not make one a rake. It simply makes one sexually active, which we had already known. So by this definition, Anthony is definitely a slut, but I doubt there’s a soul on the internet who hasn’t called him that. And while we can definitely refer to Anthony as a lover of ladies, if we’re going to call him a seducer, we need to be more aware of which type of seducer we ought to call him. A rake—capital or lowercase r aside—just won’t cut it.

The crux of Anthony’s entire love story in season two hinges on his abject fucking refusal to be vulnerable with literally anyone. He lacks the patience and the skill to pretend to be devotedly in love with anyone. How he manages to fool Edwina into thinking he cares about her is a mystery that could rival the Da Vinci Code. (Hint: she’s a teenager, which is why she was fooled.) Throughout the entire series we see him displaying impatience, hot-headedness, stubbornness, and authoritarian tendencies. When Edwina dares to describe him as even-tempered, Daphne laughs at even the implication that Anthony can pretend to be calm. It takes rare moments of genuine affection for Anthony to be truly vulnerable with people.

This isn’t a critique of his character (which is one of the most wonderfully complex ones of the entire show) but simply an analysis of who he is and why the concept of a rake—a person who’s entire seduction modus operandi relies upon false devotion and admiration, ardent love and relentless pursuit, vulnerability and garnering sympathy—simply doesn’t fit Anthony’s character at all.

So if he’s not a rake, then what type of seducer is he?

That Anthony is in fact seductive is beyond dispute. He makes it plain to Kate that he knows what he’s doing.

So with that in mind, I posit that he is not the Rake, but instead The Charismatic. 

The Charismatic, as defined by Robert Greene, is described as thus: 

Charismatic seducers are inherently exciting because they come across as self sufficient and self driven. They represent the kind of personality that most people want to see themselves as. They might be great orators, public figures, visionaries or leaders. People might look towards them to alleviate their sufferings or to save them. They use their powerful personalities and their way with words to sway emotions and to stir up change. Some charismatic figures are able to seduce by creating contradictions within their personalities e.g. cruelty and kindness, power and vulnerability.

Further reading provides additional clarification:

Confidence, purpose, contentment, sexuality—when someone has an intense aura on the outside but stays rather detached, we can’t help but be smitten.

Sound familiar?

Anthony’s brooding intensity and confidence, strong sense of duty and responsibility all make him into a natural leader. He’s been wearing the mantle of family patriarch long enough now that he’s quite a natural at it. It’s not easy to make a guy like him feel awkward in his skin. He’s driven, he’s focused, and like him or not, he’s in charge. This effect is powerful enough to win over people even when he isn’t trying to seduce them. He terrifies the ever-loving fuck out of his baby brother’s Latin teacher, and it’s hinted that he commands the respect of plenty of other people within his polished and glittering social circle, too. 

The Bridgerton family’s power stems from the Viscountcy, a noble title that places them in the fourth of five ranks of the peerage. That’s pretty low on the totem pole compared to a lot of people within the ranks of Mayfair’s elite, and yet the Bridgerton family is prolific, well respected, and enormously powerful. Anthony’s been sitting pretty in that seat for a decade. If he was anything less than excellent at his job, then that status would not have held for long after his father’s death. It’s his intense focus on doing the job right and commanding respect even among the most respected of the Ton that makes Anthony so formidable.

General Vandamme once said this of another Charismatic seducer, Napoleon Bonaparte: 

That devil of a man exercises a fascination on me that I cannot explain even to myself, and in such a degree that, though I fear neither God nor devil, when I am in his presence I am ready to tremble like a child, and he could make me go through the eye of a needle to throw myself into the fire.

It is this exact energy in Anthony that draws another fierce seducer into his orbit. Kate is presented as a strong and independent woman who is more or less running the show with regards to her family.  She and Anthony spend the entire season taking each other apart piece by piece, but while special attention is paid to the unraveling of Anthony, we still get to see that it’s that exact intensity and confidence that pulls Kate in.

tl,dr: Anthony Bridgerton is not a Rake, but he oozes Charisma.

I also analyzed Benedict and Colin.

#anthony bridgerton #this show is testing me #bridgerton #Capital R Rake #seduction #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #kanthony

[iinmortales]

ok real quick lets do a brief talk about which arthurians i’m cool with bringing over here

galahad - purest knight. the eternal virgin. eternally exhausted. part of the silver trio of himself/mordred/gwenhwyfach. brother of nimue (affectionate). son of lancelot (insulting). sat in a chair and then fucked off to find a cup. never came back. would kiss mordred and gwenhwyfach if he hadn’t been traumatized into celibacy. 

gwenhwyfach - half-sister of guinevere. briefly and unknowingly part of a plot to steal her sister’s place as arthur’s wife. doesn’t have any sort of affection for arthur. actually doesn’t like him. doesn’t hate her sister but feels distant from her. marries mordred. would also kiss galahad.

isolde - LOOK I KNOW SHE DOESN’T GET A LOT OF LOVE BUT I LOVE MY FLOWER QUEEN OK. irish princess who fell in love with a knight from cornwall. and then was forced to marry his uncle. adultery ensues. did not take a love potion, just honestly thought tristan was the bee’s knees. 

kay - older foster brother of arthur. finding out arthur wasn’t actually his brother changed 0 things for kay. was one of the first to swear fealty to arthur (gawain beat him to it and kay never quite forgave him). good knight, good man, got crippled fairly young and was appointed seneschal (essentially he was in charge of running the daily operation of the court/castles). really doesn’t like lancelot

mordred - bastard son of arthur and morgause. just doesn’t really fuckin know what to do. ends up working against arthur because he doesn’t agree with arthur’s politics, not because he hates him for being his father (though look that is always going to be part of it). married to gwenhwyfach. would also kiss galahad. 

pelleas - oh he dumb. not really. he’s very honorable, came to camelot to be among the most noble knights of history. became a knight of the round table. went out on a quest and almost drowned because he was staring at nimue (like a creep) and almost drowned. she saved him, and eventually he left camelot to become a knight of avalon.

viviane - lady of the lake. merlin’s lover and “stealer” of his power. trapped merlin in a tree and never apologized to arthur about it. not a huge fan of camelot in general. eventually hands her position to nimue. 

