#childe HELD the REVOLUTION out of him

[ccaptain]

   can’t believe nobody thought about just holding him. now he’s a pacified happy babe being carried in snowland by sweetie.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Hello Poly! The short stories you're putting out are absolutely making me feral. Thank you for all the anons and their creative minds and thank you for writing and expanding on it beautifully. You inspire me to write my own 😭😭 I've been thinking of an older reader Empress Consort and a much younger Commander Gojo and him continuously getting all the wrong conclusions and falling hard despite the Empress only using him for her own pleasure (he knows this but he can't stop his feelings anyway). Im gonna stop before I get carried away

You cant just leave me with this 10/10 take and leave gET BACK HERE-

you are the brains of the operation, not your idiot husband. He's the Emperor only in name; all the advisors and officials know who's pulling the true strings. While he's off in brothels, you maintain and ensure the kingdom prospers. He may have been born into royalty, but you fought to rule. You don't mind his sleazy behavior. His preoccupations leave the kingdom running smoothly, and its not like you've ever missed his touches. 

Satoru is a stupid child when he catches your eye. Apart from his clan name and excellent swordsmanship, he has nothing going for him. He has no tact, often talks his head off, and is just 20 years old. Everyone tells you he's barely fit enough for a squire's post, but you don't listen to them. You've been needing to get rid of the current commander: A drunk that's only there due to nepotism. You choose Satoru because he looks easy to control. He's a child, eager to please, despite his brash nature. Smart, but his lack of aspirations leaves him open. You know with enough gold and women, you can tame him. He reminds you of a dog: treat-motivated, all bark; no bite, loyal. He's barely a dog, more like a yipping puppy.

For Satoru, it starts off as innocent admiration. You're strong. You keep your head held high. But you're also kind and generous. You're more than a decade older than him but he's never found someone so beautiful before. 

The emperor doesn't deserve you. 

It devolves into there. You're clearly trapped in your marriage. A beautiful, lonely, empress, locked in an ivory tower, silently begging for help. It doesn't help that you're practically teasing him with every interaction. You laugh at his jokes. Brief touches on his shoulder. Once you reached up to pluck a fallen flower out of his hair. You're in love with him, but you can't do anything about it because of your current marriage and your status. 

Only he can save you. 

Soon, Satoru realizes that once he puts his mind to it, he can do anything. It takes less than a decade for tensions to rise between the crown and the people. The secret of what the king's been doing is out. Using the people's money for whores while children are starving. The revolution bloomed underneath Satoru's fingertips. 

He takes the throne with little difficulty. It helps that the Gojo clan also had a claim to the throne, which only furthered his rule. The day he is crowned, your miserable husband is stripped and hung. 

You're technically a traitor to the throne, but Satoru would rather die than let you see the inside of a dungeon, much less the gallows. You're kept high up in an ivory tower, locked away for only his eyes to see. 

You're a pampered prisoner, but still a prisoner. You aren't allowed to leave, you can't do anything but rot in your silk bedsheets. Such obstruction of freedom is enough to drive anyone to extremes. You're strong, but Satoru is stronger. A month and a half after your husband's death, you finally agree to marry him. 

Even the most loyal dogs bite if their owners starve them enough. 

[starburstdragon]

Actually even though it’s been a few years since I last read the books I want to elaborate on Lady Alys Vorpatril, Greatest Of All Time, from the Vorkosigan Saga.

Her earliest chronological appearance has her guiding the protagonist of the book in question (Cordelia Vorkosigan, formerly Cordelia Naismith) through the imperial high society that marriage has suddenly thrust her into. Alys isn’t a physical badass like Cordelia is, but she knows her terrain (the social sphere) and she plays it very well. Both womens’ husbands and unborn sons are targeted by a coup (not a people’s revolution, just some other noble guy who thinks he should be in charge instead) due to their relatively close relations to the imperial family (the husbands are cousins through a dead princess) and Cordelia needs to rescue Alys and help her through the birth before getting her out of hostile territory (during all this, Alys is widowed).

Alys then becomes one of the most influential people in the entire empire. She and the Vorkosigans help raise the child who was the only survivor of the imperial family while he grows up and learns to be a very competent emperor. Shes in charge of hosting events and all that entails for the imperial household because (again) there was only one survivor of the imperial family. She is friends with like Every Politician’s Wife. Her son is 4th in line to the throne and has such himbo energy that people keep trying to get him unwittingly involved in treason, but Alys didn’t raise a fool, or if she did she at least managed a politically conscious one, so it never works for any of those people. When the empire’s spymaster of like 30 years retires she ends up marrying him, and they’re compatible because they’ve spent that whole time doing the exact same shit with different people. She is instrumental in codifying trans rights.

Literally the top quote on her wiki page is “Richars Vorrutyer sat right there and informed me that Lady Alys held no vote in Council. The fact that she has spent more years in the Vorbarr Sultana political scene than all of us here put together seemed to escape him.” She’s the best ever.

[kleftiko]

❦ BEFORE YOUR EYES

cw: this is fluff, canon typical violence alluded to, fem!reader, they have a child in the end

it was 845, just before the first wall fell. you were 16 and scrambling outside upon hearing the noise in trost. the scout regiment were off on another expedition and you wanted to catch a glimpse.

as soon as your gaze found him, you smiled. his bored eyes only faced forward, ignoring the mumbling and grumbling of bystanders as he rode his horse. he never showed an emotion other than annoyance or indifference, and for some reason you were swooned by it.

as he passed, you swore you saw your life with him flash before your eyes—the tears, the laughs, the love.

just as he was about to lose your focus, you cupped your hands around your mouth.

“captain levi!” everyone looked at you, his apathetic glare locking onto you as you felt your heart skip a beat.

“marry me, please!” you shouted.

for a second, nothing moved. for a fraction of a moment, his eyes must have widened the tiniest bit in surprise, until attention moved to the person beside him cackling their heart out from your outburst. with that, captain levi flicked their head and turned his back to you as he continued along.

all of a sudden, it’s a few years later and your first day with the survey corps. commander hange was learning the names of the handful of rookies that joined and came up to you.

“and you are?” they asked.

you proudly salut and say, “y/n, commander! i’m the future mrs. ackerman!”

after a blink, they break out into hysterical laughter that takes you back a few years. they grip onto your shoulders for support but nonetheless take you to captain levi, introducing you to him as his future wife.

with a rapidly beating heart, you hope that you make a good impression, you’re now a 19-year-old adult, no longer that child he first saw. you were prepared to win him over now.

but captain levi doesn’t give you a second look. his gaze lifted from paperwork, no change in his expression, before it fell back to the desk and he gave you a monotone, “good luck, cadet.”

you were 22 when you first saw the ocean. shoes off, the salty water dehydrated your toes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move from the foreign feeling. the younger ones splashed around, picking up weird looking things with awe. you felt a tear roll down your cheek as you stared at the horizon, the idea that there was a whole world out there that you had no idea about too much to comprehend.

you don’t know what it was that made you look, but you turned your head to your captain.

he hadn’t changed from the man you saw on that horse years ago. he was still levi. and he was staring back at you, same look you had always given him across his features.

at 25, you don’t know how he’s done it. all the fighting and the loss he’s suffered, year after year. it’s no wonder he doesn’t sleep at night. you’re around the age he was when you first asked him to marry you, when you looked up to him as a hero. now, he laid beside you in bed, sheets between your legs as he held your fingers and brought your hand up to his lips for a soft kiss in hope of coaxing you to sleep.

the next day, you would go to marley, chasing eren and his revolution.

your head was on the pillow as you looked up at levi who sat reading the paper.

his eyes were tired, but he was a good soldier. this was what he did, and the thought of what happens when this is all over crossed your mind.

“marry me.” you whispered.

he looked down at you with the same face he had the day at the sea.

holding eye contact, he lifts your hand once more and places a kiss on it.

“of course.” his voice was deep.

now you wash dishes. a soft hum coming from your lips as you listen to your husband and daughter at the kitchen table.

his scarred face never scared her, and he always answered all of her non-judgmental questions.

you sneak a peek. she’s sitting in his lap, her hands playing his his own larger one, not concerned with the fact that he was missing a few fingers.

“what happened, daddy?” she asks, holding her arm beside her dad’s, probably wondering why she had more fingers than him.

your five-year-old had never known war and, hopefully, would never have to. the idea that one day she would hear of the horrors her parents went through made you tear up.

“he didn’t go to sleep when he was supposed to, so a monster ate his fingers.” you tease and your daughter gasps.

levi grunts. “don’t tell her shit like that.”

you raise your eyebrow at him. “don’t swear in front of our daughter.”

he smiles. he always does when he hears ‘our daughter’ or ‘our home’. he now has soft crows feet around his eyes, and his dark hair has a couple sprinkles of grey here and there, but he’s still your levi.

you would ask him to marry you all over again.

[charg3rs0ck3t]

Faux promises and secret solaces.

Killian jones x reader

Warnings: it’s once upon a time, that’s the only warning you’ll need.

This is not proofread. There will probably be mistakes and I will fix them!

———————————————————————

You met him in the enchanted forest.

You fell for him in Neverland.

You lost him in Storybrooke.

You found him in your heart.

———————————————————————

The first time you met Hook, you could tell he was trouble.

He did him self no favours in trying to not be suspicious, but the others needed him so you held your tongue. Although, this was despite how much you truly wanted to rip out his tongue and shove it somewhere the sun doesn’t shine.

The way he’d take glances at you and smirk if you were walking close by, would make backhanded compliments, flirt to get his way, pick winning sides, he was a pirate. He was a pirate and you hated him. You hated his kind.

He was exactly the sort of man Regina would have used in her pursuit of ‘revenge’, the exact sort of man that killed your father.

But he wasn’t, no matter how many times he would breathily chuckle at some comment or some face you had made, you had to hold yourself back. You had to stop yourself from killing the man who smoothly laughed even in the face of his own demise. You had to stop from wanting to punch him in the throat and strip him of that feathery and deep chortle that took away all of your fears, that freed you of your panic, and provided you a euphoria that you had personally forbidden.

He was bad for you, bad for this team, bad for this mission.

