#let's separate childe and all his beloved women

[blood-orange-juice]

Something, something, previous Childe-like samsaras included the hero being separated from a woman he dearly loved because of other people's trickery.

When I first compared the two stories I immediately thought "Tsaritsa", but what if it's Tonia. Since, you know, it's not romantic already.

(this boy has no respect for tropes. none whatsoever)

[bwabys-scenarios]

Kurapika can’t stand being away from you, his cute chubby girlfriend. You’re his everything, the only person that makes him feel complete and whole.

Before, Kurapika could hardly call himself clingy, but after meeting you he can’t deny the allegation. All he wants to do is cling to you as tight as possible, basking in your love and affection.

When he’s down, you comfort him, letting him lay his head on your chest or soft tummy while you play with his pretty blonde hair. His nightmares are frequent, and he often wakes you up in tears, begging to be held and to know that you won’t leave him all alone.

You’re so soft, a comfort that Kurapika has denied himself for so long. He wouldn’t let himself have those simple comforts, thinking he didn’t deserve it. But how could he deny you, his beloved? Warm, kind, and ever so soft. So curling up with you and getting to nestle against your plush frame after a hard day is more than enough to have him sighing in contentment.

One thing Kurapika enjoys is feeding you. Whether it be sweets, savory foods, or some kind of fruit/vegetable, he swoons when you make a happy face as he places something delicious to your lips. Plump women were desired in his clan, and making sure your significant other was well fed and happy was a way to show you cared.

So his pretty cherub eating from his hand, smiling and happy was all he wanted. Getting to lick up any of the mess was also… very satisfying.

Kurapika had once thought he’d spend his life alone, with no one there to love or accept him for who he truly was… but then he met you.

Already, he was attracted to your plump form and cute chubby cheeks, but you were endlessly kind and understanding, always sitting with him after he drank himself stupid and patting his back while he threw up.

Sometimes, the survivors guilt made simply existing a sin to him. Why did he get to keep living after his entire clan was wiped out? He wondered if everything would stop hurting if he just left this world and joined his kin in the afterlife…

But then he’d remember you and realize that if he stopped living, he would never feel your warmth again. He would never get to hold you tight to him, never get to hear you laugh and giggle when he said something that wasn’t supposed to be funny, but made you laugh anyways. He’d never get to teasing pinch your chubby cheek when you messed up and scold you, making those cute cheeks heat up until he felt the urge to coo and gently caress them.

And most importantly, if he died, he’d be leaving the woman he adored behind. That’s when he realized he had fallen for you, and that nothing could separate him from you, not even his own depression and pain.

So Kurapika decided to live for you until he could learn to live for himself, and living for you and everything so easy and sweet.

He spoiled you, taking you shopping often, getting you custom made clothing when the items in store didn’t come in your size or fit like they were supposed to. Any little thing you asked for was yours, and he quite enjoyed getting to see you all dolled up for him.

Especially when he got to take it all off and make love to you after a romantic date together.

Getting to fuck into your warm, fat pussy and hold onto your plump thighs as you writhed and moaned beneath him really made Kurapika glad he stuck around. Otherwise he wouldn’t be cumming inside his princess, filling her chubby tummy to the brim with his seed.

Suckling on your pretty breasts, covering your neck in his love bites and marking you as his makes him feel at ease. Although he feels a bit bad watching you put on a scarf to hide all the marks he left, part of him is proud. You’re his little cherub, and no one else can have you.

The only thing that could ever make him love you more would be the sight of your already plump tummy swelling with his child.

Kurapika wants to take care of you for the rest of his life and provide you a comfortable life. He adores you, you’re all he has left. And when you only have one thing left, you treat it with the utmost care, don’t you?

[ecoamerica]

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[mitskijamie]

pleaseeee give us more bigender jamie thoughts the concept is too good

Bigender Jamie my beloved….

He uses he/she pronouns <3 she doesn't mind they/them (pronouns are like. not very important to her honestly. she probably couldn’t tell you what a pronoun was if you asked LMAO) but she just doesn't really connect with gender neutrality/androgyny as much as she does with manhood and womanhood as separate and coexisting entities yk

When Jamie's super little, he starts asking Georgie why there are only boys and girls and he can't be both, and instead of jumping to tell him that's just the way it is (because she wants her bub to be a free thinker. obviously), she thinks about it for a while and is like. Well. I don’t know. I suppose you can be both if you’d like? And Jamie is like “ok :) yay :)” and runs with it

Georgie lets Jamie wear/do whatever he wants. She’s a very busy woman and simply has bigger things to worry about than her child wearing a pink shirt or whatever the fuck. As long as she can afford it, she'll buy it for him, because she's just trying to keep him happy and pay the bills yk

So Jamie amasses a small collection of what he calls “girl stuff," like these types of things

which he absolutely loves and has so much fun w. He's never pressured to identify any certain type of way or change anything about himself, always allowed to experiment, and he's very comfortable until he meets his dad

James starts coming around again when Jamie’s like 10ish, and he’s horrified by Georgie’s lax stance on masculinity and makes Jamie break/cut up/throw out her "girl stuff," because he doesn't think it's at all appropriate for his "son"

Having to destroy his favorite clothes and toys while his dad berates her is super traumatic and completely alters his perception of her gender/gender as a whole. When it was just him and Georgie, Jamie sort of took it for granted that he had room to experiment and didn’t realize that most people really don’t think it’s okay, and so it's a big shock and really forces her into the closet for a long time

Then she starts at the academy and everything around her is super masculine all the time, and she really tries put it behind her and convince herself that it was a phase and she doesn't have any need to indulge in that part of herself, since she's comfortable as a man and doesn't exactly feel disconnected from manhood

But as hard as he tries to convince himself otherwise, he always feels like he's missing part of himself. He's content with the life he's living and absolutely loves being one of the lads, but there's just something missing and it's undeniable and uncomfortable and always bubbling below the surface

So she's stuck in that limbo until she starts dating Keeley. He shows her an old picture where he’s wearing a Cinderella costume at daycare or something and tells her how he used to want to be “a girl and a boy at the same time” + about the “girl stuff” and how James made him destroy it, and he recounts the whole thing like it’s a funny story (because that’s just how he processes things) and is expecting Keeley to laugh with him, but she just gives him this really sad look and tells him she's sorry that happened to him and she hopes he feels comfortable expressing himself authentically with her

Which he doesn't at first, but he acclimates, because Keeley is willing to meet him halfway and work it out with him <3 She does his makeup on occasion and they experiment with phrases like "good girl" and "girlfriend" and even subtle public expressions of femininity like jewelry and nail polish and "women's" soap/shampoo, which Jamie really loves mixing with his generally masculine presentation

At one point Keeley asks her if she thinks she's a trans woman, and she's like. ":/ I don't think so, like I don't want to be a woman all the time, I just wish I could be a lady without having to give up being a lad 😔”

And Keeley of course is like "oh like bigender?"