#( ooc ) k80 speaks

[ryin-silverfish]

I wanted to ask, has there ever been an immortal master (like Yuding, Taiyi or puti) had children or a wife? According to monkey-ruler, there is no rule that prevents them from having children or relationships since they are not gods, but I wanted to express your opinion. In most cases it is easier to interpret that they are dedicated to their teaching.

I feel like Sun Wukong is the only case of a master having children. but I feel like people don't consider it as canon so to speak.

This is less a direct answer to your question, and more of an exploration of Chan and Jie Sect marriage policies.

In one of my previous answers, I have mentioned that some scholars thought the Chan-Jie conflict was mirroring the historical conflict between Zhengyi and Quanzhen Daoists during the Ming dynasty.

And one of the evidence cited is quite a few Chan Sect members, like Jiang Ziya and Tuxingsun, are allowed to marry, which is true for Zhengyi Daoists but not Quanzhen Daoists, therefore the Jie Sect must be an expy of Quanzhen.

However, this doesn't really hold up to scruntiny, because Hong Jin, Princess Longji's husband, is from the Jie Sect, yet they still get married after his defeat.

None of these people are immortal masters, though. Just their students. Which may suggest that, like historical Ming sects, there is a divide between cloistered and non-cloistered Daoists: the former took a vow of celibacy and did not marry, while the latter did.

And man, the marriages in FSYY are not happy ones. The big three are arranged marriages: two of which are wartime marriages for political purposes and both involve a defeated foe. In Longji's case, it isn't as forced, in Deng Chanyu's case, it is absolutely forced.

Somehow, Jiang Ziya and Ma's peacetime marriage manages to be an even bigger whirlwind of toxicity, worsened by Jiang Ziya's terrible luck and business skills, until they get a divorce.

Like, at the end of the novel, after Ma commits suicide out of shame, she is deified as the Comet/Broom Star, which was also a slang for "jinx", a.k.a. people who brings bad luck.

(My personal HC is that Jiang Ziya just adds her name onto the Investiture out of sheer spite, and she spends her immortal life as the Celestial Realm's cleaning lady, getting the last laugh when Jiang Ziya's descendents in the Qi state got their throne usurped by the Tian clan.)

Also, the two wartime marriages are "divinely ordained" and "fated to happen"; in Longji's case, the god in charge of love and marriage, Old Man Under the Moon, came to persuade her personally.

You know, if I'm an immortal on either side, and happen to witness these marriages, I'll happily take my vow of celibacy and cloistered life because good fucking lord.

Edit: I guess Zhang Kui and Gao Lanying on the Shang side could be considered an unambiguously happy couple, if you leave out the "die in battle and get deified together" part.

#investiture of the gods #fengshen yanyi

[rhaenyras]

What are your thoughts on Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley ?

I haven't read or watched a lot about them yet (speaking of, i accept recommendations) but from what little i know, mainly via wikipedia, a few notable movies and the becoming elizabeth show, it's such a crazy messy dynamic (in a good way). elizabeth made a point of being "married to her job", we would say nowadays, also she was very well aware that marrying the recently widowed dudley while so many unpleasant rumors circulated about how he supposedly killed his first wife to be with her, would be PR suicide, and she couldn't jeopardize everything she had over that, no matter how much she loved him/was attracted to him, but still she expected this guy to understand that about her and remain celibate for her sake (apparently they knew each other from childhood and elizabeth had always made clear that she would remain unmarried ever since). now that's a crazy expectation of control and devotion for someone to have over someone else, if you ask me. especially if you consider that this game of frustrating courtship lasted 18 years or so, during which she barely allowed him out of her sight. but she did try to hitch him with mary stuart at one point, which is a very confusing move that still keeps me wondering to this day. evidently she didn't so much care about him preserving his celibacy for her, she was content with just keeping him close to her???? it's anybody's guess, really. but dudley didn't comply with the marriage plan anyway and nothing came of it, further proving that his interest in elizabeth wasn't motivated by ambition, as he could have been king either way through his marriage to mary of scots. eventually he grew tired of waiting for elizabeth's hand (i assume their relationship remained unconsummated but i might be wrong??), and ended up marrying one of elizabeth's favorite ladies shortly after ending an affair with another widowed gentlewoman (again, i wonder if elizabeth knew about his affair with douglas sheffield and their illegitimate son). the fact that elizabeth banished both dudley and lollys from court over this much tells us that she was, at least a little bit, tyrannical, prone to grudges and short-tempered..... i see both her father and her mother in her. ultimately there are many aspects of their relationship that i do not quite understand, i mean, you do not offer your lover in marriage to another woman on the promise that y'all will live together at the english court and the two of them will reign after you. that's just... unorthodox to say the least, especially for someone who's known to have descended into a flying rage when robert even so much flirted with lollys in elizabeth's presence. then of course, robert did entertain clandestine relationships with other women and one must wonder how much elizabeth knew and tolerated. maybe they had this agreement that he could sleep with other women, but he couldn't absolutely marry any of them or be too obvious/loud about said relationships? I don't know if elizabeth was actually so delusional and blind as to actually believe that robert would actually forswear sex altogether for her sake, i don't think she was. i suppose it was more about far-reaching control even at a distance for her, like, imposing certain ground rules and knowing that he will abide by them, than actually making sure he would never sleep around ever again. anyway, that's as far as I'll go with my speculations, I literally don't know enough about them to venture to say more, as there are too many things that still puzzle me. im gonna find me a biography to read about elizabeth and then form a more extensive opinion on the matter of this intriguing lifelong troubled relationship

#still. i loved them in becoming elizabeth. they were everything on that show #ask #anon #anonymous #elizabeth tudor

[bazwillendinflames]

Something My Soul Needs (3/6)

AO3

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This fic is a WWDITS collbaeration with FanFictionette and updated every Friday. 