He was a bad guy.

He was a villain,

and villains don’t get happy endings.

Leaving him behind was something you and Emma had talked about, you knew she also held distrust of him. Luckily, she had already planned on abandoning him.

The bean stalk was a stroke of luck, Anton was a stroke of luck.

Sure, you felt a slight sense of remorse as you had distracted him. But, as soon as Emma has attached that shackle, you let out a breath that you didn’t even know was there. Something felt good about going back to your life of solace, your newfound life of grief. He was too wild, too unpredictable, it scared you more than anyone would ever know.

You had fully expected not to see him again.

But fate seemed to have a sense of humour.

Such a fickle thing.

———————————————————————

Going back to Storybrooke, nothing was the same.

Your life had changed.

You didn’t know if it was for the better.

But your life had changed, your old life was gone. You had to adapt. No more was it straight lines and schedules, none of the life that Regina had provided was there, instead it was constant fights and unpredictability.

You had to become as unpredictable as the dangers you faced. You turned to the memories of the man in the enchanted forest, his power hidden behind his nonchalance and his loyalty a question left unanswered.

However much you hated the man, you needed to channel some part of him to adapt, to evolve and to overcome. The curse was broken, but danger seemed ever present. The towns memories were returned, but so were their worries, their fears, their anger. Instability was the first sign of anarchy and chaos, one weakness could enact a revolution among the people. So you did as you would, a child of a royal knight, ever loyal to Snow and Prince Charming, one of whom had raised you as a child throughout the curse.

All you had was your friends and your loyalty, but you’d soon learn that wasn’t enough.

———————————————————————

Yet the man returned, Hook. Still as untrustworthy as ever and yet, he seemed less irritating when in Storybrooke, except maybe for his dangerous tendencies and antisocial behaviour.

Henry being taken by pan was devastating, but this was the unpredictability you had planned for. So you knew what to do.

———————————————————————

The ride to Neverland on the Jolly Rodger was less than pleasant. It was full of cryptic warnings and misdirected anger. Even Emma was struggling.

The mermaid that was soon brought above deck definitely didn’t help your nerves, nor did the storm that soon followed and berated the ship.

You could catch no one’s attention, you had figured that the warnings may have held some truth. This land was built on belief. There were definitely some strong negative beliefs between them all. The blame fest began, fighting ensued and you couldn’t take it. So as you searched through the rain, you caught sight of land and jumped overboard. Your thoughts were that if no one would listen, you’d at least catch someone’s attendance or make your own way to land without them.

What you didn’t account for was a bit of broken barrel being launched after you and slamming into the back of your head once you had reached the ice cold water.

Losing your breath and all reasonable thinking, you gaped your mouth like a fish, breathing in and spluttering out water to no avail.

You could feel it filling your lungs and your eyes began to close, focused on the blurry light of the moon above you, till it was covered by the shadow of someone diving in for you. But by then you were already too tired.

———————————————————————

Opening your eyes and coughing out liquid from your burning lungs seemed to have never felt so good. That was until you saw it was a particular irritating man that hovered over your jolting form, hand on your shoulder as he helped you sit up.

The storm has calmed now, and you smiled. Everyone’s focus was on you, eyes wide at the madness that had ensued.

“Hey! Don’t look at me like that! See! I got the storm to stop.” You proclaimed in a broken voice, interrupted slightly by a coughing fit and a small ‘thank you’ as you were passed a blanket.

The way that David and Snow stared at you was obvious you’d get some form of scolding later, but you hadn’t cared too much for it. When the curse was first broken, they had to double check you weren’t in some way related to Jefferson with how you often acted on impulse, in supposed madness. So rest assured you were used to scolding.

Getting to the island was your priority, keeping the team together and getting Henry was your number one goal.

But you could help but notice the glances the pirate would send you when he thought you weren’t looking.

———————————————————————

Neverland was a place of pure belief. A place of magic and miracles.

———————————————————————

It seemed like as if by some miracle, you started to believe in the sincerity and goodness of a certain pirate.

Hook was caring, he was careful and serious. He was always suited to the situation, always ready. But he could also lighten the mood.

It seemed all the time that wasn’t spent avidly searching for Henry, fighting Pan or planning, he always wanted to make you laugh.

The first time you had laughed at one of his jokes, it would have been some stupid joke about his hand.

“Can you give me a hand?” David had yelled over.

“Cmon really? Last time I lent one out I didn’t even get it back!” He had hollered back in response, turning to smirk at David’s glare.

Only.. only he spun right back around when he heard a small chuckle.

Seeing you, with your back turned to him and hand coving your mouth, was all he needed to decide that you were right for him. He walked over to David with a huge smile on his face and kept stealing glances at you the entire time.

———————————————————————

Getting Henry, finding Neal alive, dealing with Rumpelstilsken. Everything felt insane.

It was all too much, you had lost Henry again to Pan, he was too powerful and you all seemed powerless.

You pulled your legs to your chest and buried your head in your knees. Making yourself small was all you could do when the world felt so big around you that it felt like it would swallow you up and you’d be nothing but a snack to a bigger cause.

Feeling a soft hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality, the reality that you had been sat sobbing into your arms after you had ran off from the main camp.

At first you were afraid, was this hand malicious, was it Pan?

But after hearing a feathery throat clearing, you raised your head to meet eyes with Killian.

“Killian? What’s up? I thought you’d be with David or Emma.” You muttered out in response to his presence.

“Y’know, I’m not sure Miss swan or her doting ‘same-age parents are too fond of me. Plus we both know that I can’t exactly tell one hand jokes to Regina lest I want to lose that and another appendage id much like to keep..” he takes a breath whilst you smile at his sarcasm. “Plus, You’re the only one who calls me my name, I’m getting sick of ‘Hey you’ ‘Oi’ ‘pirate’ or if they’re really creative, I get to hear ‘asshole’, would that be pleasant for you m’lady?” You laugh and shake your head in response.

“No, I suppose not kind sir~.” You tease him, just wanting to stay in the moment, it felt light and airy, for the first time in days you felt free. “Although I’m honoured you’d grace me with your presence, I sure hope it’s not because I’m the only one who doesn’t currently want to stab you?”

He turns to look at you, “Of course not, for a royal knight though, surely you should be the one to want to stab me most of all. Maybe it’d be better that way.” He moves in, close to your face, as you are enamoured with gazing into his eyes.

“I’m sure they can handle themselves, Four powerful people after you if you do anything wrong, I think I should be okay to try and resign from stabbing at the moment. Plus, if anything were to happen I’m sure I could accept the consequences.” He grabs your chin and smiles.

“You? Face the consequences? Perhaps you just are afraid to accept you might actually have fallen for me~” He pulls you into a short and passionate kiss. Grinning against your lips as he rests his forehead against your own.

“Not a chance pirate!” You tease as you stand up and begin to walk away, sporting a mischievous grin of your own.

But before you could walk further he grabbed your wrist and was suddenly stood right in front of you.

“Mark my words sweetheart, I’ll have your heart, we’ll take it as slow as you need but I will have it, as you’ve enslaved mine.” And as you turned your head away to think on what he had said, he had already walked off deeper into the forest.

Okay, maybe you did like him.

———————————————————————

Your return to Storybrooke was perfect, you could live the life you had whispered plans of every night since that moment in Neverland.

It was meant to be your fairytale ending.

Meant to be.

———————————————————————

Falling asleep every night, Hook would sit there hands running through your hair as you laid your head in his lap.

Every night he would repeat one sentence

“I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

Except one night, when he wasn’t.

You woke up one night. Checking the clock next to you it was some time around 1 in the morning.

You weren’t sure what had woken you up until you heard sounds of struggling and choking. It was Killian! He sounded in pain.

You rushed down to see Pans shadow ripping Killian’s as he struggled against the figure.

Catching a glimpse of you, the shadow tore the other from your lovers frame and stole them both. Dragging them from the home as you chased and screamed for help, for Killian, for anyone.

You pinched yourself, you screamed until your throat went raw and your mouth ran dry, you yelled and sobbed until you had half of the town surrounding you, trying to figure out what had happened.

In your worn voice you could get out two sentences.

“Pans back.” “Killian’s gone.”

That was all you could force out before you fell to the floor, soon encased in a warm pair of arms trying to lift you back into the house. The house that you had just lost everything in. The house that was meant to have been your home.

———————————————————————

It had been months since the incident, months of failed attempts and grieving.

But you had had enough of being sad.

Nothing was going to save you, no one was going to save you, so you were going to save yourself.

One day you got up, took a shower, brushed your teeth and hair, and went into work.

Life had to continue as normal, you had to ignore the concerned glances and you had to hope the eye bags would go away on their own.

So life went on, it went on without him. Although it hurt, it needed to, the world couldn’t stop for another 28 years, everyone couldn’t just forget again.

However much you wished they could.

———————————————————————

Emma and David had been trying to interrogate the shadow for months now. They had decided to keep Regina’s torture methods away and just had to hope that a non physical being had some form of conscience.

In those months they had nothing.

Nothing until the shadow gave off a mirage, a realm of bodies and their shadows caring for them.

And in the middle of it all was him.

The man you cared about most.

Killian.

———————————————————————

Waking up to a breathy humming and the feeling of hands in your hair wasn’t unusual.

In your grief, you had accidentally began to see Killian. You’d see him every morning, you’d see him at dinner, you’d even make him an extra plate.

You knew he wasn’t real.

But you needed to cope somehow.

There was a hole in your heart and you couldn’t just fill it with a child like Regina could.

This morning felt real though, it felt too real. But it also felt too good to be true.

You opened your eyes to see him where he usually sat, next to you, hands in your hair playing with the strands.

“Why must you torture me every morning.” You muttered. “He’s gone and he’s never coming back.. I’m never gonna wake up to him ever again so just! Just go away!”

You yelled.

You’ve been yelling at your hallucination of him a lot lately.

Usually he’d disappear, actually, every single time he’d disappear. But you turned around from where you were now sat up and he was still there.

He stared at you, tears in his eyes, reaching out for your cheek. He needed to touch you again.

“Killian..?” You whimpered out.