She says it like it's nothing, but it's the first time Jamie's ever heard that and he had no idea that that was a real option and genuinely feels like he's found something he's been looking for his entire life and literally almost cries

(You can't spell "lady" without "lad" <3)

So Jamie starts to get Girl Stuff again (including some early-aughts nostalgia items identical to the things that James made her get rid of, which is very healing) and present the way she wants to present and has never ever been happier and finally feels whole

I have a LOT of thoughts about Jamie's gender identity and his relationship with Roy and the internal conflict/shame that would arise from that, but this post is already soooo long so you guys will have to let me know if you want me to talk about all that in another post

She's mostly pretty comfortable with her body, so she forgoes gender affirming surgeries, but she does start estrogen in her mid-late 20's, which is a game changer because it makes it easier to present feminine when she wants to while also allowing her to present masculine when she wants to

He doesn't really ever come out to the team, because that's not his style. They can figure it out on their own. (If you assume she's cis that's on you etc.) And they do!!! Dani starts calling her "amiga" on tuesdays thursdays and saturdays and "amigo" on mondays wednesdays and fridays or something like that lmaooo

He does come out to Georgie and Simon tho <3 Georgie is not surprised at all and takes to adding "baby girl" and "my daughter" to her repertoire very quickly, and at the end of the day she's the person whose opinion matters most to Jamie, so it's just a huge weight off his shoulders

(Simon makes her a bi flag cake and is like "love is love <3" and Jamie is like. Hm. Well. Thank you. You're a little lost but thank you)

[what-even-is-thiss]

So I'm rereading the Odyssey again and thinking about what happens afterwards and I was thinking about how the ending was also unsatisfying to the Ancient Greeks and Romans who came up with a bunch of different explanations about what happened to Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus afterwards. One story says that Penelope was scooped up by the god Hermes after Odysseus sailed off again and became the mother of the god Pan. And I got to thinking about that. And what Hermes thought of his great grandson killing most of the young noblemen on his island and how Athena thought she was fixing anything by telling to people of Ithaca to not take revenge on him. And like a man possessed I was so intrigued by this idea that I wrote a tiny little story about it.

So, here's that.

Hermes, despite being a god, was still a man, and he was not a man who was particularly prone to internal conflict. Such a handicap would be detrimental to a god of liars and thieves who was also a protector of travelers who were often robbed by those same theives. He knew of his own moral improprieties and lived with them. Contradictions within the self, to him, were just a part of the gift-curse of sapience. What were you gonna do? 

He loved himself, he loved his children, he loved spending nights with many women and the occasional man or persons who held multitudes within their tunic. He enjoyed the company of his many siblings, and he saw more of the world than he would ever let on.

He was not a man in possession of the many branches of the future.

“I think my brain is better wired to surprise.” he told Apollo and anyone else who would try to tell him of his fate. “You’re an idiot if you think even the fates know what’s going on.”

As he watched Athena try to wrangle Odysseus’ life into a shape vaguely resembling the one he had before, he laughed at her many times. He passed through the area around Ithaca as she appeared divinely to the mortals to tell them to not take revenge. This was the point where he laughed loudest of all. Invisibly, so she could not acknowledge his presence without looking strange.

“Why are you laughing at this?” Athena asked him later as he hovered over the palace, watching the reunited family within. “I saved your descendant.”

Hermes laughed a louder laugh that reverberated through his winged sandals and worn travel cloak and sent a gleeful cloud of mischief flying over the island. He smacked her on the head with his staff, his stupid big sister.

“Goddess of wisdom, eh? Goddess of cunning plans? You sure I’m not talking to the daemon of stupidity?”

“What are you talking about?” she snapped at him from the roof. 

She snatched at his sandals and he zipped out of her way with another laugh. She was always so serious. So intense.

“Who do you think deals with the lost survivors and lost dead of your wars, dear sister? There is no saving your precious Odysseus now. This is your first time getting a look up close at the destruction you cause from your lofty tents.”

Again the bright-eyed goddess asked, “What are you talking about?”

“His destruction lives in his body now. Body, soul, and mind. It doesn’t take a genius to notice that. It lives in the bodies of the families he separated, the slaves he took, the wife and child who no longer know him and never will again. You would know where this was going if you ever bothered to follow where your beloved soldiers go more often.”

“How can you laugh about this?” she asked him. For now when she looked inside the bodies of the humans below her, she saw now what Hermes had meant. The anger, the grief, the loss of the war, was still pumping through Odysseus’ blood, the electrical signals between his nerves, wound up into the immortal soul currently bound to his flesh. Not just Odysseus, but all of them. They were all holding something within that was threatening to explode.

Hermes poked her with his staff.

“I think that bitch was stupid for waiting for him.” he said.

He ripped away the sight of the ceiling and showed Athena a vision of Penelope lying on the olive bed, naked and staring blankly at the ceiling as her now younger than her husband lay sleeping beside her.

“What are you planning now?” Athena asked him.

“I won’t hurt your little toy.” Hermes told her. “And I do mean that. He should’ve done better. He’s only going to do worse as time goes on. You don't need to be connected to an oracle to see that. Once he inevitably comes crashing down, that’s when I’ll move in. I think she’ll prefer my offer to his refusal to admit guilt. And for your sake and hers, I think I’ll properly seduce this one. Simply taking what I want is almost never as fun, as much as father seems to enjoy it.”

Athena could have protested. A piece of her wanted to. She knew, though, that she was also a person who took what she wanted. She knew what she wanted. She would make it happen. Who knows? If she had personally found any pleasure in sex perhaps she would also do the things he was alluding to.

If she had any respect for her younger brother, the swift messenger, it’s that he knew what he was, and felt no remorse. He was a liar with a clear vision of himself. The multitudes he contained were not troubling to him, as they often are to mortals and gods alike. His care for mortals may sometimes manifest as turning them into agents of chaos for his own amusement, but at the very least he seemed to understand them. Athena, clearly, did not. All she saw was problems and solutions. Something that didn’t always actually exist.

Neither of them needed to sow any more chaos for this little family to finally fall apart for good. The end had taken root like weeds, and who was Athena or any other god to stop him from making something out of the destruction? Scattering the men, scooping up the women, would arguably lead to less destruction than just allowing them to implode on their own, and would likely be much more fun. Unhook the dead servant girls from the trees, hanging like swings and drying meat, souls unhooked from their remains. He had pointed them westward already. Their blood dripping on the ground would sit behind the eyes of Telemachus and Penelope and all the survivors of the slaughter tonight while the man known as Odysseus slept all too soundly.

Yes, that man would never be content for long. The end had taken root in the blood of the countrymen crusted on his tunic, watered with his own lack of self-awareness.

[dreamsofteyvat]

. . .characters: xiao, childe, kaeya, kazuha (x reader; separate)

. . .cw: high school/modern au! established relationship, some of them are theater/band kids... fluff!

. . .a/n: band kid nation arise. also i was never on stage for school productions so i apologize in advance for any mistakes in any of the theater kid aus-- i might do a pt 2 for the women!!

. . .synopsis: "By the way, i love you."

reblogs are greatly appreciated!^^

XIAO's lips are crooked in an adorable grin, eyes shining playfully even in the dim stage light.

"Ready?" he asks lowly.

"Hush," you hiss back, though your voice holds no venom. "We're almost up."

A glance at the decorated man who stands on the podium still giving his opening speech proves you wrong.

Xiao shakes his head fondly. "Knowing Mr. Z, we've got another minute or two."

You know he's right. Between his eloquent wording and sophistry, there was some more time to spare. Crowded around you are the other performers, fiddling with keys or pulling at collars. An easy tension flutters in the air, a mix of nerves and excitement, as it always is before a concert.

But right now, with Xiao's amber eyes turning into liquid silver in the curtained darkness, you let yourself relax.

Onstage, Mr. Zhongli closes his speech, letting the applause hang delicately in the air before stepping off.

With a deep breath, you follow Xiao forwards. But before he steps into the light, he pauses just behind the curtains, turning to you with a softness in his eyes that makes your heart flutter.

"By the way," he whispers, leaning close so his words only reach your ears. "I love you."

-----------------------------------------

CHILDE looks nothing short of ethereal under the stage lights. He looks like he belongs there, reciting lines with practiced poise and grace, emotion pulsing with his voice and expressions.

A natural-born theatre kid, if you were being honest.

"Y/N!" Hu Tao flashes you a thumbs-up.

You nod, giving your lines and costume another once-over before entering on your cue.

"Oh, my darling!" Childe's smile is blinding, teeth catching the lights in a way that makes you blink. "Have you come to stay? Or will you once more leave me? Do you know of how my heart tears when you are far from me?"

You let out a small sigh, looking out over the dark audience. "Calm yourself, and refrain from your dramatics."

Childe takes your hand and pulls you into his embrace, just like the two of you had practiced. He's so close you can feel the scratchiness of his costume against your arm, and you can see the sweat that dots his forehead.