So, choosing the right victim had never been just about taste. The realization struck her with the force of a freight train. Suddenly it all made sense, her seemingly random stomach upsets - they were rare, but they had always come after draining some depressed human. How could she have been so stupid as to miss such an obvious connection?

Sad victims don’t sit well with Nadja.

Five times that she suffers the consequences of draining a miserable human, and one time someone else does.

“Laszlo, my sweet, are you sure you can't find a guitar teacher here?” Nadja pouted as the pair stood in the doorway of their grand Staten Island home. Laszlo’s suitcase was already in the carriage waiting to be taken to the train station, where he would travel onward to the Devil’s Crossroads, which he was pretty sure was in California. 

“Nadja, dearest, just think of the ballads, the anthems, the hymns I shall compose for you -” He paused for a fraction of a second to put on his best Southern drawl, “Once I master this here six-string!” Laszlo brandished his guitar case for emphasis. 

“And you'll write every day?” Nadja’s eyes were beginning to well up with bloody tears.

“Of course.” Laszlo promised, clasping his wife’s hands tightly within his own. “And now, Nadja - my darkest princess, my vampiric angel, my unholy goddess - I love you more than all of the stars in our eternal night, and I shall be back again before you know it!” 

And with one final, passionate kiss to Nadja’s lips, her husband was gone. 

“Yeesh...” Nandor muttered as he watched Laszlo’s carriage pull away. 

He’d heard every disgustingly sweet word of their drawn-out goodbyes from his vantage point atop the stairs; Nadja and Laszlo had been far too wrapped up in each other to notice, he could've stood between them to eavesdrop and they would have been none the wiser. Nadja had still been standing in the doorway, dabbing at her eyes with a black silk handkerchief, when he retired to his crypt. 

Dawn was still a few hours away, and Nandor wasn't opposed to the idea of a hunt, but he hated going alone, and Nadja wouldn't be any fun at the moment. Normally, Nandor quite enjoyed her company - they frequently hunted together when Laszlo was otherwise occupied, but she'd been so clingy in the weeks leading up to her husband’s departure, he couldn't remember the last time they'd gone out together. They would have plenty of time to catch up, he supposed, now that Laszlo had fucked off.

Sighing, Nandor opened his coffin, and was about to climb in for an early slumber when something caught his eye. Lying on the fur lining was a small, off-white piece of parchment bearing his name in elaborate handwriting. He snatched it up and tore open the wax seal, hoping it wasn't another cursed sigil from witches looking to steal his semen.

Nandor,

I’ll be headed for the sunny shores of California by the time you read this. Do take care of my good lady wife while I'm gone. We both know that my Nadja is more than capable of looking after herself, but she's never been good at asking for help if she needs it. I trust you'll do anything you can for her should the occasion arise with the devotion and attention she deserves. 

Dark wishes,

Laszlo Cravensworth

P.S. And I do mean anything, I can't expect my darling to endure a year of celibacy!

“Fucking guy…” Nandor crumpled the note and let it burn to ash in his fist before climbing into his coffin and slamming the lid shut.

It took about three weeks for Laszlo’s first letter to arrive in the mail and almost a month of daily letters sent between them by raven for Nadja to finally stop moping. But soon after that, both Nadja and Nandor actually started enjoying themselves. Nandor generally got on fine with Laszlo, but Nadja was closer to him in age, so they had much more common ground: plenty of stories from centuries past to share and laugh at. 

Besides, Laszlo never wanted to go to any of the good vampire clubs that New York City boasted. He was too proud to set aside his long standing rivalry with Simon the Devious and enjoy a night out. Even mentioning Simon was enough to set Laszlo off, which would in turn remind Nadja of That Bloody Hat. Nandor would be forced to pick sides (Nadja’s, he knew how best to pick alliances) and before long the whole house would be so busy arguing that the invitation would be forgotten all together. 

Laszlo had taken That Bloody Hat on his trip and Nadja was too busy fussing over what cape she would wear, so she was in an usually good mood in the days leading up to Simon’s party. Without Laszlo to match with, Nadja instead put her energy into helping Nandor prepare. They were down a familiar - their last one had died suspiciously soon after suggesting Laszlo’s trip - so they helped each other dress for the event instead. 

Nadja selected him an embroidered robe in red and gold. She chose one of her own dark purple dresses - a rare item that didn’t have a complimentary waistcoat for Laszlo. Nandor had offered to fix her hair, but ended up with his fingers tangled in it and left her to it instead. Laszlo was usually the one to help his wife get ready since she lacked a reflection, and his absence showed in her slightly lopsided bun. Still, she looked put-together and powerful, a stark contrast to the first few days of Laszlo’s absence. 

“You look great.” Nandor said. 

“I know.” Nadja smiled, sharp fangs on full display. “Well, Simon’s party awaits us.” 

They had barely walked into the club when Simon, in all his deviousness, spotted them. He threw an arm around each of them and grinned. 

“Nadja, Nandor! What a pleasant surprise.” 

“You invited us.” Nandor said. He wiggled out of Simon’s grasp. 

“No Laszlo then?” Simon asked. All his attention was on Nadja, who was openly scowling at him. “Well, I always knew it wouldn’t last.” 