“I told you I’d be here when you woke up” he said, tears streaming down his face as he tackled you and held you in his arms.

You both sobbed. You cried like you hadn’t seen each-other in years. You held each-other like the other would slip out of grasp and disappear again.

You were here.

He was here.

You had him back, you had your home and he had your heart.

And in his heart he knew he’d never let you go ever again.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Walk of Shame - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Silco reacquaints himself with his ghosts...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

He walked. And, one by one, the old ghosts stirred to walk with him.

Vander. The strongest of the old guard, and the first to fall. He was a monolith of shadow. He spoke not one word. But his presence was a palpable weight, as though his specter had draped itself, heavy and ungainly, over Silco's shoulders. It was a weight he'd grown accustomed to, long ago. The weight of a brotherhood gone awry. Blood spilled and bonds broken. The ambitions of two hotheaded boys, once aligned. The heartbreak of two men, irreparably sundered.

Silco bore the weight. He was sixteen again, drunk and in love, with a gash from a brawl across his temple and the scent of tobacco impregnating the weave of his shirt and Vander's arm slung around his shoulders. The two of them, laughing and singing, as they stumbled through the Lanes, the fog splitting to unfold the path ahead, a treacherous one, because in the road to revolution, the only sure thing is the bottom of the grave.

(Blut.)

(Here's to the dreams and dead-ends that made us.)

(And the bodies we buried along the way.)

The memory of Vander's blood was still warm on his hand. Like a coin passed from palm to palm. A treasure, held close, and never surrendered.

Silco walked on, and Vander's arm fell away.

The next shadow to materialize was a willowy silhouette. His breath snagged. For the span of a heartbeat, the landscape was bathed in a blue glow. The lanterns from the Nymph, where he'd first glimpsed Nandi float inside with the long-legged sway of a riverbird descending to the Pilt's shore. And there she was, his riverbird, a sultry apparition of silken black hair and chiming bangles and a secret twinkle of mischief in her kohl-ringed eyes.

She beckoned, a coy finger-curl, and he followed. The years had not touched her. But he did. He was twenty-five again, and a stranger to the ways of love. He'd learn them, soon enough. How to worship a woman's body. How to savor, and linger, and make the leavetaking worth the farewell. He was not a man for spiritualism. But, after she'd slipped from his bed and from his life, he'd wondered, fleetingly, if that soft dark sensuality she'd awakened in him in the cozy decadence of her bedchamber was what mystics meant when they spoke of a soul.

(Nan, my riverbird.)

(I never told you I loved you.)

(If I say it now, will you hear?)

He walked on, and Nandi's specter, like her bangles, fell silent.

Another silhouette. He didn't recognize the child who rose up from the shadows. A slender slip of a girl, with a tumble of dark curls, and a mouth full of laughter, and eyes like the sea, blue and changeable. In his bones, Silco knew she belonged to him. He was twenty-nine, a father for a single day, and a widower forever, his newborn stolen before she'd even known the cradle in his arms, and in her loss left him dumbstruck that a life so tiny could blast a world apart.

She'd never know him. He'd never know her. But he carried her in his black heart all the same.

(My little girl, my lost one.)

(Forgive me.)

(Forgive me for the sin of never mourning you.)

He walked on. The shadow-child, silent, danced off into the dark.

One by one, they came. The shades of a life unlived. Silco bore the weight of each. Not out of penance. But to remember. To carry, forward, the imprint of all these people, and paths, and possibilities, that'd shaped him into the man, and that man into the monster. They were Silco's memories, and Silco's mistakes.

And now, at the end, Silco was ready to make them right.

At last, his shadow came.

At his side, a young man. Slender as an eel, his shoulders sinewy with muscle, tapering into a supple waist and narrow hips. His boots made no sound as he prowled, shoulder-to-shoulder, beside the man who'd caged him, crushed him, and, finally, cut him to pieces. A pair of black-fringed blue eyes, sharp with mockery, flicked his way.

They shared the same stride. The same smile. But not the same scars.

(I never hated you, boy.)

(Only the weakness bred into your blood.)

(That's why I made you strong. I know you never forgave me. But that's fine.)

(Because you never forgot, either.)

The young man tossed his head back, and a curl of black hair cut slantwise across his smile.

"You still don't understand shit, old man."

"True," Silco said to himself. "But I'm learning."

He walked on. The shadow on the path was his alone.

[esotericas-sims]

Chapter Four

Some weeks later, I awoke in the early hours of the morning to a faint rustling of fabric, and the murmur of voices in the hall. My father's I knew by heart, and Ioanna's I was beginning to recognize the feel of. Murmurs of "stay with your sister" and "Rome" and "revolution" were all I caught through the walls of the nursery.

I slipped out of bed, and waited at the door for my father's footsteps to recede - hurried, harried - before entering the hall. I tailed him silently, watching always for someone who might spot a child out and about, and make noise in protest. There was nobody.

Once my father made it through the doors, he began to run. He was dressed in commoner's clothes, simple and brown. A carriage was waiting for him.

Once he was inside, he slammed a fist against the wall, and shouted, "Go!" At the driver. "Go now!"

By a trick of marvelous fortune, the driver was a dear friend of mine. He said nothing when he saw me climb carefully onto the back of the carriage, just whipped the horses and set off. The wind whipped at my hair as we rode, and the early-morning chill drove me to huddle against the wood, clutching onto a rail to prevent myself from falling off.

We came, after nearly a full twenty-four hours of ceaseless travel, to a house. I gathered we were no longer in France. Different flags flew here, and the air was warmer, even at night. Italy, then? Rome, as Ioanna had spoken of?

The house was nothing against Versailles, of course, but it was a beautiful thing, covered in statues and frescoes and green growing things. I followed my father up to the gates. The driver had been a great help - throughout the journey, my father had yet to notice my presence. Or so I thought.

"Manon," He said, scowling as I approached. "What in the name of God do you think you're doing here?"

"I'm coming with you," I declared, head held high. "I want to know what you're doing."

"You shouldn't have left! You're not supposed to be anywhere outside of Versailles right now, Manon. It's dangerous out here, especially for people like us."

"What do you mean, people like us?" I asked, arms crossed over my chest. I had yet to understand the honest truth of the revolution brewing around us, or to understand that we were the enemies of the revolutionaries, not their friends. I saw only a just cause, and wanted to align myself with it. Justice was paramount in my mind, back then.

"Nobility, Manon. We are not common people, which means that the common people despise us. Your mother..." He loved to place the blame on her. It was a clumsy attempt to turn us against her, though completely ineffective. All my sisters mourned the divorce, and longed for her company. My father cleared his throat, and glanced up at the house. A man stood there, fully dressed despite the late hour, and was staring down at the both of us.

"I can not have this conversation now. Go back to the carriage, wait with the driver," He said, meeting eyes with the man now standing on the house's balcony. "I must go. We will discuss your punishment when we get home, Manon."

He set off without another word, not even checking to see if I'd made it back into the carriage. I watched the two of them disappear into the bright warmth of the house, and was alone.

Barred, by iron and by my father's word, from pursuing my curiosity. I wanted desperately to know what they were meeting about, why my father had come all this way on foot. Why not just send a courier with a letter?

I didn't know, and the not-knowing burrowed at me. Being aware of your own ignorance but being unable to solve it is one of the greatest pains a person can feel.

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[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Mature Rated Fics Masterlist (37)

Part 1-Part 25 / Part 26 / Part 27 / Part 28 / Part 29 / Part 30 / Part 31 / Part 32 / Part 33 / Part 34 / Part 35 / Part 36 

Created: March 14th, 2024

Last Checked:------

Panem's Most Eligible-c_r_roberts (ao3)  Summary: For up-and-coming chef Peeta Mellark, agreeing to be the Bachelor on a popular reality dating TV show is just the means to an end in guaranteed restaurant success. But when Katniss Everdeen, a girl from Peeta's home district with an agenda of her own, ends up one of the contestants vying for his love, things get complicated. AU. An Everlark love story inspired by "The Bachelor." Panem Cruises-Alliswell (ao3)  Summary: Peeta has been with Panem Cruises for a very long time, enjoying his bachelorhood to the max, but when a fellow crew woman bumps into him in a compromising situation, everything changes. There’s this one problem, he can’t make a good impression on this girl no matter how hard he tries. Could all these mishaps ever end well? Party Games-Angylinni (ao3)  Summary: Peeta and Katniss are getting married but before that happens, their friends want to take them out on the town for a night of hi-jinks and fun. Peeta's Blessing-cd291104 (ff.net)  Summary: A Blessing In Disguise in Peeta's POV. AU/OCC. K/P have been best friends for years. They have difficulty with relationships. One night after a break up and with the help of tequila they find themselves crossing a line. The next morning they agree to pretend it never happened however that becomes impossible once Katniss confesses she's pregnant. Where does that leave them? Phoenix Rising-burkygirl (ao3)  Summary: Katniss and Peeta are growing back together in District 12 when they realize that even though the Hunger Games and the war are over, Panem's fragile peace still requires their protection. Pity the Child-Authoresskika (ao3)  Summary: Primrose Everdeen was alive for 4,930 days. She spent parts of 5 of those days hating her sister, Katniss. Powder Keg-appleblossomgirl, burkygirl, JavisTG, merciki, NotAnIslander, Peetabreadgirl, Xerxia (ao3)  Summary: Katniss accepts a job as a ski instructor at Mount Mockingjay alongside her childhood-crush-turned-enemy, Peeta Mellark. Will the two of them be able to put their animosities aside or will tensions mount until Katniss is forced to give up the best paying job she's ever had? An Everlark Your Own Adventure Story. Promise I'm Worthy-HGfanonezillion (ao3)  Summary: Ten years after the uprising that started after the 75th Annual Hunger Games, a ceremony is being held in memory of all those that lost their lives. Annie and her son make the journey reluctantly. There they meet with Gale and a friendship starts. As Gale sets Annie's world askew and forms an attachment with her son, a new feeling is sparked between the adults. Puzzle Pieces-authoresskika (ao3)  Summary: A collection of drabbles, smutty one-shots, and the occasional outtake from my time on Tumblr. Refuge-DustWriter (ff.net)  Summary: AU: District Twelve struggles to recover from the revolution that tore the country apart years ago, and the eldest Everdeen daughter sacrifices her freedom to help her starving family. But even in the darkest places and times, refuge can be found.