"'Dear my beloved,' my letter read. Isn't that such a beautiful word? For to be beloved is to already have been loved."

"Oh-"

"Please."

And you look at him again, and see the sincerity in his eyes. His next words make you wonder if he was ever acting at all.

"Wouldn't you stay with me? Please, stay with me."

You don't get to respond before he swoops closer, so his lips nearly brush yours.

"Say yes, beloved; because your eyes have already given me your heart's reply."

------------------------------------------------

KAEYA is insufferable.

"Do your work," you mutter for the umpteenth time.

He breathes a laugh, swiveling his chair so he faces his computer again.

"I've already done most of my part," he hums, clicking through the slideshow. "I'll leave some for the rest of the week to do."

You don't respond, words about archaea and eukaryotes swimming before your eyes.

Kaeya gets up, and you give a muted sigh as he drapes his arms around your shoulders.

Still, you can't deny that it feels nice.

"You're great," you whisper, leaning into his embrace, and you mean it. You doubt that anyone else's touch could make you relax like this.

Kaeya presses a quick kiss to your forehead, smiling at you.

"You bring out the best in me," he replies. And though he laughs while he says this, you catch the genuine inflection in his voice.

You bring out the best in me, because I want to be the best for you.

----------------------------------

KAZUHA's voice lilts like the autumn wind, rising and falling like the tides of the sea. He recited poetry like it was his second language, breathed it like air.

"Call for me, O distant lov'r, and let your tender words embrace me. If by stars alone I find the way, so I shall. If through roaring storm I return to you, so I shall. If you need me, call me, for the wind will deliver me to you on wings of scarlet leaves..."

Kazuha hums in contemplation, tapping his pencil against his notebook. "What do you think?"

You can't seem to wipe the grin off your face. "I think it's very pretty."

He giggles, and you want to bottle the sound and keep it forever. "You know what else is pretty?"

"You are."

He rises, collapsing into your arms, letting his body go limp against yours. "Nope, you are."

"You."

"No, you."

"Oh, Kazuha."

"Oh! Here's a poem!"

"Let's hear it."

"Come the wind and flames, and the distant thunder near, I will forever be with you."

"Is it supposed to be a haiku?"

"It's supposed to be romantic."

"That's a... five-seven-eight," you tease, and Kazuha nuzzles his chin into your chest, bright eyes gazing adoringly into yours.

"Is that so? Well then, the three extra syllables are 'I love you.'"

taglist: @tiredsleep @serenenation @xienn @azureexursion @surukaze @yuzuricebun @uchihaeirin @loptido @dawndelion-winery

[anniflamma]

hello. I'm a fan of your david/jonathan. Your david/jonathan is one of my greatest joys these days. When I saw this video, I thought I was going to die because it was so cute. If you see an article about an unknown sudden death, think it's me. And I thought about it a few times, and it seems like the reason the author won't make a sequel is because David's story suddenly turned into a game of thrones after Jonathan died, and the author's beloved David disappeared from there after that. Let's see, making excuses to kill all the men in Saul's royal family except Mephibosheth and his son, separating the princess and her husband, watching Joab kill people because it was profitable, etc. Of course, before that, there were many times when David acted mercilessly, such as eliminating witnesses, but when he started plotting in earnest… wouldn't it be possible to also have a conspiracy theory that David broke Mephibosheth's leg? In the Bible, if we interpret the statement that David had his master's women as meaning that he inherited the prince's women, then the nurse who dropped the child may have received instructions from David. And the reason I did that was because I wanted to save Mephibosheth. So, the novel ended with the death of the two main characters, and since all the main characters died, I don't think there will be a sequel. Well, that was a depressing story. Changing the topic, this video was so cute! Saul must have done great harm to the welfare of the palace staff. Even if they received the same salary, the job satisfaction of palace employees would have been very different when David lived in the palace and when he left. Because it would no longer be fun to eavesdrop outside the door. A job where you can pay money and a job where you get paid are very different. LOL But the best scene was the belt…!

Thank you for liking my take on David/Jonathan! They are kind of a big mix of the different content I have consumed about them. And yeah, I think my favorite shot working on the opera animatic was when David pulled off his belt. We all know what he was about to do! 😏

Yeah, I could also give criticism of The Prince's Psalm that the author's obvious weak point when it comes to writing is how he writes fight scenes and political stuff. There is like only one fight scene, and that is David VS Goliath, and that scene was clunky. The other, what would be considered fight scenes, just fade to black or more like we only see the build-up to it. And when David is in the wilderness is the weaker part of the novel when he is gathering his army and doing political/military warfare. I think Eric Shaw Quinn's strongest traits are the character building and interactions.

Well, David didn't die at the end of the novel. He "died" at the tent when he heard the news of Jonathan's death and only left simply to continue the war. He is not the same person when he sang The Song of Bows even if it has been decades later. And it's pretty much the reason why I would love that the "what if" sequel had someone else as a main character. Like Mephibosheth or Absalom. Because it would introduce us to David as a new character that has changed, and it would make us, the reader, feel a type of longing for him to heal and return to the David we once knew from The Prince's Psalm.

And there are so many different takes you can do with the story of Mephibosheth or Absalom. Especially, there are so many topics you could tackle with Mephibosheth. Like his disability would be a key factor for many issues or themes. David made a rule in his palace that any disabled person would be executed if they entered. So we have Absalom growing up in a palace that was discriminating. And suddenly his own father brings in a disabled young man and says this is his brother, and if anyone hurts him, David will murder everyone. And that pretty much happens in the Bible! Everyone got thrown out of the loop.

It also brings up the question if Mephibosheth really loved David back or was his loyalty only based on him being thankful for David showing him mercy. Does Mephibosheth feel even comfortable that the only reason why he is alive is due to he is Jonathan's son?

I dunno, I love angst. I would eat it whole in one second if I ever got a The Prince's Psalm sequel!

[part-timewonders]

Darklina Week Day 1 - Children and Childhood

Happy Darklina Week 2023 (@darklina-week!) (And happiest of birthdays to our favorite silly old man!)

You can read this piece on Twitter too!

When the palace announces that the tsaritsa is expecting a child, the people celebrate. After all, their beloved Santka Alina is the one who finally destroyed the Shadow Fold separating their country, while the Black Tsar wielded the remains of it against their enemies in Fjerda and Shu Han, who now fear Ravka even more than they did before. Any child born of their union will surely be blessed with the same strength of its parents, or perhaps an even greater power that Ravka has yet to see.

The Grisha are more nervous about the news, as Grisha women have a notoriously difficult time with their pregnancies. And this is no ordinary Grisha couple, and this will be no ordinary child. If something were to happen to the Sun Summoner, or the child, who knows what the Black Tsar would unleash upon the world in his grief?

But no one is more nervous than the tsar himself—as soon as the tsaritsa told him, in the privacy of the royal chambers one sunny morning, that he would become a father, he sends out previously-drafted missives out to the far reaches of Ravka, recalling as many Healers and medical attendants as can be spared back to Os Alta for his queen. 

At that point, there was no keeping the secret from anyone. The maids whisper amongst each other that the tsaritsa has terrible morning sickness that often stretches into the afternoon, but the Healers examine her thoroughly and proclaim that she’s healthy. The morning illness will pass as her body adjusts to the presence of the child inside of her, and she is in fine health otherwise.

But it’s rare for Aleksander to have a new experience, after four hundred years; even rarer for the two of them to have a new experience together, so Alina will allow him his anxieties just this once.

“Please stop your pacing,” she says, though, one stormy night when Aleksander is close to wearing a hole in the floor of the royal bedchamber. She’s exhausted from the long day they’ve had, entertaining the Kerch trade representatives, and would like to sleep. “I’m healthy and the baby is growing as it should. You heard the Healers today! Everything is fine.”

“The Healers said you were too thin!”