She pulled away too, a lot more aggressively than Nandor had. “We’re still married, you dipshit!” Nadja snapped. 

Simon rolled his eyes. “Of course. I was merely joking, my good lady.” 

“Well, your sense of humor hasn’t changed,” Nadja said. “Lovely to catch up Simon, we are going to dance now.” 

She brushed him off, headed towards the dance floor. Nandor followed her. He was glad, it would be a shame to waste the night talking to Simon. The band was playing a lively song and Nandor spun Nadja under his arm before pulling her close. 

Simon walked past, looking sulky. “Yeesh,” Nandor said, nodding in Simon’s direction, “What a sad-sack.” 

“I can’t believe I slept with that prick.” Nadja said. 

“You did?” Nandor asked. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised, but Nadja was usually pickier with her lovers. “Yikes.” 

“Tell me about it,” She replied. “Laszlo made fun of me for months after.” 

“Is that why he dislikes Simon?” 

Nadja’s expression soured. “No, that’s all about that fucking hat. Hideous bloody thing, not to mention, so bloody cursed-” 

Sensing yet another rant was coming, Nandor quickly interrupted. “I wonder if that red-faced little familiar of Simon’s is still around? I fancy a snack.” 

Nadja cackled. “Nandor, you are full of good suggestions lately.” 

They stalked off together as the band switched to another energetic song. Nadja smiled brighter than she had since Laszlo announced his departure, and Nandor was certain they had a good night ahead of them. 

If Nandor hadn’t already been dead, the sight of Nadja covered in blood and standing silently above his open coffin most certainly would have given him a fatal heart attack. 

“Where do we keep the towels?” 

“Nadja, what the fuck?” Nandor cursed, sitting up in his coffin with a start and banging his head when Nadja let go of the lid. “You cannot be scaring me like that!” He pointed at her accusingly. 

“Towels you bloody oaf!” Nadja repeated, as if she didn’t look like she had just crawled from hell. “I'd ask my dear Laszlo to bring them to me, but…” She sniffled. 

Well, Nandor was certainly wide awake now. He climbed out of his coffin completely, careful to sidestep Nadja and the trail of blood she had left in her wake. 

As they stepped into the hallway, Nandor could actually make out more of her disheveled appearance under the improved lighting. Nadja was a mess. Her makeup was smudged beyond belief (probably by the bloody tears that had dried on her cheeks) and her clothes were ruined. There was blood all down her front, staining her dress and leaving red marks on the floor - had she been sick? Only idiotic baby vampires who overate or tried to consume human food did that. But Nadja was neither young nor stupid. 

“Nadja, are you…” Nandor trailed off when Nadja glared daggers at him. “Yes, towels, sorry - uh, closet in the bathroom.” He gestured vaguely down the hallway. “Top shelf!”

Nadja turned away and strode off without another word, leaving Nandor standing there, mouth agape as he tried to figure out just what in the hell was going on. He was about to return to his coffin and write the whole thing off as some sort of incredibly strange dream when he heard Nadja gag. There was no way he could go back to sleep now.  

He followed the sound down the hallway into the master bathroom, where he found Nadja hunched over the washstand, coughing up what was left of her last victim. Droplets of red ran down her chin. 

“Nad…ja? Eesh.”

“Go away Nandor!” She barked.

Nandor hovered awkwardly in the door frame for a moment before coming up behind Nadja and carefully gathering up her hair in one hand. He rubbed her back with his other hand - the way he had on the rare occasions when he’d been the one to comfort his children - wincing in sympathy when she made another unpleasant choking noise and spat into the basin. 

“Okay?” He asked quietly. 

“What do you bloody think?!” Nadja snapped, glaring at him once more. The effect was lessened by her teary eyes and makeup streaked face. 

“Sorry! Sorry.” 

"Stupid bloody man…” She muttered.

Nadja slumped against the wall and sank down to the tiled floor. Nandor was still struggling for the right thing to say when she groaned in pain and doubled over, clutching her stomach. Nandor sighed and sat opposite her with his back to the bathtub. Two mighty vampires, reduced to sitting on a bloody floor in the early hours of the morning. 

“How come you’re not sick?” She demanded. “We shared all the same victims!”

“I don’t know! Sad victims have never really bothered me.” Nandor said with a shrug. Over the years he had heard of vampires who became ill after draining a certain type of victim, but he had never suffered in the same way. Apart from a sour aftertaste, the emotional state of the human hardly mattered. 

“What?” Nadja groaned. 

“You didn’t have to finish him off, you know!” Nandor crossed his arms, suddenly defensive. Nadja was always boasting about her discerning fucking tastes, the way some humans cared about fine wines. As far as Nandor was concerned for both, the result was the same. 

Nadja looked up, her usual fierceness returned. “Nandor, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“The sad guy! Simon’s red-faced little familiar!” 

“How was I supposed to know I was going to feel like shit?” She was growing increasingly frustrated. 

“He tasted all sour!” Nandor exclaimed, as if that was supposed to explain anything. 

“What the hell does that have to do with it?” Nadja asked. 

“Sour blood comes from miserable victims.” Nandor stared at her, completely dumbfounded. “Nadja, how are you two hundred years old and you - hadn’t you realized that the sad people don’t agree with some vampires?”

So, choosing the right victim had never been just about taste. The realization struck her with the force of a freight train. Suddenly it all made sense, her seemingly random stomach upsets - they were rare, but they had always come after draining some depressed human. How could she have been so stupid as to miss such an obvious connection?

Under any other circumstances, Nadja would have been furious, but there on the cold tile floor, exhausted and in pain, she simply started to cry. Nandor looked mildly panicked. 

“Shit… Wait here.” 

He left the bathroom, leaving Nadja aching, cold and alone. She only sobbed harder. 