[pennamesmith]

Raising Despara

If you enjoyed Masters of the Universe: Revolution and wanted Keith David’s Hordak to have an Entrapta, this story’s for you. Big spoilers for MOTU: Revelation and Revolution!

—

Hordak ran.

He held the tiny bundle tightly in his huge arms, careful to support it properly even as he raced through the night. Sacrificing Skeletor had bought him only moments, if that. He would have to be swift. Already he could hear the pounding footsteps of the palace guards behind him.

Laser bolts ripped across the moonlit sky. Hordak tore through a dark canopy of trees, ignoring the branches that clawed at his face. He was almost at the extraction point. He could see the portal, blazing brightly ahead of him. The shouting at his heels grew louder.

“Pitiful, pedestrian protectors,” Hordak growled, chancing a look over his shoulder. “You cannot keep me from claiming my quarry.”

Clutching the little body to his chest, he took a massive leap and sailed through the crackling rift in space. The portal closed behind him an instant later, sealing out the guards’ angry cries.

In the new silence, another cry filled the air. A small face poked out of the swaddling blankets in Hordak’s hands, and after it, two tiny fists.

“Silence, small one. Cease these sounds. You are safe,” Hordak admonished, rising slowly to his knees.

“Rock her a little. It’ll calm her down,” the engineer operating the portal generator said. “I think that’s what the book I read said to do, anyway.”

Hesitantly, Hordak swung the infant gently from side to side. The movement was almost comical with his hulking frame, but sure enough, the baby girl quieted. A giggle escaped her.

The room they were in was dark, with metal walls. Banks of computer terminals, buzzing machinery, and steaming pipes filled the space from floor to ceiling. Crimson bat emblems burned on every screen that wasn’t showing a data readout.

The engineer busied herself with a wide bank of screens and blinking lights. She was small, but wore her massive work clothes like armor. Her long hair moved like the twisting arms of an octopus, cybernetic implants twinkling purple at the base of her skull.

The hair continued pushing buttons and pulling levers as she approached Hordak to look at the baby he held.

“Did you get the other one?”

“No. Skeletor slipped, as I suspected he would. A manageable mistake. Let him battle his brother for the boy’s fate.” He looked down at the baby girl, who was already drifting back to sleep. “A single scion of Grayskull is more than sufficient to realize my revolution.”

“I’ve got the care pod ready.” The engineer slid a panel aside, revealing a small crib bed nestled in the center of more machinery. Hordak placed her inside, and the two stood there for a moment, simply looking at her.

“Does she have a name?” the engineer asked.

“Whatever name she had on Eternia, she will need a new one now,” Hordak answered. “It presents a potent puzzle. How shall I describe this destined daughter of destruction? Her moniker must match her fearsome fate.”

“What about Despara?” the engineer suggested. “That was my great aunt’s name.”

Hordak considered it, then nodded. “A noble nomination. It suits one such as she.” He leaned down, speaking softly so as not to wake the sleeping child.

“Welcome to your new home in the Horde, dear Despara.”

—

Despara ran.

She’d grown fast in seven years, and soon enough even the generous range granted to her by her guardians was not enough. She could complete every training course with her eyes closed, knew every corner of her dark castle tower, could climb any wall. And so here she was, sprinting down the windowless halls, jumping across the smoky rooftops, and crawling through cramped ventilation shafts. She was big enough to want the universe, and small enough to slip through the cracks in the walls that kept her from it. It was a dangerous age.

She paused at a grate and looked down.

In the room below, a woman crouched over a cluttered desk, soldering computer parts. Her hair stretched out in every direction, reaching for tools or distractedly completing their own tasks. The movement was continuous, like a flowing current. It was hypnotic.

Suddenly, one of the bolts in the grate gave way. Despara yelped as she fell.

The woman below snapped to attention. Despara fell for less than a second before she was caught in a cushion of wrapped hair. She threw her arms around the woman’s neck and laughed.

“Hi Entrapta! I knew you’d catch me,” Despara giggled.

Entrapta raised her goggles and lowered her eyelids. “You are not supposed to be here, little one.”

“I know, but I was bored, and Hordak’s meeting is taking forever,” Despara whined. “Can’t you show me some of the cool stuff you’re working on?”

Entrapta ruffled the girl’s short, blonde hair. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear. Here, you can help me make wire relays for the new death ray prototype.” She pushed a pile of parts across the workbench.

Despara began assembling the components with practiced speed. “Tell me again about the day you found me,” she said.

Entrapta’s reply was equally practiced. She’d told this story many times.

“Hordak was coming back from a mission. I had used my technology to open a portal to another world, and he was searching for a new home for the Horde.”

“But it was a bad place,” Despara piped up.

Entrapta nodded. “Very bad. Barbaric, in fact. The evil king and queen of that land were going to sacrifice a child to their false gods of magic.”

“That was me!” Despara bounced in her seat.

“That was you. But Hordak rescued you, even after his trusted apprentice betrayed him. He left that world, just to bring you somewhere better. And as soon as he was back, I closed the portal, snap, just like that!” Entrapta clapped her hands for emphasis.

“Snap!” Despara echoed, mimicking the motion. “What was that world called?”

“Nobody knows,” Entrapta answered, very quickly. “If we ever find it again, perhaps you will be old enough to help us liberate the poor people who live there.”

Despara was quiet for a moment. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

“Will you build me something?”

Entrapta examined the paper. It was a child’s work, but the intention was clear. She smirked at the helmet’s design; the familiar red eyes and teeth.

“I want to help Hordak,” Despara explained. “And if I wear something like that, if I looked like his real daughter, maybe he would let me.”

“You are his real daughter,” Entrapta insisted. “Even if you are not of his blood. And you will help him, someday, when you’re older.”

Despara’s blue eyes twinkled. “That wasn’t a no.”

Entrapta winked and pocketed the paper. “When you’re older,” she repeated.

And Despara thought about her future, making the universe better one world at a time.

It was going to be beautiful.

—

“It’s beautiful!” Despara gasped, staring at the majestic creature. “What is it?”

Hordak beamed as he handed her the reins. “On its homeworld, it is called a horse. A birthday present for you.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Despara hugged the towering Horde Commander with unabashed familiarity. “I love him! I’m going to name him Spirit. May I go out for a ride with him now? Please?”

“Of course, dear Despara. Just take a trooper with you, in case of trouble.”

He stood and watched as they raced off into the distance. Someone snickered below his sightline. Turning, he saw Entrapta emerging from whatever corner she’d been hiding in this time.

“You’re laying it on a bit thick, my lord,” the engineer said. “Everything all right at home?”

Hordak snorted. “You know me so well, scientist. I can have no secrets with you at my side. It happens that the new magic user I hired has been making many overtures to our adolescent ward. I cannot have the future leader of my armies seduced by such simple spells! I had hoped to regain her regard by giving her this gift.”

“Really? You’re feeling threatened by Shadow Weaver?”

“It is most miserable that I must make magic a part of my machinations, however minute. But I will not have my years of work wasted by that witch.”

“Yeah, and it’s got nothing to do with wanting to be the favorite parent over mom,” Entrapta needled with a grin.

Hordak remained impassive. “Nothing at all. And at any rate, if anyone has assumed the mantle of mother to Despara these many years, it is you, my most marvelous machinist.”

That caught Entrapta off guard. Her hair shivered, suddenly uncertain of what to do with itself. Unconsciously, she stepped closer to the towering man. She tried not to look at his face and only wound up staring at his chest instead.

“It’s been an honor to work with you, mighty one,” she managed. “I mean, you already trust me with your weapons, your robots, and your infrastructure. I should think that looking after your kid once in a while is a small ask compared to all that.”

He rested a mighty claw gently on her shoulder, and she cursed herself for flinching.

“I owe you a great debt, Entrapta. I do not forget fealty such as yours. In the new universe Horde Prime has promised us, I intend to install you at my right hand. You are the engine of this empire. Wherever I go, I want you with me.”

Entrapta smiled.

—

Entrapta frowned at the screen. She’d double- and triple-checked the data she was receiving, but the results stayed the same. She sighed. There was no getting around it. She had to tell Hordak.

Half-finished projects and disconnected parts filled the cluttered laboratory. She had to take several big steps over loose cables and chunks of mismatched machinery to get out of the grungy nest that had formed around her desk. She’d been working for, what was it, three days now without sleep? Hordak would have ordered her to rest if he knew, but his praise of her ingenuity always fueled her to keep going.

Most of the room was dominated by a robotic woman of titanic proportions, tubes and wires stretching away from her crowned face like braids. Entrapta patted it on the knee as she passed. The robot didn’t move, but it glowed softly with an eerie indigo light.

Propelled by her hair as much as her feet, Entrapta sped through the labyrinthine halls and tunnels that stretched across the complex. Everything was connected, like a massive anthill, and she had built half of it all anyway. It wasn’t long before a hissing grate swung out of a hidden panel, and she was standing in the vaulted throne room.

Hordak lounged in his chair, resting his head on one hand. He smiled when saw her, flashing his blood-red teeth.

“My most exceptional engineer,” he purred. “What sends you to my side? Have your eyes espied evidence of Eternia’s erosion?”

Entrapta took a deep breath. “You were right. Something happened to the magic — it’s seeping away from the planet like water down a drain. My drones picked up everything. As for the cause… all my reports say that the Champion of Grayskull is dead. And the Sword of Power has been destroyed.”

“Dead?” Hordak’s eyes brightened. “Then Grayskull stands unguarded. You have amazed me again, my accomplished ally. Make Motherboard ready and muster the machines. I would hold Eternia in your electronic embrace as early as possible.”

Entrapta hesitated. “There’s more.”

“More?”

“It would seem that the Champion… was also the son of King Randor.”

Hordak’s face fell. “The king’s son?”