“It’s because I spent the last month unable to keep food down,” Alina points out wearily. What a miserable time. It’s only been in the last week that her light meals have started staying in her stomach again, which remains mostly flat for the time being. Perfectly normal, the Healers had told her. Her bump would start showing after the first three months, a little bit at a time. “Other women give birth every day in this country without the army of Healers we have stationed in the palace. I’ll eat more often and in smaller portions, just like they told me to, and have them write me a nutrition plan, will that make you feel better?”

She doesn’t actually care that much about a nutrition plan, but at least it’ll give Aleksander something to do. As she hoped, he finally douses the candles and comes to bed, mumbling about how they should meet again with the Chief Healer in the morning, just in case. Alina shakes her head, but lets Aleksander curl up behind her, hands cradling her stomach to protect their child from whatever threats he imagines are out there.

At this rate, she doesn’t know how her immortal husband will make it through the remaining months of her pregnancy without his dark hair turning silver at the roots.

[dalleyan]

Elfwine Chronicles (new LoTR stories, Discontent posted, 12-30-23)

Their firstborn seems to occupy Lothiriel's every waking moment, making Eomer rather discontent.(Family, New Baby)

(April, 1 IV)

He used to have a wife, Eomer mused as he scowled at his desk –a warm, loving, laughing wife. But ever since the birth of their son, he had felt distanced from her. All her attention was focused on the child and, when it was not, she was usually asleep. He did not think he had held a true conversation with her in nearly a fortnight. She generally was in bed and asleep before he could disentangle himself from advisers and the like. Plain and simple, he was lonely. He had not expected fatherhood to be like this. Where was the loving family of father, mother and child he had anticipated? While he knew his responsibilities as king would unavoidably keep him separate from his beloved pair more often than he would like, always before Lothiriel had been there to sneak in a few moments of time with him no matter how pressed he was. He felt her absence keenly.

In some ways, it seemed unreasonable for him to have such feelings. One look at his dear wife and he could tell how exhausted she was, both from recovering her health after the birth and in meeting the needs of a newborn. He did not wish to make life more difficult for her with his own demands, but…

xx

Lothiriel laid her sleeping baby in his crib, wearily brushing a tender finger over his cheek. With a huge yawn, she made her way to her bed, and snuggled under the quilt. Almost instantly, she was sound asleep. Little more than an hour later, she was pulled back to consciousness by Elfwine’s crying, and she tiredly staggered to her feet to attend him.

Moments later, gazing down at the eagerly sucking bundle in her arms, her heart was full. She could not love the little mite any more than she already did, but each day it seemed that love grew deeper. And, yet, he was exhausting. She had not expected that – to always be virtually dead on her feet. In Gondor, wet nurses and maidservants took much of the work from the new mother, but even at the thought, her arms tightened around her son. How could she hand him over to strangers? He was part of her, and her responsibility, and the women of Rohan did not relinquish such things to others; neither would she. She let her eyes slip closed, to rest them against the bright spring sunlight streaming through the window.

continue reading on AO3:

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/52244710/chapters/133226611)

[mxdam]

one of margarethe's most important traits is that she is a liar. there is a streak of dishonesty that runs through every layer of her psyche; on the conscious level, she will calmly and freely lie to any person at any time if it suits her purposes. on the unconscious level, margarethe spends a great deal of time lying to herself.

the reason i am discussing this is because of her first husband, francis tremaine. margarethe has a scene with ella, after her discovery of the glass slipper and the mystery princess' true identity, where she tells ella the story of her life:

"once upon a time, there was a beautiful young girl, who married for love, and she had two loving daughters. all was well. but one day, her husband, the light of her life, died. the next time, she married for the sake of her daughters. but that man, too, was taken from her. and she was doomed to look every day on his beloved child. she had hoped to marry off one of her beautiful, stupid daughters to the prince, but his head was turned by a girl with glass slippers. and so, i lived unhappily ever after. my story would appear to be ended."

there is a lot i can say here about the conscious and unconscious mythmaking margarethe is doing here. she has many telling omissions, and i may revisit them at a later time, but rn we are here to discuss francis, the man she "married for love," the one who was "the light of her life."

francis tremaine was 15 years her senior, and was 35 when they met, when margarethe was 20. he was an established merchant with a position in the mercer's guild. in addition to being older with the gains in brain development and life experience that came with it, he also had the benefit of male privilege in a society that disenfranchised women, and was able to be fully independent, a legal person under the law, and own property. he had power.

margarethe ten broek was, again, 20 years old. she was the dependent daughter of separated parents who had a strong whiff of scandal around her for that reason; the split between her mother and father was the stuff of gossip and there was widespread skepticism about helena and her children, which helena had been combating for 7-8 years at this time by demanding a pulverizing obedience from margarethe and absolute social perfection at every moment--margarethe suffered for every flaw, every moment she let her guard down.

yes, margarethe loved francis. could she possibly avoid loving francis? he was the first person to really look at her, to fix her with serious attention, and to not just offer her the world, but make her believe it was possible to get such a gift. from her position of vulnerability, dependence, and inexperience, she believed every word he said and fell desperately, passionately in love with him. her need and his pleasure in her need were the foundation of their marriage. as you can imagine, this did not go very well for them.

[fymagnificentwomcn]

Best of “Daily Sabah”

I promised this once and I think it might be surprising how it works in some way.

Of course after only like five minutes on the page I always feel disgusted by the hate towards Armenians, Greeks, Jews, conspiracy theories and shocked by the lack of self awareness with Evil Decadent West and great Turkey which has no problems whatsoever, only getting greater (basically Russian propaganda ,just exchange Ukrainians, Poles etc. for Armenians, Greeks, Jews, while EU and USA stay the same).

Let’s move to the series we will discuss - the portraits of historical figures from Ottoman history.

There are several rules that apply to all biographies:

1. All Ottoman padişahs were practically perfect by default and there was not a single one you would call bad, including those that used to be heavily criticised, like Ibrahim. A lot of them are child prodigies. If anyone is guilty of anything, it’s “greedy courtiers” (read: not from the sacred Imperial Family, unless some are misguided by them, like Şehzade Mustafa or those who murdered Sultan Osman).

2. All the women knew their place and were “intelligent and benevolent”. Usually are mentioned in one sentence of padişah’s bio saying they were beloved consort, insert the “intelligent and benevolent” stock phrase bit and number of kids (plus highlight that the padisah in question did not spend much time in harem, was monogamous or near it, and that women had small influence on him, everything else is slander). Basically they only took part in charity and defended their padişah husband or son, but God forbid were ambitious,, led factions and schemed or got involved in real politics - this is slander.

3. Normalization of violence - all opposition to current or future padisah is bad by default and all people who were executed deserved their death and it was always for the benefit of state. No what ifs, but also no evidence;) No, no scheming women as well, look parts 1 & 2. If the sovereign decided so, it must be the good decision for the state. Only greedy courtiers can make bad decisions. And Sultan Ahmed, who abolished the fratricide law and committed the biggest mistake ever. Fratricide was Constitutional (xD, yes Mehmed II wrote constitution) and basically involved no decision on the part of padişah - it simply had to be that way, no need to question it. It’s Constitution, after all. Going all automatic. No choice. Which is actually not true, but the simplified explanation of fratricide law, which is often circulating around even outside propaganda circles ( I might make a separate post on the topic one day tbh). Firstly, the law was not “ancient” or “eternal” or even “ several centuries old”. It was used as part of multiple civil conflicts emerging during Empire’s earliest era where the was no central power established and then condified by Mehmed the Conqueror in second half of 15th century. Moreover, it was not included in laws easily because fratricide is a huge sin in Islam. This is why the whole wording contains the phrase “most ulema agreed to it’. By no means it was unanimous and non-controversial matter. And the original intent was to make each padisah decide based on current situation and whether he deemed it necessary for maintenance of order (hence original wording “is acceptable”, not “must execute”.) Secondly, it was established in special moment when the state was still consolidating and beginning transformation to sedentary. Hence, it was used as tool in times when the state and its establishments were dispersed to determine central administration and was also to be used as tool in civil wars to end them.