Back in his room, Nandor rummaged through his dresser until he found one of his seldom-used nightshirts. It would be huge on Nadja, but much more comfortable than that red-stained dress she was still wearing. He also grabbed a scrap of ribbon that he sometimes used to tie back his hair, and found a clean handkerchief, which he dampened in the small basin that stood in his room. 

Nadja was still sniffling when Nandor returned. She looked utterly wretched, but surprisingly relieved to see him. He set everything down on the vanity before extending a hand to Nadja and carefully helping her to her feet. Then, with her sitting on the edge of the ornate clawfoot bathtub, Nandor took the handkerchief and set to work gently scrubbing the smudged makeup and bloody tears from her pale face. Once he was satisfied, he passed her the clean nightshirt, respectfully turning his back while she peeled off her soiled gown and dropped it in the tub to be dealt with later. (They really did need a new familiar, because he wasn’t dealing with that shit.) Finally, Nandor combed through her long, dark locks with his fingers and pulled her hair back into a messy braid, which he tied off with an equally sloppy bow. 

“Better?” He asked. 

Nadja nodded stiffly, not looking him in the eye. She crossed her arms, as if to shield herself. 

“Nadjaaa, you don’t have to be feeling embarrassed.” Nandor chided. She shrugged and then he remembered Laszlo’s advice - she's never been good at asking for help if she needs it. 

“Does your stomach still hurt?” He asked in the gentle tone he once used when his children had nightmares, or the rare occasions when he could sit with his beloved horse, John. 

“Of course it fucking does,” Nadja replied. “I doubt you can help. Even my beloved Laszlo can’t take the pain away.” 

“What does Laszlo do?” Nandor asked. 

“He stays with me,” She said. “Where is that arsehole now that I need him?” 

“Playing the guitar with the devil?” Nandor guessed. It didn’t seem to comfort her much. “Look, I will stay with you until you feel better.”

He half-expected her to resist but instead, Nadja nodded. “Okay. But no cuddling, that is for my sweet baby only.” She wanted her husband, but for now her big brother would just have to do. 

“I will stay with you, at a distance, until you feel better.” He clarified.

Nandor extended a hand. Nadja reluctantly accepted, and allowed herself to be led down to the fancy room. There, Nandor used his pyrokinetic powers to ignite the logs in the fireplace and gestured for Nadja to make herself comfortable on the antique sofa. Once she was settled, Nandor found a heavy fur throw and draped it over her shoulders before planting himself in the armchair opposite her. 

They sat in companionable silence until the crackling of the fireplace and the steady patter of rain against the blacked-out windows lulled Nadja into a dreamless sleep. Nandor, on the other hand, was far too worried to go back to sleep. He stared at the flames, brow furrowed. 

Had a drink from an unhappy familiar really made Nadja this sick? Had this ever happened before? Was it always this bad? How had Nadja been unaware of her own sensitivities for so long? And, most importantly, did her husband know?

Laszlo was, of course, beside himself with worry when Nandor contacted him through the ether and informed him of his wife’s illness. 

“I have half a mind to return home on the first available train, guitar lessons be damned!” He declared. 

“What would Nadja say?” Nandor asked. “She’d think you didn’t trust her to look after herself.”

“My darling wife needs me!” Laszlo hissed. 

“She just needs rest. But Nadja is getting that now.” Nandor huffed. “I have everything under control. If you left now, she’d be completely fine by the time you came home!” 

Laszlo looked like he was going to argue further, but Nandor cut him off. 

“And then, you’d have to explain that you left early because you were assuming that -”

“Yes, alright!” Laszlo snapped. “You’ve made your point. She’d never let me forget about offending her so…” 

Nandor mentally congratulated himself, glad he’d managed to steer Laszlo away from full-blown hysteria by promising that he would teach Nadja what little he understood about her condition. Laszlo ended the call with a grandiose declaration that he would fly home himself if anything else happened to Nadja in his absence, and forced Nandor to swear that he would contact Laszlo immediately if Nadja so much as broke a nail. 

Nandor sighed and let his head drop back onto the chair. Nadja was still sound asleep and Nandor was struck by how vulnerable she appeared - Nadja was by no means a petite woman, but she seemed so small wrapped up in her blanket. Had she really always looked so young? Without her dramatic makeup, it was easy to see that Nadja was turned before her life had really begun. Nandor was still watching her intently when she twitched in her sleep, letting out a pained whine and curling in on herself. 

Poor Nadja… Nandor thought. He was certain that she would have much preferred the company of her husband, but Nandor was still glad that he’d been there - he hated to think of his friend having to deal with this all by herself. 

True to Nandor’s predictions, Nadja recovered completely within three days. Despite this, and Nandor’s regular written - and ethereal! - reports that his good lady wife was perfectly fine, Laszlo still returned home a full month early. 

He told everyone it was because the Devil’s Crossroads were actually in Mississippi. This was technically true, but Laszlo and Nandor shared a knowing look as soon as he walked in the door. It spoke of their shared experience taking care of Nadja and created a silent pact that one of them would always be there should she need them. 

#what we do in the shadows #wwdits #nadja of antipaxos #nandor the relentless #wwdits fic

[bongoideas]

After years of being a Reverend Sister, lady quits celibacy as she decides to serve God in marriage

After years of being a Reverend Sister, lady quits celibacy as she decides to serve God in marriage

A Reverand Sister who professes the Catholic faith has decided, after years of servanthood, to choose marriage over celibacy. In the Catholic faith, Reverend Sisters just like their male counterparts are supposed to lead a chaste life; a life dedicated to serving God only. The dictates of the catholic faith backed by Biblical references forbid individuals who want to serve in the church from…

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#Lady quits celibacy

[wild-lavender-rose]

Fighting for Love (part 2)

Sequel to Hurt/Comfort series Saving the Enemy 

Part 1

Pairing: Legolas x fem!reader

Category: One-shot

Summary: You are Gandalf’s granddaughter. Long ago you were captured by the Mirkwood elves after saving the life of their prince, Legolas. He tended your injuries and the two of you fell in love. But it was a time of war and the fates were cruel, tearing you and Legolas apart on separate paths. Years later, you and Gandalf come to Rivendell to decide what must be done with the ring. You discover that none other than Legolas himself has also been summoned to the council. 