“It’s an advantage.” Entrapta tried to focus on her data screens. “Not only has magic left the planet, they’ve been thrown into political chaos. It’s the perfect time to…”

But Hordak wasn’t listening. He mashed his wide palms against his face, and when he looked up Entrapta was shocked to see the beginning of tears in his red eyes.

“What am I going to tell Despara?”

Entrapta affected a shrug. “Nothing would be easiest. She doesn’t even know Eternia’s name, much less that she still has family there.”

“Her family is in the Fright Zone,” Hordak snapped, perhaps more defensively than he’d meant to.

“Look, we knew this was a possibility. Both of the twins are descendants of Grayskull, it’s the whole reason we went after them!”

Hordak was staring into the distance. “I just didn’t think… He would have been so young. Despara is only a girl.”

Entrapta crossed her arms. “She’s twenty-one. And asks me every day when you’re going to let her go out on a real mission, just so you know. You can’t shield her from the universe forever.”

Hordak grit his teeth. “Perhaps not. But with Eternia eliminated, I can at last provide her with the peace I have promised. We move with caution. I say again: make Motherboard ready. Drones only, until we determine what is next to be done.”

Entrapta pulled her goggles down, and turned to leave.

“As you wish, Lord Hordak.”

—

“No! I won’t do it!” Despara shouted. “Do you really expect me to stay behind? After everything you’ve told me about Eternia?”

“Eternia is an evil environment,” Hordak said sternly. “Especially since it seems the Sorceress’ savage sword-swinger has survived. It’s not safe.”

“All the more reason for me to go!” Despara stomped her boot. She had buzzed hair and wore gray armor, with two swords at her back that ached to be drawn. She scowled at Hordak, and he held out a gauntleted hand to console her.

“If Skeletor’s sedition is successful, we will seize the planet without a single shot. After that I will send for you, to help me redeem the repugnant world I rescued you from. It is your destiny, Despara.”

Despara relented, but her frown remained. “You told me yourself that Skeletor can’t be trusted.”

“I don’t like this plan either,” Entrapta cut in. She was perched on the roof of Hordak’s shuttle, as it waited to deliver him to the great fleet massing in the skies. “There’s too many variables. I should go with you in the flagship, at least.”

“No!” Hordak roared. “I need you both to stay here. The Power of Grayskull is not to be trifled with. Entrapta can continue to control Motherboard from a distance. Despara, you must prepare for your future without distractions. I will send for you both when I have secured the planet…”

He glanced at Despara, then Entrapta, and then looked away from them both.

“…And when He-Man no longer poses a threat to us.”

Entrapta climbed down, her hair like spider legs, and joined Despara in frowning quietly. But she also didn’t try to stop him. Hordak looked at the two women with the closest thing to caring he imagined his cold heart could hold. A more sentimental family might have embraced in that moment.

“I will return soon to the heart of the Horde,” Hordak said, and turned to board the shuttle.

When the doors were up and they’d left the dock, Hordak sighed deeply. He drummed his fingers against his armrest and tapped his feet impatiently. It was alien to him, this feeling of fear. Certainly, he had felt fear before. The universe was large and full of things more terrible even than Hordak. He was not ashamed to admit he had feared for his life more than once in his many years.

What was strange was feeling afraid for someone else’s life. For two lives, in fact.

Hordak hunched in his chair and buried himself in thoughts of war, and stratagem, and conquest. He would be victorious. He had to be victorious.

He would let nothing stand in his way.

—

“Get out of my way!” Entrapta screamed, pushing past the Horde soldiers and robots as they rushed down the medical complex hallways. “Move, you useless trash!”

She burst through the door of the surgery bay. Despara was already there, standing helplessly by the emergency pod. She turned as Entrapta ran in, and there were tears streaming from her face.

“Is he alive? Can you…?” Despara broke into another sob and threw her arms around Entrapta.

Entrapta hugged the girl back, but her eyes stayed fixed on the pod beside them. Under its glass, Hordak lay still, a huge, vicious wound torn through his torso. Data points flashed on holographic screens and a million medical machines pumped and pinged.

Entrapta’s hair moved, twisting across the room in all directions. She seized scalpels, sutures, and a dozen other pieces of equipment. Moving out of Despara’s grasp, she bent to stare at Hordak’s injury. Her eyes burned. She opened the pod, noxious steam hissing, and went to work.

“I need a full-immersion tissue loom and a fresh nanite base kit,” she said, without looking around. For her, the rest of the universe was already fading out of existence. She moved like a machine.

Or a monster.

Six hours later, Entrapta slumped to an exhausted heap. Despara helped her to her chair.

“He’ll live,” Entrapta said, her voice distant and gravelly.

“I should have been there,” Despara said firmly. “We should have been there. Skeletor did this. I knew he couldn’t be trusted.” Her face bent into a cold fury. “I will destroy him. I swear, I will destroy them both! Skeletor, and this despicable He-Man!”

Entrapta put her hand on Despara’s and looked up at her. The fire in the engineer’s eyes had dimmed, but there was still a red-hot coal lurking there. She raised an eyebrow.

“Do you remember, Despara, many years ago, when you asked me to build you something? So that you could help Hordak, as his daughter.”

Despara returned her gaze, and the fire.

“I remember.”

—

The lab was even messier than usual, after Entrapta’s fit of rage when Motherboard went offline. And her next one, when the fleet had returned blaring emergency klaxons. But she still knew where everything was, and in seconds she had what she was looking for.

She’d built it years ago. She was saving it, as a present.

Despara took the helmet from Entrapta’s outstretched hands. She looked at the familiar features: the fanged face, the dark red eyes, the spiked crest. Reverently, she placed it over her head. The world went crimson, and she felt as if she were finally complete. She had the power.

Despara rose.

[danjaley]

Das Leben der Hochgräfin Gritta von Rattenzuhausbeiuns

My favourite book in elementary school (and I still like it today)

In my last book post I wrote that I first heard of Anne of Green Gables when the girl who bullied me in elementary school presented it as her favourite book. So I thought I might show you the book I held my presentation about.

Das Leben der Hochgräfin Gritta von Rattenzuhausbeiuns (The Life of Gritta, High Countess of Ratsareathomewithus) is a fairy-tale-novel by Gisela von Arnim. It was written in the 1840s but only rediscovered and published in the 20th century. It was adapted as a screenplay and simplified children's book by GDR author Christa Kożik. This was the version I read aged eight and loved to pieces. I also saw the film once, but I didn't love it as much as the book. It has some very good songs, I remember.

The story is about Gritta, a girl countess who lives with her father, an inventor, at their run-down castle some time in the 18th century. She loves to read and she's friends with the Queen of the rats which populate the castle in abundance. One day a runaway spoiled noblewoman takes refuge with them and Gritta's father falls head over heels in love with her. They marry and Gritta is sent to a horrid convent school. There she discovers a plot: Young girls are sent to the convent. Once they're there, the nuns find ways to grab their inheritance and keep the girls locked away. This was the fate her stepmother ran away from. Together with ten of her friends Gritta escapes from the convent.

Here the two versions take slightly different paths. In the modern one, the girls live at an abandoned farm for one summer until they return to their homes. Gritta proceeds to the capital city, where she finds her family again. They've lost their remaining money and have gone to sell an invention to the king: A catapult throne that will save him in case of revolution. A twist that you rarely meet and I really loved: Poverty and the birth of a son have turned Gritta's spoiled stepmother into quite a responsible and likeable person and she apologizes for her behaviour. Gritta had already met the king's son while she was on the run. He smuggles her into the palace of his naive and gluttonous father. There she reveals to him the doings of the corrupt royal advisor, who is also at the bottom of the convent's plot.

While this was a quick summary of the simplified version, the original runs absolutely wild. After the girls escape the convent, they go on an adventurous journey, which becomes increasingly fantastical. Some episodes seem prototypical of Alice in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz. Finally they get shipwrecked and build up a new life. But their "lonely island" is in fact a valley near the capital. Here the story in which Gritta reunites with her family and saves the kingdom comes back in. In the end the girls set up an alternative convent according to their own rules. Except for Gritta, who in this version actually marries the prince and refurbishes the kingdom, but of course stays their friend.

I think if I'd read this as a child I would have loved that the focus stays on Gritta's girl-gang. They have so many more adventures here. I always thought the modernized story dismissed them too quickly. Not sure what I would have made of the fanciful nature of their adventures. One of my favourite characters today is Wildebeere (Wildberry), one of the girls, who starts out as a botanist, but is later adopted by wood-elves and becomes a sort of forest spirit. And I'd certainly have struggled with the over-the-top 19th century language. Though that makes up the poetry of it.

I've kinda outgrown the modernized version today. As a historian I can't help noticing the GDR mindframe. Indeed the original was written before the 1848 revolution and pokes some acid fun at absolutist monarchy, aristocracy and the church. That's the most likely reason it wasn't published. But the adaptation presents the messages rather bluntly - to children who don't have the foggiest idea what were the problems in 1848.

On a related note, I feel today that the modern book made Gritta a bit too sassy. She's much more gentle in the old one and as so often this clashes in scenes where she's supposed to be insecure. Some scenes actually get funnier with her acting all demure, like the one where she locks the king in a cupboard. Also, I'm all for the concept of becoming an independent spirit through reading. But as a book-historian I can tell that you don't become a cheeky kid by reading a library full of 18th-century books.

What also fascinates me today is the story how Gritta was rediscovered in the archives in the 20th century. The manuscript had been scattered over several bequests and wrongly attributed to Gisela's famous mother Bettine von Arnim. I kinda envy the guy who pieced it together. But I should be content with my lot, because that's exactly the sort of thing I'm doing in my PhD project right now.

Actually this book relates to the McCarrics in two very peculiar ways: For one thing, Gisela von Arnim was the great-granddaughter of Sophie von la Roche, after whom I named Marianne's family.

Then, according to my mother, my first two stories ever were two endless nonsensical serials I always updated her on, aged around three. The first was called The Lady of the Rats' Castle. Sadly I don't remember anything about it and my mother says it didn't have any rememberable plot. Possibly she bought me Gritta because of it.