Since the law clearly was shown to be outdated pretty soon (during Suleiman sedentary sultanate was pretty firmly established), and after Murad III conducted first slaughter of all his brothers living in palace in capital in 1574, the criticism among people was growing, and reached its climax when Mehmed III executed 19 brothers. It was different when princes were executed in provinces in aftermath of civil war, and it hit differenly when elder prince just killed his brothers automatically after ascending the throne (again it happened for the first time in 1574 ).

Presenting something as “constitutional” or “rooted in our statehood and laws since forever” erases the choice and culpability of a particular padisah. It enables to absolve him of individual decision and redirecting attention towards a bigger concept - the utmost important of statehood and order over individual, including padisah. Similarly, it never questions the concept of “order” as determined by a padisah in a particular context (brings to mind quote from MC Ibrahim - “Truth? Truth is what padisah wants believe”). It goes without saying this view is also closely connected with victim blaming. Moreover, the way they mention executions always places emotional focus with the poor monarch who just had no other choice but it hurt him so.

Erdo propaganda does not deny fratricide law existed and does not deny all sorts of violence in general - it chooses to normalize it instead and treat it as unavoidable and serving a higher purpose. I’ve seen from Erdoğan supporting Turks multiple statement in vein “This is how world works, accept it, war is part of life, everyone does it, only the strongest will survive” or applauding it “Sultan Murad was fearful and killed all those traitorous trouble stirrers, they all feared him, thanks to this he saved the state”. Normalization of violence stresses everyone is engaged in violence and erases difference between oppressor and victim.

Normalization of violence is important for contemporary authoritarian regimes, including Turkey. Making people indifferent to violent acts by showing this as normal process of human life and necessity. Same with victim blaming and not questioning whether the person persecuted by regime was punished justly - “it was necessary”. 

4. Ottoman system was perfect and was never in decline. We all know the famous “X ruined Empire”, but it does not come from Neo Ottomanists propaganda. It’s a take coming from (outdated) historiography by Young Turks (who were also nationalistic and misogynistic). The explanation is simple - for Neo Ottomanists the whole system was absolutely perfect, the system of succession also worked pretty well and there were no bad Sultans, everything was going great, only traitors supported by foreign agents, Free Masons and Zionists caused the collapse of Ottoman Empire. The system itself was chic and it was basically fairyland (back to point 2 with exemplary royal family always abiding by rules of Islam and patriotic feelings). Again, all crises were caused only by greedy subjects who caused problems to the Imperial Family and all the evil forces from outside. Nobody could cause the decline because in Neo Ottomanists’ view there was no real crisis, and the biggest danger came from outside.

This is why Sabah’s pieces might look alluring with their “pretty nice” and sympathetic descriptions of Imperial women and even give thus give impression of not being connected with Neo Ottomanists... but they are. Same with certain revisionism giving the allure of “hot takeism” or praising democratic & modern values, but by suggesting that the system of absolute monarchy not only promoted them, but even.. invented them (yes, they go as far). Positive propaganda is definitely more present in the historical series of articles.

Let’s move to examples:

Hürrem Sultan (Source)

Süleyman ruled for 46 years, people wanted to see Şehzade Mustafa take the throne instead of his elderly father. The close circle of Şehzade Mustafa encouraged him to seek power, and after some time, he began to talk at times as if he were the sultan. This made Süleyman suspicious about a possible plot against him, and when the sultan acquired evidence about the betrayal of his son, he executed Şehzade Mustafa. It is said that Hürrem, who wanted her children to sit on the throne after Süleyman, encouraged the Sultan to kill his own son. Some historians also blame Hürrem and her son-in-law Rüstem Pasha for encouraging Süleyman to kill his grand vizier, Pargalı İbrahim Pasha, and forgetting to mention what Şehzade and the grand vizier did to deserve this end. Perhaps Hürrem was not sorry about these incidents and perhaps she was happy with the results. However, she was not to blame for the executions of Şehzade Mustafa and Pargalı İbrahim Pasha. Mustafa had proven that he was not worthy of the Ottoman throne with his reckless behavior. Although he was courageous, he lacked two qualities that were more important: patience and cautiousness. Moreover, neither Süleyman nor Hürrem hesitated to execute their son Şehzade Beyazid when he stirred up a riot. During those times, the Ottoman sultans did not hesitate to sacrifice even their loved ones for the unity of the empire and the people – one of the reasons why the Ottoman Empire stood for centuries.

Do I even have to point out the obvious fact Hürrem could not execute Bayezid because she had been dead by this point? (and not like she would ever, she did intercede for his sake and it’s pretty certain he was the prince she supported for the throne... actually books which state that she supported Selim usually provide no evidence, only base it on assumption that “Hürrem ruined Empire” ... which is again a narrative not propagated by Neo Ottomanists but by Young Turks historians in the past, and it assumes she had to promote the son which was weak and easy to dominate, to make use of the badly working system).

In short: she executed her son but it was awesome. Very.. interesting approach. Putting on her something she could not even physically do, but as something that was actually praiseworthy.

Obviously, there is no questioning of Ibrahim’s or Mustafa’s guilt. “Forgetting to mention what they did” and not following with particular examples and evidence & sources backing up the claims. Going from “evidence of betrayal” to “Mustafa was reckless and impatient and this is why he didn’t deserve the throne” in the same article. So did he betray or was punished for imprudent actions? Very enlightening. And Suleiman’s only problem was getting old.

They are still not claiming outright rebellion, though, of course it will pop up soon.

 Kösem Sultan (Source)

Kösem Sultan was brought to the Ottoman palace as either Bosnian or Morean slave and given the name "Mahpeyker," meaning moon-like face in Persian language for her beauty.

The first source I’ve ever seen that does not at least mention the Greek claim. Hmm.

She practiced Sufism with her highly religious husband. Mahpeyker lived a quiet and peaceful life and looked after her children.

That’s her whole Haseki career according to Sabah🤦‍♀️ .

Yes, they say Kösem was good and should not be blamed for anything, but at the same time do a huge disservice by undermining her actual political skill and influence. They again focus mostly on her charity and motherhood, mostly removing her as a political agent otherwise. The description of Kösem's murder criticizes the murderers, but again removes Turhan’s (or Terhan’s xD) agency and actual role, instead of attributing actual action on the part of “bureaucrats supporting Terhan”. Typical narrative. Always only the bureaucrats. Never a member of the royal family (TBF in same vein they often devoid padisahs of agency at times, but at least then they compensate it by giving them other ‘great’ counteractions and ‘smart moves’ in addition to that).

Even today, fervent supporters of women's rights accuse her poking his nose into state affairs by saying that she put her "hennaed" fingers on state affairs. The period of "Sultanate of Women" in the Ottoman history was the outcome of a total political necessity. It took a short period of time and brought many benefits. Mahpeyker Sultan was always described as an ambitious woman, yet it is rarely mentioned that she took action with her patriotic feelings. Indeed, it was a sacrifice for Mahpeyker Sultan, whose sorrowful days were more than happy ones in her life, to carry heavy state affairs on her naïve shoulders at a troublesome period.

Now the people who slander Kösem are “fervent supporters of women’s rights” (xD) who want to discuss her contribution to the actual ruling of the state. Oh they finally admit SOW existed (read later, they sometimes deny its existence), but again “total necessity”; no women would ever have political ambition, she can only be forced to do it.

Her “naive shoulders” just tops it. Yes, do not slander her - she didn’t make good decisions but it was because she was naive. Hmmm... Yes great doing her actual justice, thanks. Maybe admit she could actually make sound decisions as a real politician?

And the Mehmed IV article suggested those who murdered her alleged (note this word choice in particular) she was taking part in state matters... according to them, neither Turhan nor Kösem truly ruled during that period, it was again a bunch of courtiers.

Now let’s move to the “Mighty sovereigns of Ottoman Throne” series. I will focus on padisahs from MC/K era, but all articles are “gold”.