Warnings: Brief mature flirting

     You flung the doors of Elrond’s study wide open and entered. “Grandfather!”

     Elrond, who was standing next to the window while Gandalf sat facing him, grimaced as he looked from you to Gandalf. “Makes quite an entrance, doesn’t she?”

     “Indeed.” Gandalf muttered, pretending to be annoyed.

     “I must speak with you.” You crossed to him, your gaze catching on two other people sitting around the room.

     Aragorn, Arwen’s lover and rightful king of men, stood upon your entrance. “My lady,” he bowed his head in respect.

     “Aragorn.” You nodded back.

     “Granddaughter, I would like to introduce you to Lord Boromir.” Gandalf stood along with a man you did not know.

     “My lady, it is an honor.” Boromir came forward to greet you.

     You watched as he took your hand and kissed it gently. “You flatter me, Lord Boromir.” You looked up at Gandalf. “But we must talk, Grandfather.” 

     “The council will convene shortly, can we not,”

     “It is regarding a very important matter.”

     “Surely there is nothing more important than,”

     “My supposed celibacy?” You looked back at Boromir who was still holding your hand, cringing at the sudden awkwardness in his expression as he released you. 

     Gandalf’s eyes widened. Aragorn was attempting to conceal a laugh with a cough. Elrond clasped his hands within the sleeves of his robes and became immensely interested in the middle distance. 

     “Elrond, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to,” 

     “Say no more, Gandalf.” Elrond gave both Aragorn and Boromir a nod. “Gentlemen, if you would follow me.” 

     You waited until the trio had left and the door had shut before crossing to Gandalf. “When were you going to tell me that I have sacrificed the pursuit of life for the study of magic?” 

     “Ah, yes. I can explain, little one. That was an attempt to save you.” 

     “Save me? Grandfather, all my life I have questioned why men did not show favor towards me. I believed it was because I acted too much like a man myself, only to discover that you proclaim me celibate!” 

     “My darling granddaughter, you misunderstand,” 

     “No, it is you who does not understand.” You pressed a hand to your chest for emphasis. “I am in love with an elf, Gandalf. The prince of Mirkwood. I have loved him for lifetimes. I kept him in my mind even as the years covered other memories with dust. Please, you must listen. I love you with all my heart. But I cannot give my heart to your magic, because my heart was claimed long ago by him.”

     You stopped, fairly trembling from the words hovering in the air between you. You had never gone against Gandalf. You always agreed to his suggestions and heeded his advice. You knew that he could have chosen to leave you in the care of someone else when the fates gave you to him. 

     Instead, he chose to raise you himself. You had learned the ways of both sword and sorcery by his side. When adventure called your name and you yearned to chase it, Gandalf allowed you to join him on his adventures and grow into a warrior under his guidance. 

     But why would he hurt you now? Why would he tell the others that you were too consumed with magic to pursue love? What if Legolas had heeded him and withdrawn from you when he discovered who you were?

     And then you realized Gandalf was smiling. A soft, bittersweet smile just visible through his wispy white beard. “Did you think I would not notice that your heart belonged to another?” 

     He chuckled, gripping his staff with both hands and leaning against it. “My dear child, as I’ve been trying to say, I was saving you. I knew that the uncertainty of ever meeting your beloved again caused you to say nothing when questioned as to wether or not your heart was taken. I knew you would say nothing when men came to court you. I was only trying to spare you from the pain. And…and I was worried that you would convince yourself that you loved another, and live in the quiet pain of a future not lived.”

     Your anger lessened. “You did it too well, Grandfather. Legolas himself heard your tales and thought them true.”

     “Oh dear. I never suspected that Legolas would be the one who held your heart.”

     “Who did you expect then?”

     “Until today, I judged Lord Boromir to be the culprit.”

     “Lord Boromir? But we only just met.” You smirked at him, but the frustrations of earlier had now completely smoothed into teasing. “Your riddles no longer work on me. I am not the little girl of long ago.”

     “No. You most certainly are not.” Gandalf’s staff thudded against the floor as he crossed to you, touching your chin to lift it slightly as he smiled at you. “I truly am sorry if my selfish desires brought you embarrassment, little one. You are most dear to me. I simply did not wish you pain.”

     “I love you.”

     “I love you as well.”

     Gandalf looked down at you until his eyes became misty. Then he released your hand with a gruff cough. “Now go get dressed into something decent, before I forbid you from entering the council at all.”

     “I highly doubt that.” You smiled. “You need me.”

     “Unfortunately. Now go on!” Gandalf shooed you away.

     Laughing, you did as he requested, stopping once you got to the door. “You forget.”

     “Oh?”

     “I made no promises as to the kind of clothing I would wear to the council meeting.”

     You ducked out of the room before Gandalf could come after you.

# # # # #

     Legolas’s eyes were on you from the moment you entered the room, taking your appearance in slowly. You were no longer dressed in your gown. Now, you were dressed for adventure.

     Pants and boots and a shirt with strings loose in the front, exposing your collar bone and chest to the sun. Your sword hung by your side, bumping against your thigh with each confident step. You crossed to Legolas despite the looks given by Elrond and the other elves, stopping before him with a smile on your face. “My enemy.”

     “My captive.” He looked you over once more, his face solemn but his eyes dancing. “I see you are prepared for battle.”