The other was called The very Elegant Scottish Girl. I remember I started this one because I loved my red tartan skirt and my father had told me that in Scotland everyone is always dressed in tartan, even the men! So I thought this country must be the epicentre of nobility and elegance. I just love that these two titles still reflect my literary activities to the present day.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Élisabeth Lebas talking about Robespierre like he’s the Messiah or something compilation

[Edgar Degas] told me that, when he was a child, his mother one day took him to rue de Tournon to visit Madame Lebas, widow of the famous Convention deputy who, on 9 thermidor, killed himself with a pistol. When the visit was over, they withdrew with small steps, accompanied to the door by the old lady, when Madame Degas suddenly stopped, deeply overwhelmed. Letting go of her son's hand, she pointed at the portraits of Robespierre, of Couthon, of Saint-Just, that she had just noticed were hanging on the walls of the antechambre, and she couldn’t keep herself from crying out with horror: ”What! You still keep the faces of these monsters here!”  ”Be quiet, Célestine!” Madame Lebas cried out ardently, ”be quiet… They were saints!” Discours de l’Histoire prononcé à la distribution solennelle des prix du Lycée Jeanson-de-Sailly held by Paul Valéry on July 13 1932, cited in Robespierre ou les contradictions du jacobinisme (1978) by Albert Soboul.

I was able to converse, between 1838 and 1839, with a famous parrot who had been the friend of Robespierre. He belonged to Mme the widow Lebas, the wife of the famous Convention deputy who chose to die with Robespierre, and the mother of M. Lebas, Hellenist scholar, who died a few years ago. Mme widow Lebas, a very respectable woman, whom I had the honour of seeing often in her little house in Fontenay-aux-Roses, where she would make the sign of the cross when she pronounced the name Robespierre, adding these words: Saint Maximilien. As for her parrot, when one said "Robespierre", it replied Hats off! Hats off! It sang the Marseillaise with perfect diction and Ça ira like a Jacobin. It was — and perhaps, thanks to its diet of grain, still is — a sans-culotte parrot, the like of which can no longer be found. Mme Lebas recounted with great emotion how she had managed to save this precious psittacus  after Thermidor.  It had been seriously compromised.  After the arrest of Robespierre and Lebas, in the course of a long domiciliary inspection,  every time the name of Robespierre was pronouned the parrot would repeat its refrain, Hats off! Hats off! The government agents had grown impatient and were about to wring its neck, when Mme Lebas, as quick as lightning,  grabbed the bird, opened the window and set it free. The poor parrot flew from window to window, until it found a charitable person to open up for it; a few days later Madame Lebas was able to regain possession of this last friend left to her by Robespierre, the only one perhaps, besides his elderly mistress, who has remained faithful to his memory.  L’Union médicale: journal des intérêts scientifiques et pratiques, moraux et professionnels du corps médical (1861) volume 12, page 258-259.

Finally our providence, our good friend Robespierre, spoke to Saint-Just to engage him to let me depart with [him and Lebas], along with my sister-in-law Henriette. Élisabeth’s memoirs, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas: d’après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901), by Stéfane-Pol, page 131.

…If you had been informed of my residence, I would have been eager to tell you the truth. The good that you say of our martyrs is not too charged: they were the true friends of liberty; they lived only for the people, for their fatherland; but some monsters, in one day, destroyed everything; in one day they assassinated liberty. Yes, monsieur, a republican like you would have been happy to know those men, so virtuous on all accounts; they all died poor. Note written by Élisabeth a few years before her death regarding ”a work treating the revolution” (l’Histoire des Girondins?). Cited in Ibid, page 147.

[queermentaldisaster]

"There's A Revolution Coming" Chapter two

Tags: @forestshadow-wolf @axelaxolotl09 @im-here-and-im-confused @bringinsexybackk69 @rainerestored @8-rae-rae-8 (if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist please inform me!)

Tw: Children in captivity, mentioned child neglect, mentions of previous captivity. (Proceed with caution)

Chapter Two under the cut

The boy clung to the girl. His eyes were a reverse of hers, and his hair was darker than hers. His horns, the same shape as the girl’s, looked almost brown, they were such a dark gold color, and his skin was light and tannish as well. He had a scar across the bridge of his nose, and he watched Soap with the most distrusting and terrified look he'd ever seen, even on kids caught in the middle of the wars. Evelyn, the little blonde haired girl, fumbled with the ropes for a few minutes before finally untying them. She beamed and looked up at Soap, her tone completely serious. “You better not hurt my family, mister.”

Soap chuckled softly, and held out his hand, palm facing up. “Aye, ye have ma word. Nae harm will befall yer family, wee one.” Evelyn tilted her head. “What?” another little girl, only a hair taller than Evelyn poked out from under one of the beds. “Oh! Evie, that was in one of the books we stole from the adults!” She had ginger hair, done up in braids. Her right eye was blue, and her left eye was green. Her skin was a light brown color, lighter than it should've been. Lack of sun, evidently. The ginger haired girl ran up to Soap, taking his hand. “Scottish, right?”

Soap beamed, and nodded. “Aye, it is. Yer a clever lass.” the girl's face lit up. “Thank you! I'm Winnie.” Soap chuckled, gently holding Winnie's hand in his. “Winnie. A fittin’ name for ye,” he complimented, his eyes trailing back to Evelyn, and then back to the older girl and the boy. He stood up, letting go of Winnie's hand, and stepped closer to the ram-horned kids. The girl let out a hiss, and Soap held up his hands. “Easy there lass, ah ‘ave nae intentions to harm ye. Yer safe.” He knelt down, picking up a piece of paper. There was a drawing of all five of the kids in front of a house, holding each other. The name at the top read ‘Kelly’.

Soap smiled, and looked at the girl. “Did ye make this?” He questioned, and when she nodded, he spoke again. “This is a bonnie picture, wee one. Are ye Kelly?” She nodded again. “Awricht. Ah'm Soap. Ah’m assuming Graves is the one who's got ye all locked up in here like animals?”

“Ja.” came a voice with a German accent. Soap looked up and saw the fifth kid, sitting on a windowsill that didn't actually let any sunlight in. She had short blondish-brown hair in a bob, her eyes were brown, her skin was the same paler tannish color as most of the others, and she had medium sized red horns, and small black bat wings. “Graves is the blond one, the vampire, right?”

Soap nodded. “Aye, thas him.” He said. The girl nodded, hopping down and walking towards Soap. She extended her hand when she got close enough. “I’m Ellie. I'm the oldest.” Soap shook her hand, with a soft smile. “Nice te meet ya.” Ellie nodded, her cold demeanor seeming to melt a little more. Kelly spoke up. “And this is my twin, Kiram. He's very distrusting, so don't expect him to come up to you.” Soap nodded, smiling. “It’s nice tae meet ye all. Are any of you currently hurt?” They all shook their heads.

Soap looked around the room, clearly pissed at the state that the kids’ living conditions were in. “Dae they feed ye?” he asked, and Kiram spoke up. “That’s the one thing they've gotten right.” he murmured, his voice soft but raspy, as if it had barely been used. Soap sighed, rubbing his temples. “Ye all are wee bairns. Ah ken Graves and Shepard were monsters but ah didn't think they'd go this far…” he muttered, clearly pissed.

Evelyn ran up to Soap, wrapping her arms around his leg. Soap looked down and picked her up, holding her the same way he'd hold his little siblings. “Och, ah ken, ‘s scary, huh?” he asked, and Evelyn nodded. Soap's heart felt like it was breaking for these poor kids. “Well then, how about ah sing ye five a song?” He asked as he scooted the shitty cots close together. They all gathered on the now massive cot, Winnie and Evelyn in his lap, Kelly shielding Kiram, and Ellie slightly off to the side.

“Dandelion, into the wind ye go, won't ye let my darlin’ know that ah'm in a field of dandelions…” He sang softly, letting Winnie and Evelyn cling to him as he sang. He watched Kiram's head perk up, as he stared at Soap over his sister. Soap smiled, continuing to sing. “Wishing on every one that ya’d be mine, mine…and ah see forever in yer eyes, ah feel okay when ah see ye smile, smile…” he watched as Winnie and Evelyn drifted off to sleep, and when he looked up, he saw Kiram passed out. Kelly was on the verge of sleep, and Soap simply smiled, leaning his head back against the wall. Ellie spoke up. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Soap hummed softly. “Aye, wha’s up, lass?” he asked, looking at her. Ellie readjusted slightly, before she looked back at Soap. “Is there anyone that song's about?” she asked, and Soap's smile grew. “Aye, there is. His name is Ghost.” Once he said that, Ellie's eyes widened and she shot up. “Ghost? As in Riley? Demon with a balaclava and skull mask?”

Soap's eyes widened in turn. “Aye, tha’s him. Ya ken him?” he asked, and Ellie nodded. “Yeah…we all do. He was the first one to manage to escape. Him and Hazel.” she murmured, before looking down at the cots. “Of course…Meister found them…and punished them.”

Soap winced. “Do ah even wanna ken?” he asked, and Ellie sighed. “Not really.” She murmured. Soap sighed and put his hand on her cheek, in a gentle gesture. “Ah really am sorry that ye wee ones were dragged intae this.” Ellie shook her head, patting Soap’s hand. “It’s okay, really. But…you’re a good man.” She whispered, laying her head down and closing her eyes.

Soap leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. ‘Ah hope Ghost is alright.’ He thought, before sleep overtook him.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Super random question: from one of your fics, what was that species of melon that Matt was trying to grow when he was staying with Arthur in England? What is its significance to Matt?

Trigger warning for pretty bad emotional neglect of a child, non graphic illness and some shockingly nice headcanons.

And ah, the Montreal melon. It's a type of muskmelon or honey dew or honey rock from Canada around the Montreal reason and it's a bit peppery! Like a sweet slightly tart nutmeg flavour. It's one of those few things that Matt just... really associates with one of the somewhat rare fucks given about him lol.

It's supposedly from the 19th century but there are images of it or something very similar going back quite a bit earlier. That headcanon post thing was in early spring in the late 18th or very very early 19th century. Matt's under Arthur's roof because the economy sucks ass after the American revolution so it's not worth the money to really do anything with him. Arthur's vaguely hoping Francis will buy him back lol. So no one much pays him much mind, he's more or less left to his own devices so he tries to keep himself entertained and productive and out from underfoot. Wars with France are going full tilt again so no one wants to socialize with the French welp.