Selim Yavuz (Source)

Some viziers and soldiers from the center wrote a letter to Şehzade Korkut, whom Sultan Selim loved very much and had assigned as the governor of Manisa. They stated that they wanted to see him as sultan and that the conditions were ready for this. Although it is said that Sultan Selim had these letters written to test his brother, he actually did not need such an action. Instead of informing his brother about the situation, Şehzade Korkut accepted the offer. Thereupon, he and all the other şehzades were executed. It is said that Sultan Selim was very upset when he made this decision for a greater purpose.

Poor little cutie 😭

It is said that he slept very little. He was not fond of harem life either. His only known wife was Hafsa Hatun, the daughter of the Crimean Khan Mengli Giray. She had a son named Şehzade Süleyman and six daughters.

Of course, though in this case, I might agree he was not much into harem life. Plus outdated info on Hafsa’s origins.

Suleiman (Source)

According to historic documents, he was generous, elegant, modest, dervish-spirited, devoted to his religion and did not act impulsively or did not do anything without consultation. He put the interests of the nation above everything, even his family. The criticism about him, especially the fact that he was under the influence of his family, are baseless allegations.

Like his father, he did not pay much attention to the harem life. His son Mustafa, born from his first wife Mahidevran, started to prepare a rebellion against his father after being persuaded to do so by those around him and was executed in 1553. From his second wife, Hürrem, a daughter named Mihrimah and sons named Mehmed, Selim, Bayezid and Cihangir reached adulthood. Mehmed, who his father loved very much, died of smallpox in 1543 at the age of 22. Cihangir also died in 1553. Şehzade Bayezid rebelled against his father and took refuge in Iran after being defeated. He was executed in 1562.

Basically whole article on absolute perfection and paragon of virtue. Again, sons were guilty and misguided. Women had no influence. This is the only mention of Hürrem in the whole article. Later she and Mahidevran are only referred to as “his two wives” to stress he was under no influence of them “- Historians say that his two wives and those around them were political factions and accuse the sultan of being under the influence of the second faction”. Plus Ibrahim had to die because he had too close relationship to the Sultan, but it was still not Sultan’s fault of giving him all these ranks. And both Mustafa and Bayezid were rebels, which in Bayezid’s case is true (but they do not discuss this in depth anyway), but with Mustafa again no evidence, not even mentioning any details because who cares. Guilty as charged. 

There is not a single evidence Mustafa ever rebelled, even from sources sympathetic to Suleiman (or even negative stuff said on him in sources).

Even those who try to decipher what influenced Suleiman’s decisions and try to understand his state of mind and how some actions of Mustafa could be read by him in certain way do not claim that Mustafa ever rebelled, like Zahit Atçil in his famous piece “Why did Suleiman execute Şehzade Mustafa?”. Atcil mentions Mustafa tried to gain support (e.g. got into diplomatic relations with Venice), but afterwards stresses that “Forming coalitions and seeking allies were perfectly legitimate moves for a candidate to the throne, and supporting a particular claimant constituted a way for various social groups (e.g., janissaries, viziers, scholars, middle-class citizens) to participate in imperial politics.” Atcil also adds that all candidates did seek for allies, only Mustafa was far more successful than his half-brothers in securing support. Mustafa in the letter to certain Ayas Pasha (not that one ;) mentioned yes he did want the throne, but stressed that it would be only after his father’s death, which sounds very much like MC Mustafa.

Ok correction they also mention Hürrem when they talk about Suleiman’s building endeavours and that he commissioned  “complex in the name of Hürrem Sultan”. Yes there are some doubts how much influence Hürrem could have in what that complex turned out to be, but this removes ALL of it. It’s only Suleiman’s and he named it in her honour.

And this is again just hilarious:

An anecdote is also told about this. During the Cold War, Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev, leader of Soviet Russia, saw Sultan Suleiman in his dream. In this dream, he asked the sultan: “You were in Hungary for almost two centuries. Before we were even in the country for 10 years, the people revolted. How did you manage that?" The sultan gave a historical answer: “After we conquered Hungary, we made Hungary our homeland and settled down. We did not require the people to speak Turkish. We did not declare the day we conquered the land as a Hungarian national holiday as you did.”

And all the references to how modern and pretty much democratic Suleiman’s rule was, sooo like the French Revolution! I don’t even have strength to delve into it all, but one point is clear - they do focus on the positive and actually do not portray democratic values as bad at all - they just twist everything to suggest such very absolutist system was actually protecting these values.

Selim II (Source)

The essay on Selim of course promotes similar view with respect to his father and his brothers, while Selim’s most admiring trait was obviously “obedience”. Plus, the piece removes Selim’s agency in the whole conflict with Bayezid. And according to sources he did scheme against his brother and reading letters contained e.g. in New Perspectives on Safavid Iran (”Am I my brother’s keeper? Negotiating corporate sovereignty and divine absolutism in sixteenth-century Turco-Iranian politics” essay by Colin Mitchell), we can see he actively participated in negotiations with Shah Tahmasp to have Bayezid executed.

Indeed, his brothers Mehmed and Cihangir fell ill and died. The ambitions of Şehzade Mustafa and Bayezid, who rose up against their fathers, cost them their lives. Şehzade Selim attained the blessing of patience and thus proved that he was the most worthy candidate for the throne. Patience is the most precious virtue of a statesman. Actually, his father was also inclined toward supporting Şehzade Selim to succeed him for the throne since he was an obedient son. He participated in expeditions with his father.

Now hold on truly tightly because shit gets really, really wild. Suddenly we learn Ottoman Empire in 16th century was run like modern democratic monarchy and that the Sultan even prevented colonialism! Not like Selim was simply not much into state affairs (which is no crime, but c’mon this explanation...). Again, I agree Selim used to get some unnecessary wank by historians, but Sabah goes wayyy into opposite extreme (and not only Sabah tbh).

Preventing colonialism

After ascending the throne, Sultan Selim II left government affairs in the hands of his prudent vizier and son-in-law, Sokollu (Sokullu) Mehmed Pasha. He was like the rulers of today's democratic European monarchies. But he was always alert for the ambitions of those around him. [..,] 

Upon the request of the Astrakhan sultan for help, the Russo-Turkish War, or Don-Volga-Astrakhan Campaign of 1569, was launched. It aimed to connect the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea by opening a channel at a point where the Volga River flowing into the Caspian Sea and the Don River flowing into the Sea of Azov come very close to each other, thus providing protection for Turkistan against Russian expansionism. The project was started; however, it could not be carried out due to winter and other reasons.The Crimean Khan Devlet I Giray, to whom Sultan Selim II sent aid, invaded Moscow and forced the Russians to make peace. Thus, he prevented Asia from falling into the hands of the colonialists. The Suez Canal project of the sultan, who wanted to strengthen his political and commercial dominance in the Indian Ocean, was not realized.

Again, the Russian Empire was seen as a significant foreign force that caused the collapse of Empire, hence that focus. Young Turks actually strove to have good relations with USSR.

Never mind the contradictory statements -”we prevented expansionism and colonialism by launching war” and again preventing colonialism while “wanting to strengthen political and commercial dominance in the Indian Ocean”. Aha.

It was allowed again during the reign of Sultan Selim II to compensate for the tax loss. As a matter of fact, non-Muslims can buy, sell and drink wine in an Islamic state as their religion allows it. In the Ottoman Empire, there were pubs belonging to non-Muslims. The government used to collect taxes from them, and Muslims could not enter these places. Some, who were unaware of this rule, thought that the sultan was fond of alcohol.

Some weird ass explanation why Selim could not be drunk. I find it hard to even follow this train of thought. Usually, it’s simple - no Muslim Caliph can be drunk because Islam forbade it and they were all paragons (thanks to certain charming person on IG explaining this train of thought to me and my friends).