     “No more than anyone else here.” You looked around the room, your gaze settling on a figure small and trembling next to Gandalf. “Except perhaps Frodo.”

     “I notice Arwen does not always look like this.”

     Your attention snapped back to Legolas. “Arwen does not have the need to prove as much as I. She does not desire to be equal to men, elf or otherwise.”

     “Regardless of what you’re wearing, I’m afraid I can see you as nothing but my equal.” A small smile graced Legolas’s features. “Even if you were wearing nothing at-,”

     “Attention! The council will convene now!” Elrond raised his hands for order and silence. 

     Heat rose in your cheeks as you threw Legolas a look. “Melethril,”  

     “Mel nin.” Legolas nodded back. 

     “You must know. If it’s decided that the ring must be taken anywhere to be used or destroyed, I will accompany whoever is going.” 

     “Then I will follow.” 

     You smiled, your heart fairly bursting. Outwardly you remained calm, crossing to stand in your place by Gandalf’s side. Legolas’s eyes stayed on you up until Elrond began to speak. Even then, the two of you exchanged glances, hungry to take in the other’s appearance. The uncertainty of your future was a distant thought compared to the happiness of the present. For now, your soul was at peace. 

     Little did you know, that would be the final day your soul would feel peace for a long, long time. 

Part 3

Mel nin = My love

Melethril = Lover

Fanfic Masterlist

#legolas #legolas x you #legolas x y/n #legolas x reader #prince legolas #legolas greenleaf #legolas greenleaf x you #legolas greenleaf x y/n #legolas greenleaf x reader #lord of the rings #lord of the ring #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the ring legolas #lord of the rings legolas #lord of the rings legolas greenleaf #legolas fluff #legolas fanfiction #legolas fanfic #lord of the rings fluff

[scotianostra]

On 28th February, 1539, Thomas Forret, the Vicar of Dollar, John Keillor and John Beveridge, two black-friars, Duncan Simpson a priest, and a gentleman named Robert Forrester, were all burned together on the Castle Hill on a charge of heresy.

The persecution of Protestants in Scotland, at least if measured in martyrdoms, peaked in 1539, shortly after Cardinal David Beaton, a zealous opponent of reform, was appointed primate of the country, although from the info I have picked up one John Lauder, would have been the man condemning these men, he was Scotland’s Public Accuser of Heretics at the times. Heretics being anyone who didn’t follow the Catholic faith.

Of the five “heresiarchs” executed in Edinburgh, none had quite so fascinating a tale as Thomas Forret, an Augustinian monk turned Vicar whose passion for Scripture and preaching, coupled with frank observation of the institutional Church’s doctrinal and practical failings, earned him a place at the stake at the crest of the Royal Mile, just east of Edinburgh Castle.

Forret had been warned by the high heid yins about his behaviour on the pulpit a few times, one occasion said his sermons might lead to “make the people thinke” but, a very smart man, he rebuked the accusations of going against the lords work by quoting scriptures and his quick wit. At the time in Scotland the sermons were traditionally performed by “Black Friars” and “Grey Friars” That’s Dominican and Franciscan Monks to you and I!

It would all come undone in 1539 when Forret attended the wedding of the Priest of Tullibody, which attendance, no less than the marriage itself, flouted the Church’s stance position on clerical celibacy. Forret had added insult to injury by eating meat at his fellow curate’s wedding celebration, despite the fact that it was Lent.

So grievous were Forret’s collective crimes that, at his trial, he was condemned to death “without anie place for recantatioun.”

Subsequently brought to the place of his execution, a certain Friar Hardbuckell encouraged him to save his soul  by confessing his faith in God. “I beleeve in God,” Forret replied. Hardbuckell then encouraged him to confess his faith in the Virgin Mary by adding the words “and in our Ladie.” Forret answered, “I beleeve as our Ladie beleeveth,” thereby maintaining to the end the perfect and full sufficiency of Christ’s saving work for sinners.

Forret’s wit and knowledge of Scripture stayed with him to his very last breath. Having been preceded to the gallows by one of his fellow martyrs, Forret called the same a “wily fellow” who wished to arrive at the feast awaiting them in heaven before the others in order to secure a good seat. As the noose was placed around his neck, he began to recite Psalm 51 in Latin: Misere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love.” Thus he continued “till they pulled the stoole frome under his feete, and so wirried [hanged], and after burnt him.”

#Scotland #scottish #heretics #burnings #executions #judicial murder #Religion #Edinburgh

[mitthsyndic]

This is the first time I've ever written smut and it's rather tame, so be nice! ;)

Read on Ao3.

Summary: Jedi reader wants to blow off a little steam, and meets Cad Bane in a cantina. Pairing: Cad Bane x Reader (AFAB female reader).

Warnings: 18+ only, sexual activity. Unprotected sex, biting. Word Count: 1,441.

(Non)Attachment

You found yourself in yet another shady cantina in the backroads of a planet you didn’t quite remember the name of.

Travelling the galaxy was a wonderful perk of being a Jedi, but it could get a little lonely at times; finding yourself in unfamiliar surroundings after cramped space travel did increase the urge to blow off a little steam.

Jokes were often made about the Jedi’s sex life, and you’d certainly heard many quips from persons across the galaxy - that you were celibate, sexually repressed, overcompensating, you name it. Nobody could deny the very clear rule of non-attachment all Jedi were expected to follow. However, over time this rule seemed up to individual interpretation: some Jedi felt free to explore their sexual desires as they saw fit, whereas others took it to mean total celibacy. You were one of the former.

So, after yet another one of the aforementioned long, mundane journeys for a seemingly purposeless mission, you went to one of the new yet never dissimilar cantinas you’d encountered across the galaxy hoping to find a person to your liking. And that took approximately five minutes; a new record, you noted. You’d taken a few sips of your drink when you locked eyes with a striking figure seated at the bar.