He does his work, doesn't complain, cries outside if he's sad or homesick or lonely so he doesn't get on anyone's nerves. He eventually rescues the cat from the dairy yard that Arthur lets him keep but it's in one of these episodes of loneliness one of the gardeners asks him if there's anything he'd like to put in the garden that year and Matt asks for the nutmeg melon. The gardener doesn't want to risk square footage on something he hasn't tested so he says if Matt can grow it somewhere and prove it'll do all right, he'll put it in the garden. So for a year or two, at the very end of winter he's always out in the mud beyond the back garden where he won't get yelled at trying and failing to start up his melons. They keep dying and he's sad lol. They need a green house but he's not really allowed in there with his stupid little experiment.

But they're dead, he flops over ill with the economy in the gutter and gives up. In a whim while on a walk, Arthur follows the cat outside one day into the parkland beyond the gardens, finds Matt's little failed attempt and, pulls up some not entirely mud rotted melon vines and hands it over to the greenhouse. He vaguely recognizes it as one of Matthew's silly attempts to grow something in the windowsill and well he's been even mopier than usual so maybe if it lives he'll stop being so bloody depressing. Matt's kind of stopped doing anything except his work, sluggishly dragging himself to get the eggs and feed the chickens and other poultry.

He kind of just falls over in a feverish heap one day, one of the staff puts him to bed and they're kind of at a loss "who's even in charge of this one?" The uncle who's expressed half a fuck is overseas, Admiral Kirkland hasn't so much as mentioned the boy. He's just kind of there? But someone finds Rhys down in the valleys with the sheep so he marches back up to the house, doesn't even take his wellies off, and tells Arthur off because he is in charge of the lad and it's not as if Francis is going to take him back in the middle of another war for Christ's sake.

So Arthur tells the household to go feed the lad something decent and checks in on him. He's not too poorly off just sad, weak and a bit miserable but Arthur sits down to chat a bit, make sure he's not about to have to clean up a death and Matt just kind of leans over and kind of wants to be held. Arthur's not really... there yet with him so he just awkwardly, if gently scolds him to get back under the covers, he's getting too old for this kind of nonsense anyway. Matt apologizes, rolls back over and curls back up. Arthur gives him an awkward pat and grimaces about the show of what for Arthur at the turn of the 19th century is practically hysteria. Good lord, that was awkward and undignified. Matt just kind of unravels. Nothing matters, much less him. Not a serotonin in this kids body. He misses Alfred like mad, he hasn't had a letter from his uncle in a year. He feels like shit so he just kind of starts shutting down. Fever spikes, he doesn't start hallucinating but he's confused and crying a lot and no one really wants to do much about it so again someone tells Arthur about it and he kind of sighs "very well, easier than paying off witnesses to a resurrection." Hauls him over to the actual family side of the house, and tries to get his temperature down and indulges the incessant need for human contact the boy wants. And lord, it's annoying how much Arthur enjoys parenting but much resistance he puts against having another child but even his anglo ass is kind of touched by how much Matt enjoys his father's company. He's yours you dumb ass!!!! Love him a little and he'll do whatever you want for centuries!!! Long before antibiotics or even real painkillers all Arthur can really do is ply him with Willow bark tea and keep him company and that makes most of the difference. Like oh, surprise, some basic affection gives him the will to live. Who'd've fucking thought? When he's feeling a bit better, Arthur starts stashing him in the library near his desk piled up with blankets by the fire and Matt is more interesting than he's ever been. He sleeps and reads mostly but occasionally asks questions and perks up. Takes a bit, pre modern medicine but he hops too it just in time for spring and oh, well look at those melons coming from hot houses now. They'll have to plant a few rows! Cue getting barrelled into and squeezed and having one whole feeling about making Matthew happy.

So voila, melons are love.

[spaztastic-headcannons]

LAWYER UP

Ok! Side tangent to the how can they prove it thoughts!!

LAWYERS

Like it's shitty that there isn't due process for a trial (as corrupted as it would be) and that gives the Marines and Sengoku himself complete power as judge, jury, and executioner (literally). But what if there was???

Like a lawyer who had the absolute balls to call them on their bullshit and demand a fair and public trial for the crimes of Portgas D. Ace and to justify the public stunt they are trying to pull with his execution. To demand accountability!

I think they'd probably end up with their own bounty at the end of up but they'd have so much to work with!!

[Note I am not a lawyer! But I have a lot of questions to bring up reasonable doubt!]

This is going to also get a bit long so read more below!

So to start they don't bring up the Gol D. Roger part yet because confidential, yeah. But they why go through such a stunt for a pirate that is a commander of a yonko, but who has a significantly smaller reputation than some of the people currently locked up in Impel Down? You would lock up Shiki the Golden Lion instead of execution but you want to execute this kid? Powerhouse or not, that seems kinda skewed?? And Biased??

Oh it's to set up a war with Whitebeard, that you have no guarantee you'd win and would possibly waste resources and lives of good Marines that serve for the justice and protection of the people...

then get into why he became a pirate. He was a ward of Garp the Hero, right? So in theory Ace should have had full access to all the rights and privileges of being Garp's ward/grandson, including education and proper care. However, as far as our information can gather and that Ace could provide himself, he was raised by bandits! Criminals! So had Garp set him up for failure? there seems to be a pattern with Garp and children in his care: Dragon, leader of the revolution, Ace, second commander of Whitebeard, and this newest pirate, Luffy, already making a name for himself and defying the world government as he goes! Isn't there even a hint of responsibility that Garp should take for Ace being the way he is and for leniency and the chance at rehabilitation? (which obviously isn't what Ace would want or do but it'd get him out of the death penalty!)

And what are Ace's primary crimes? Piracy yes but he didn't really pillage, murder indiscriminately or civilians, rape, or cause revolutions! His greatest crimes are dine and dashing (which his bills for that are astronomical but not death worthy), fighting Marines (though more marines make it out of his sort of attacks than not unless they attack him or his crew first so self defense), and obviously raising a jolly roger.

No imagine that these are bringing up things that obviously the marines don't want aired and to shift public opinion. (Garp has been notably silent after a rather nasty look from Sengoku after the whole raising criminals point...) So they bring out their trump card...

Ace is the true son of Gol D. Roger!

....

Ok, prove it.

Is there any genetic testing to link Ace as a relative of Roger? If they can make clones and robots, they should be able to do some genetic testing to see relations between people right? But where is Roger's body to get a sample from? And how can we ensure that the samples aren't messed with to ensure Ace as a scapegoat?

Then you [the marines] state that his mother held onto him for 20 months but that sounds preposterous! How can you prove that's true and where did you get this information? Is the information source reliable? Has anyone been able to replicate those results? And hypothetically, if this were true, why would a mother be so desperate to save her child to take such measures? is it because she saw the slaughter of children and infants and pregnant mothers on her island just for the Marines to prove a point? To ensure that an innocent child, free of sin with the only crime is to exist, is annihilated? The Marines have already proven how terrified they can be of actual children (Nico Robin's long list of bounty posters starting as a young girl are a great example). [totally separate rant on how pathetic a whole system is afraid of literal children and infants as to headhunt and murder entire generations, because of what they could know or represent. How all that they are could crumble the entire castle of sand.]

anywho I'm sure there's more but that's all I can think up right now from my late night musings. I think a good lawyer could argue at least a lesser sentence for Ace, prove reasonable doubt on the certainty he's Roger's kid (at least to the government and populace), and in general cause mayhem! If the system allows it, and allows it to be public, as well as not be entirely corrupt.

I'd love to see someone with actual law experience write something about this!

[mihrimahfs]

Tera Renard Castlevania Nocturne- thoughts on final episode

Okay so a week after the Castlevania Nocturne season one premiere I have a lot of thoughts, mostly very positive regarding this season. But one moment has struck me, has occupied all my mind since this aired (warning this will contain  major spoilers for this season so if you haven’t watched this yet, please avoid this) and that is the final episode. particularly when they’re rescuing Maria from being sacrificed by Abbot Emmanuel as a “offering” of his loyalty to Erzesbet Bathory (aka the Vampire Messiah). There’s a lot of stuff that i think when I think of this scene over and over again and it’s one that I think broke me deeply. All great art does this in some way, breaks you till you’re wonderfully changed. anyways, let me begin. (and please also note, i am not an expert by any means, just a historian geek so if im incorrect, don’t hesitate to correct me)

we already know that the abbot regards the revolution as a subversion of “God’s natural order” which at the time and especially Catholic Church, that was the way the order  of the world was seen. That royalty had the so called “divine right to rule” which the catholic church supported as it had them provide legitimacy to rulers for this divine right. France has had a storied loyalty to the catholic church and the papacy, was often seen as a bastion, hell one of their rulers was deemed “the most christian prince” (ironically Francis I). It’s no surprise that for an abbot as “devoted” as Emmanuel, he sees the revolution threatening this, his position and faith that has formed most of his world and how he’s able to “reason” with the world as it were. His alliance with Bathory is sort of seen as his desperate attempt to keep a hold onto this power and this divine order even though he works with vampires and makes night creatures (rather slowly might I add). He sees himself as a bastion of holding the faith and fear mongers his parishioners to following his way and his order to keep this order and also keep hold of his faith. which all is rather ironic considering as a priest who is supposed to keep celibate, he ostensibly had and affair with Tera who fled from Russia which resulted in Maria. and for Tera to say she had to lie to Maria that her father died so she wouldn’t be branded a whore, who eked out a life in france, barely paying rent (see episode 1) all the while the Abbot lived in relative privilege is also another nail to his "piety". Now I cannot say whether he might have indirectly supported Maria and Tera, that’s neither here nor there and many clergy had children on the side they supported or not. It was only after Maria found out what the abbot was doing and tera confronted him that he reluctantly revealed he was marias father. He is a hypocrite. Many of us know “men of faith” that do things like this, lie constantly to justify their own view of faith and God, thinking themselves victims and making martyrs of themselves instead of being held accountable. We can see Mizrak who’s more of a believer be disgusted at the Abbot’s actions especially in light of this revelation and at the abbot’s willingness to sacrifice maria to bathory. He is a hypocritical man who makes himself a victim to justify his actions thinking he’s working “for the glory of God”  though he’s made many suffer (Tera, Maria, Edouard, Jaques, etc).