He was not fond of harem life. His only beloved wife, Nurbanu Sultan, was one of the most benevolent women in history. She had Mimar Sinan build the Atik Valide Mosque in Üsküdar and its complex and the Toptaşı Bimarhane (mental hospital), which today serves in Bakırköy. There are many other charities she had commissioned. She brought water to Istanbul.

The sultan had eight sons named Murad, Mehmed, Ali, Süleyman, Mustafa, Cihangir, Abdullah and Osman and four daughters named Esmehan, Gevherhan, Fatma and Shah Sultan. The descendants of Esmahan's children born from Sokollu Mehmed Pasha and Gevherhan's from Piyale Pasha have survived to the present day.

Again they are contradicting themselves - they state Nurbanu was his only wife and no way he could spend much time in the harem. But then provide all the sons whose mother was not Nurbanu (except Murad of course). Aha.

Murad III (Source)

In some modern sources, his fondness for women is mentioned, which is not true. He lived with his only wife, Safiye Sultan, until the age of 30. He had many children, most of whom died in infancy, and Şehzade Mehmed ascended the throne as his successor.

Of course. Better not list the number of those kids not to make the reader doubt whether one woman could bear them all ;)

Mehmed III  (Source)

Although it is said that Sultan Mehmed III was under the influence of his Albanian-born mother Safiye Sultan because of his love and respect for her, this is an exaggeration. When he came to the throne, he had his brothers executed within the fratricidal framework of the organization law of Sultan Mehmed II in order to prevent future revolts under the claim of the throne. This decision, which the sultan made with great sadness, caused great indignation in Istanbul. This was the last application of the constitutional condition.

Again poor cookie had no choice because “CoNsTItuTiONal CoNdItIon” . Of course he was not under influence of his mother. This is the only time a woman is mentioned in this article. Handan and Halime do not exist. 

Ahmed I (Source)

Sultan Ahmed is regarded as a well-educated, intellectual and determined sovereign. He refrained from personal addictions and weaknesses. Along with many Ottoman sultans, his intellect developed at an early age. Although he was enthroned when he was a child, he managed to rule with great talent and wisdom.

A child prodigy. Bah, they were all child prodigies. 

The sultan was noted for a surprisingly good command of administrative matters and following them up, trying to assign matters to competent people, and directing and controlling his entourage. As soon as he ascended to the throne, the sultan sent women in the palace, including his grandmother Safiye Sultan to the old palace and did not let royal women meddle in politics.

Anyone surprised?  If you ask about Kösem, she is mentioned, her kids are listed and she is called you-guessed-it “benevolent and intelligent”. That’s all.

Finally, we come to finale paragraph entitled “Mercy and Disaster”

Almost everyone admits Sultan Ahmed I’s skills and goodwill, but some do not see him as a bright sovereign. This happens to be the destiny of sovereign who ruled during turbulent times and lacked capable aides.

But he was a child prodigy at the beginning of the article? 

What made them write the biggest criticism aimed at sovereign? Of course abolition of fratricide, which is deemed “disaster for Empire”. They remark Ahmed was compassionate, but that’s all. Otherwise the move was the biggest mistake. Also note the interlinking between mercy and disaster.

Mustafa I (Source)

We start by several paragraphs bemoaning the end of fratricide and again repeating what a disastrous (though merciful) act it was. They just cannot move on from this and it’s hilarious. They also try to rationalize Ahmed’s decision in several ways:

Sultan Mustafa I, the 15th of the Ottoman sultans, was born in Manisa in 1591 to Sultan Mehmed III and Halime Haseki. When his older brother, Sultan Ahmed I, ascended the throne, he strayed from the customs of previous sultans and did not have his brothers executed for the sake of the public; He didn't touch his brother.

Halime is mentioned by her name and already in the first paragraph! A success.

Plus they stress the “for public” bit for the purpose to show what can happen when you yield to opinion of subjects.

His mother was a smart and strong woman, though not as smart as Mahpeyker Kösem Sultan. She supported her son when faced with intrigues. His mother dictated the sultan's edicts.

Of course smart and going against intrigues. Actually not a single hint of criticism.

Kösem is also lucky to be mentioned as the person who could influence Mustafa climbing the throne! As acting for the protection of her sons, they see it as non-harmful to admit that. Especially since (as we will see) she’s mother of such paragons as Murad and Ibrahim ;)

Osman II (Source)

Osman had genius but he was young. Therefore, he could not properly use his education and genius. He was aware that the world changed and some things were not going well in the country, and he had plans to fix these.

Of course another prodigy.. .

A Polish army of 100,000 people that included Cossacks, Austrians and Hungarians were defeated after a tough battle, and Khotyn fell.

As a Polish person, I tell you Khotyn did not fall. And lying about that was Osman’s own propaganda that also enraged people against him.

In order to ensure the safety of the empire before departing for the campaign, he had his younger brother Şehzade Mehmed, who was one year younger than him, executed as prescribed by the fratricide rule of Mehmed II. Poor şehzade cursed the sultan as: “Osman, just like you deprived me of my life, I wish from Allah that your rule to be short”.

Again, matter-of-fact-tone and stressing it was “prescribed”. Suddenly no bemoaning fratricide was abolished? 

Murad IV (Source)

Hold on again please.

When he was just 10 years old, he started dressing as a commoner and wandering around the city, making plans for his future work as a result of the cooperation he would establish with the public. He would keep a list of those he could benefit from and those he would punish.

Yeah everyone allowed 10 year old prince (prodigy) to wander along steets like that. No biggie.

In the aftermath, Sultan Murad forbade smoking tobacco and ordered that the coffee shops, where people used to gather to drink coffee and smoke, be destroyed. The sultan would dress up as a local, mingle with the crowds and have those he caught smoking put to death. It is said that 20,000 people were sentenced to death in this way. As such, many bullies and tyrants were cleared off the streets.

Easy? He executed thousands of his people, but no biggie, they were all bullies and tyrants anyway. And how do we know this? They smoked.

Since his childhood was spent in revolutions, he was used to all kinds of disasters. The feeling of fear was alien to him. In eight years, he ordered the execution of a number of people who were considered untouchable until then, in order to show that there was no power above the authority of the state. Those who describe him as bloodthirsty don't take into account the anarchy of his time and how the people suffered from it. He tried to be a sultan that the public wished for.

Normalization of violence again. And are you talking about the same public he executed (see above)

Sultan Murad used to take opium extracts (morphine) given by the head physician in order to alleviate the pain of the gout disease he was suffering from. This made him feel tired and lethargic. Those who saw him staggering from time to time concluded that the sultan was consuming alcohol. Moreover, he reigned at a time in which alcohol was used for pain relief. The state dignitaries were not fond of the sultan's friends and would accuse them of getting the sultan accustomed to debauchery, which was far from the truth for him.

Again no way an Ottoman Sultan could be ever drunk. They were all perfect Muslims by default. He died from gout, not cirrhosis. No matter what everyone else says. And let’s also make him more sympathetic -you accuse poor cookie of drinking and he was simply trying to alleviate his pain!🤬

Although he was considered to have a harsh stance on political matters, he was tender-hearted.

Sure.

When they list the poets he sponsored, I love how they listed Nef’i without mentioning his ultimate fate ;)

A generation ago, Istanbul, where not a single murder had been committed in a whole year, was in turmoil. Sultan Murad took drastic measures to restore the old order in the most populous city of this world.

Lemme ever believe that no murder happened in the “most populous city of this world” during whole ass year ever.

He established a personal intelligence network throughout the empire. He reorganized the spy organization in Europe and transformed it into what it was during the reign of Suleiman the Magnificent. The most hidden secrets began to reach the Ottoman palace day by day.

He learned about the oppressors and the tyrants everywhere. He was able to execute bullies so quickly while passing through certain cities during his expedition because he knew them all by name.

Yeah his spy network make him watch all his subjects moves closely, but it was again about bullies and tyrants only as always. “Bullies and tyrants and oppressors” emerge so often in this article without calling one certain bully and tyrant and oppressor by that term. Whoop.