He appeared to be rather tall with dark blue skin, though not much of his external features were particularly visible to you due to his large brimmed hat and breathing equipment covering the majority of his face. His deep, red eyed gaze appeared to look past your eyes and directly into your soul. He was unsmiling, with a toothpick in hand he must have recently removed. This didn’t deter you, though; he matched your stare with a pervasive sexual intensity, allowing his eyes to drift up and down your figure.

He didn’t exactly look like the kind of guy a Jedi should have dealings with, but right now you weren’t a Jedi; you were a regular woman very much interested in more erotic dealings than most Jedi would dare think of.

Certain in his shared interest, you made your way across the bar and into the seat next to the handsome Duros, calling out to the barman for a top up.

“Like what you see, lil’ lady?” His words were patronising, but difficult to find unattractive when he spoke in a deep, accented drawl.

“Certainly.” You smiled coyly, drifting your eyes up and down him for effect.

“Ain’t so bad yourself.” Not particularly flattering, but his tone appeared sincere, and it was clearly the most you were going to get out of a man like him.

“What brings you here?” You asked, though you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to his answer. You were focused on the toothpick between his lips, almost certain he was deliberately calling your attention to them. He returned the question, and asked your name and you did too - you’d managed to catch that answer.

Cad Bane. It certainly sounded like the name of an outlaw. Oddly familiar, too, but you knew you’d remember a man like him.

“Cad Bane.” You spoke his name for yourself, drawing out each and every syllable on your tongue. “I like it. It just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?”

“Let me hear it roll off yours some more, doll.” He held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, directing your face closer to his lips.

After what felt like hours of small talk, you finally kissed. He tasted like the alcohol he’d been drinking, and oddly bitter, but you didn’t protest as he deepened the kiss further. His lips and tongue felt oddly cool on your flushed skin.

Suddenly feeling the eyes of the other patrons on you both, you came to a silent agreement to leave the bar and go somewhere a little more private.

—-

Finally at the quarters you were staying in while you were on the planet, you resumed the kiss as you both stumbled into the bedroom and began undressing.

Bane’s tongue explored your mouth with a force you’d never felt before; it felt less like a passionate kiss, and more like Bane’s carnal desire for you. One hand gripped your waist tightly, holding you as close to him as possible, while the other groped around your body, grasping any flesh possible. You were almost certain he’d leave a mark.

Meanwhile, you held onto his neck and allowed your other hand to slowly trail along his body, feeling his cold, harsh flesh with a more delicate touch than Bane’s. It wasn’t that you weren’t as desperate for this as he was - you were just a little more restrained in showing it. Just as Bane’s hand found purchase on your breast, you ghosted his (rather long) member lightly with your hand. He let out the smallest of groans, and began to kiss down your neck. You relaxed a little more and moaned softly as he bit into your neck while playing with your breasts.

He continued to kiss down your body, lightly biting on your nipples and flicking them with his tongue, eliciting more, slightly louder moans from you. He removed what clothing you already hadn’t as he kissed all around your body, finally landing at your core. He ran a finger along your slit, spreading you open slightly and lingering on your clit.

“Bane…” you groaned, all restraint gone. Your eyes locked once more, and he appeared to debate whether or not to give into your desires. He evidently decided not to, as he rose and pushed you backwards onto the bed, quickly clambering on top of you. You suspected that he wished to hear you beg, or possibly to tempt you into another encounter, but you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of either.

“Hush, lil’ lady. Be patient.” He groaned, removing the remainder of his clothes and finally freeing his dick. You marvelled at his fully naked form above you, aching for him to finally enter you.

He pulled you a little forwards by your legs, and lined himself up with your entrance. Slowly, he eased himself inside, and you took a few breaths to adjust to his more than adequate size.

Surprisingly, he built up his pace slowly, pulling one of your legs up over his shoulder and holding it there, while using his other hand to rest on the mattress and look you directly in the eyes. His brazen look made you feel at ease, and so you pulled his face down into another intense kiss.

His thrusts became much quicker and deeper, and he forced his tongue further into your mouth, both moaning into each other. He leant down and began kissing and fondling your breasts again, groaning as his thrusts hit deeper inside of you.

“Cad… I am so close.” You managed to moan out, Cad looking up at you almost in surprise. You were unsure whether or not he was going to help you get there, but you thought you’d see if he’d try.

“Me too, darling.” He groaned, and to your surprise, he thrusted faster and harder as he moved a hand tentatively down to your clit. In contrast to his other actions so far, he was rather gentle with it, and traced light circles across it. Matched with his pace and intensity, it was more than enough to make you orgasm.

You came in unison, with Cad letting out a low groan of your name as he gripped your hips tightly, spilling his cum inside of you. You thirst your head back in pleasure, but kept your eyes on Bane, watching his tough demeanour relax for a few seconds as he panted and groaned.

Cad pulled out, and laid down to catch his breath. Somehow you knew he wasn’t going to be spending the night, but you took the time to eye his form once more and entertain thoughts of another round.

He was a slightly selfish lover but you couldn’t tell if that was part of his whole act, or if it was some type of game you were unknowingly participating in. Despite this, you couldn’t deny the pleasurable feeling of bliss in your body as you lay naked beside him, both taking time to breathe. You had brief thoughts of other encounters in which you could eventually tame Bane and he’d focus entirely on your pleasure alone, but pushed them out. Although it wasn’t quite emotional attachment in the sense of the Jedi rules, you’d found only one encounter per individual to be best for avoiding the risky path of attachment.

Although, for Cad Bane, you were rather tempted to take that risk.

#cad bane #cad bane x you #cad bane x reader #fanfic #star wars #the clone wars