Tera’s sacrifice without a doubt has been the most brutal scene for me in this series. When the abbot is trying to sacrifice Maria, citing the story of Abraham and Isaac, it also heightens the abbot’s self centered view that he is in divine communication with God- by re-enacting the scene by binding maria to the altar as Isaac was, according to the Bible, he wanted to prove how he was a god fearing man, his legitimacy to his actions, however bad, divinely authorized. I think also for a “god fearing man” as he proclaims to be, to have a child on the side presents a thorn to him and in this way, he can prove she played a part in a  divine plan for his redemption for his “mistake” and allying with Bathory. Honestly right now it seems like nonsense what im saying but to be at the point where you’re sacrificing your child and thinking it makes you holy and can wash all you done away is pretty disgusting. I believe in the bible, it was seen as a binding like he had to bind Isaac which suggests (and please im not a biblical scholar) reluctance on the part of Isaac for this. as a muslim for me, we present this differently- ours has Abraham have a dream he has to sacrifice his child as a test of sorts to prove his love for God above everything but we believe he told Ismail about the dream and Ismail said readily “if its God’s will that he wants this, i am willing to do this”; its really remarkable how the one with isaac there’s reluctance but with the islamic perspective,  there’s consent, there’s the readiness to be willing to be sacrificed while having faith in God. Now in both, God stops in the nick of time and offers a ram in their place. When Tera comes and rightfully so confronts the abbot about this and then bathory comes and realizing that there is no other way to save her daughter, she did what any mother would do- take their place. Let’s also backtrack; when she found her sister trapped in Bathory’s prison in russia, she sacrificed her in a sense, not wanting her to live out in that agony and pain and terror. she sacrifice her innocence, being brought to the point of killing her sister to save her from a worse fate and years later, she did the same for her child, sacrifice herself to save Maria, knowingly and with full cognizance of this action and consent to do this righteous holy deed. Tera is the true martyr, the true epitome of divine sacrifice who is willing to suffer and give her life for the holiest thing a mother has- a child. for her to say “I am the ram. God has given you the ram, Emmanuel” shows who truly is the  one who is doing the right thing for the right reasons.  As a muslim, i was always taught that God doesn’t need sacrifices, like its not meant for His consumption or his want or needs, but that these are to represent what we are willing to do and prove that God is our top priority and that also what are we willing to do to help others. As we commememorate the sacrifice of abraham in our festival Eid ul adha by paying for goats and animals to be sacrificed and their meat distributed to our family, neighbors, and the poor, we remind ourselves there that our sacrifices must be for helping others, not for ego or showing off. The abbot wanted to sacrifice for the wrong reasons and Tera did for her child’s life. It’s still gut wrenching to watch and still heart breaking to remember this selflessness that made Tera turn to a creature that has haunted her for 20 or so years. but its castlevania, no one has a totally happy ending lol. and also, Emmanuel is nothing more than other priests and religious leaders who adopt cowardice and cloak it as piety. Tera deserved better. I truly hope it haunts the abbot and that he gets his karma for his actions and his hypocrisy made an innocent woman sacrifice her life to save their child. 

I wonder if , when they asked the abbot if he loves Tera when she offered herself in marias place and he says yes, did he mean that? like truly love her , like if he genuinely has all these years loves tera. or if he loved that she sacrificed herself and . some might say both. He might see that this is part of the sacrifice he had to endure for his “holy mission” and thus “loves her” for that. who knows? it would be nice to see a flashback of them. when I think about it, I think he loved being "god's warrior" a bit more than tera which i obvious given after being with team he didn't disavow his vows and marry her and raised their child. I think he might but it's always in conflict with his view on faith. the love he had for tera once faded as his love for his glory and "divine purpose" overshadowed it all. I do wonder also if Tera might have had lingering feelings for Emmanuel. I imagine especially after this, probably not and I hope Tera gets him as her first “victim”. Honestly she’s suffered too much and I want my Muva back. I wonder that Maria might have to think she might have to do what tera did to her sister to her mother. But we see Edouard still retain his humanity despite being turned to a night creature so one can hope the same for Tera. 🙏

Again piggybacking to the comparison of the different religions views on Abrahams sacrifice, where one is seen to be against the consent of the victim and the other with their consent, i find it also telling that many evangelicals love to paint sacrifice as we have to do this to you to save your soul and save ours- much like the abbot. There’s no choice; there’s their way or no way. Versus Maria choosing to save her daughter. Cause that’s what a good mother does. What any good person would do on those horrifying circumstances. And that at her turning, (and someone on here said the same sort of thing) that reaction was against her will, non consent.

I’m reminded that in Islam there’s this saying that we have of God saying “if you oppose my desire, then I shall run you ragged of your desires” and I hope this very much applies to the abbot who despite professing all he does is for God is much rather for his own ego and inflated sense of worth and I hope it all runs him ragged and beyond all redemption in this life or the hereafter.

Justice for Tera Renard and I hope and pray Tera Renard gets the abbot and Maria gets healing and peace as well as richter and annette.👏🙌🤲🙏

I hope somehow all that I said makes sense as it’s sort of me ranting and me trying to make sense…. Cause Tera’s sacrifice hit me so very much like thank God season 2 is confirmed cause I need Muva Tera to come back hands swinging and good news for her!

[lgbtqiamuslimpedia]

Maryam Khatoon Molkara

DOB :1950

Known for :Iran's first Trans muslim woman who successfully change her gender legally.

Occupation :Trans Activist,Rights Advocate

Spouce :Mohammad

Religion :Islam

Gender :Woman

Sexuality :Straight

Ethnicity :Persian

Death :2012

Maryam Khatoon Molkara (also known as Maryam Khatoonpour Molkara) was a campaigner for trans rights in Iran, where she is widely recognized as a matriarch of the transgender community.She was later instrumental in obtaining a letter which acted as a Fatwa enabling sex reassignment surgery to exist as part of a legal framework.

Early life

Maryam Khatoon Molkara was born in 1950, she was the only child of her father's second of eight wives.Her father was a landowner. Maryam says she always preferred clothes, toys, & activities that were traditionally for girls.In her adolescence, Maryam went to parties dressed as a woman.She was often tortured & bullied for her feminine behavior. When she came out to her mother,her mother refused to accept Maryam's gender identity.This made her decide to take feminizing hormone, instead of immediately seeking out a gender affirming surgery.

Legal Recognition of Gender Identity in Iran

In 1975, Molkara traveled to London where she “learned about transsexuality & realized that she was not a passive homosexual. Molkara started to write letters to Shia Cleric Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, then in exile in Iraq, asking for religious advice about being assigned the wrong gender at birth.In one of these letters, she said that her gender identity had been clear since she was two years old, as she used to apply chalk to her face to imitate putting on make-up. Khomeini had already written in 1963 that corrective surgeries for intersex people are not against Islamic law, & his answer was based on this existing idea rather than developing a new fatwa for transgender people.He suggested she live as a woman, which included dressing as one.

After this, she met with Farah Pahlavi, who gave her support towards Molkara and other transgender individuals wanting sex reassignment surgery.In 1978, she traveled to Paris, where Khomeini was then based, to try to make him aware about transgender rights.After the Islamic Revolution, Molkara started to face intense backlash due to her gender identity. She underwent arrests, and death threats. She was fired from her job at the Iranian National Radio and Television, forced to wear masculine clothing,injected with male hormones against her will, & detained in a psychiatric institution. Eventually she was released from jail because of her good contacts with religious leaders, such as Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani.

Molkara continued to campaign for her right to get gender-affirming surgery. In 1985, she confronted Khomeini in his home in North Tehran.She wore a man's suit, carried the Quran, and she tied shoes around her neck. This was a reference to the Ashura festival, and also indicated that she was looking for refuge.Maryam Khatoon Molkara was held back and beaten by homophobic security guards until Khomeini's brother Hassan Pasandide intervened.He took Molkara into his house, where she pleaded her case, yelling "I'm a woman, I'm a woman!" His security guards were suspicious about her chest, as they thought she could be carrying explosives.She revealed they were her breasts, as she developed them using hormone therapy.After listening her story, Ahmad Khomeini was touched & took Maryam to speak to his father, where he asked 3 of his doctors about the surgery in an attempt to make a well-informed decision.Khomeini then decided to permit sex reassignment surgery by issuing a fatwa.She left Khomeini’s house victoriously. She had a letter in her hand addressed to the Chief Prosecutor & the head of Medical Ethics giving a fatwa (a religious authorization) for her & for all those like her to have their gender surgically reassigned. That one daring step by Maryam changed the dynamics and made history in Shia Islam.

Maryam lobbied for the according medical knowledge & procedures to be implemented in Iran, and worked on helping other trans people have access to gender-affirmative surgeries.

However, Maryam completed her gender affirming surgery from Thailand in 1997, due to "unhappiness with procedures in her native country''.The Iranian govt paid for her surgery, and she was able to help establish government funding for many other trans individual's surgeries.

Trans Rights Adocacy

Maryam was a prominent advocate for trans rights & gender affirmative care.Maryam started her activism in Iran during the early days of the Islamic revolution.

In 2007, she founded and subsequently ran the Iranian Society to Support Individuals with Gender Identity Disorder (Persian: حمایت از بیماران مبتلا به اختلالات هویت جنسی ایران).This was the first state-approved transgender organization in Iran.Before this, she used her own property in Karaj to help other trans people receive legal advice & medical care, including post-op care.She continued her fight to advance the situation of transgender people in Iran.She also helped many incarcerated trans people in Iran.

Marriage

Maryam got married in a traditional Islamic way (nikah) to a government officer named Mohammad, in Tehran.

Death

Maryam Khatoon Molkara died in 2012, after suffering from a heart attack at the age of 62.