The rebels used to threaten to depose him with his brothers at every opportunity. He had three of his brothers executed, two during the Yerevan and one during the Baghdad expeditions, according to the old constitutional tradition. He left behind a less competent brother, from which the Ottoman dynasty continued.

Again “old cOnStItUtIonAl tradition” plus obligatory matter-of-fact tone. Better not remind our readers our earlier bemoaning of apparent abolition of it anyway? At least this time they spared us the stressing of how sorry and sad the little hapless woobie was.

No woman is mentioned in this article, only Kösem is mentioned next to Ahmed as Murad’s parents in opening paragraph.

All the long descriptions of his physical strength and what not our redneck could do, what distances he could run etc. let me no waste time on that please. Let’s move on to Ibrahim.

Ibrahim (Source)

Even textbooks describe this sultan as Deli Ibrahim, or Ibrahim the Mad. In fact, this is the imputation of 20th-century historians.

Do not get me wrong - tales about Ibrahim’s madness and his actions were exaggerated (the famous drowning of his concubines myth), but it’s hard to deny he had serious mental problems and it’s particularly ridiculous to maintain he only began to be called mad in 20th century (read: by Young Turks historians).

If anything, most tales were invented after his death as part of factional in-fighting and also by these who took part in the coup to remove any doubt that his deposition was a necessary move.

The rumors that Sultan Murad IV ordered his brother Ibrahim’s execution on his final days are not true. On the contrary, Murad sought out his brother before his death, bequeathed him the task of protecting the people and made amends.

Such sweet fairytale. While it is debated whether Murad ordered the execution or not, it’s the first time I hear him making amends and all that sentimental bulllshit.

After donning the turban of second Caliph Umar ibn al-Khattab brought in from the Chamber of Blessed Mantle of the Prophet Muhammad, Ibrahim sat on the throne and prayed: "Oh God! You deem fit a weak subject like me for this post. May you make my nation happy during the days of my reign and make us both content with each other!" This incident is clear evidence that the sultan was not mad.

Absolutely irrefutable proof. A-ha.

Ibrahim was portrayed as a short-tempered and dissolute sultan who spent his days in the palace with beautiful girls, entirely clad in sable fur – a tale everyone believed. At a time when radiators or even stoves were nonexistent, in a humid city such as Istanbul, people living in high-ceiling places and homes used to burn wood in fireplaces. Therefore, almost everyone used to wear fur to keep themselves warm. Unlike today, however, fur was sewn on the inside of robes.

And everyone could afford fur, especially people who starved during this period. A-ha.

The sultan had some relief after Kazasker (chief judge) Hüseyin Efendi of Safranbolu, who was renowned in Istanbul for his "effective" prayers, recited the Quran to him and prayed for him. Hüseyin Efendi, who received much praise and gained popularity because of this incident, also came to be known as a spiritualist hodja (exorcist), leading to an increase in the sultan’s adversaries.

Now even Cinci, a character criticized in all sources no matter POV, gets redeemed. 

During the reign of Sultan Ibrahim, there were severe cold spells in which the Golden Horn and even the Bosporus froze. The cold led to increased demand for sable fur, with those who lived in proceeding centuries overlooking the cold and seeing the "sable era" as a period of debauchery. Young Turk-leaning early 20th-century historian Ahmed Refik Altınay also played a role in this. Exaggerated definitions such as “the reign of women,” “the reign of aghas,” or “the sable era” were coined by him.

However, the sultan did not allow for the women of palace, even his mother Mahpeyker Valide Sultan (queen mother), to take part in state affairs. This was why he sent the palace women, including his mother and sisters, into exile. Ibrahim was the last surviving male member of the Ottoman dynasty, and his efforts to have children were considered debaucherous. It is said that in his final days, he devoted himself to entertainment, however, this did not have a negative effect on state affairs since it was personal.

Yes, no woman had any influence during Ibrahim’s reign, including Kösem. In a way, maybe the only thing she did according to Sabah’s articles here is she might have influenced change in fratricide law, which was a bad thing anyway, since it came from her motherly instincts (typical woman and moreover naive as we know already). She had no political agenda or political career apart from royal motherhood. 

Like I don’t even have strength pointing out how many sources deny these “claims” with no evidence provided whatsover.

Instead we have them dismiss the mere idea “Sultanate of Women” ever existed.  

And of course they have to point out “Young Turk” invented this term and discussed women’s involvement in politics. It is worth pointing out that Altinay wrote about Armenian genocide which was committed by Young Turks and even today the ruling regime which is anti-Atatürk inclined denies it (and not only them, many Kemalists do too, sadly).

It’s true though that Altinay put many nonsensical accusations towards Ottoman women (which was also characteristic of time period, his work Kadinlar Saltanati began to be published in 1916 and it was truly first such work in Turkey), but what drives Sabah and Neo Ottomanist mad first and foremost is that a) he mentions they actually had the influence and were important political actors b) it means their great padisahs were actually influenced by women.. which constitutes great offence for these prodigies and paragons c) suggests mothers of their padisahs could be human and also do some bad things.

Women are not mentioned anymore in the Ibrahim article except Turhan in one sentence - “The late sultan’s spouse Hadice Terhan Haseki is regarded as one of the most famous and highly qualified women in Ottoman history”. Yes they spell Terhan both here and in the Kösem article all the time. No mention of her regency. No mention of Telli Humasah, Saliha Dilasub, Sekerpare, etc. whatsoever.

The sultan’s intolerance to injustice and his inability to keep his feelings secret decreased his supporters and drove them away.

His last Grand Vizier Hezarpare Ahmed Pasha did not shy from lying to the sultan regarding foreign affairs. Thus, the sultan did not have a single useful soul in this entourage, with sycophants and hypocrites bringing about the sultan's end.

Basically his only crime was that he was too good. Again only the evil courtiers around are at fault and caused his demise.

The coup’s description is of course totally biased in Sultan’s favour and framing him as absolutely completely innocent, and even the executioner did not want to do it. No mention of fetva being issued against Ibrahim for breaching so many laws. No mention of all the disruption and difficult situations of commonfolk during Ibrahim’s reign. No his reign was stable and everything was all right.

Sultan Ibrahim is described as generous and compassionate. He donated a lot to the poor. He paid attention to ensure the treasury revenues were collected regularly, spent properly and that wages were paid without delay. He used to covertly roam the city and monitored the people’s needs on the spot.

For the conclusion, let’s look at the Abdülhamid II article:

Sultan Abdülhamid always used civilized methods in foreign policy and acted in very subtle and clever ways. He understood the importance of propaganda, which is the most effective means of power of our time, and tried to use it in the most effective way for not offensive but defensive purposes against imperialist and colonialist policies.

Propaganda is actually anti-imperialist and anti-colonialist. A-ha.

Knowing what he could do and what he could not do, he followed an honorable path in politics. He was not a person of minor ideas and circles, and acted with lofty purposes like his ancestors. In this way, many political dangers were eliminated with small concessions.

From the collapse of the great empire within 10 years after his departure, it is clear that Abdülhamid extended the state’s life by 30 years with his mistakes and merits. The Ottoman Empire, one of the five largest in the world at the time, turned into a third-world country in the next 10 years.

Yeah only problems in paradise only appeared after Ottoman Empire fell, earlier it had been all dandy and all sultans had been dandy.

[fakeboitherottengirl]

My best friend from college’s ex wife cheated on him and when he called her on it she pushed him down a flight of stairs and smashed glass ornaments over his face, got him arrested for DV for the marks he left trying to stop the attack, and while he was in holding she let her cats into his beloved guinea pig enclosure and let them murder all 6 of them and then spammed his phone with pictures of the aftermath and now has a protection order against him for her and the child (who isn’t his) that he spend more than half a decade helping her raise so he has to mourn the loss of his daughter too, she pretty much drove him out of town with her lies he had to move back to his hometown because 3 separate occasions he was jumped for “hitting a woman” (which he NEVER did, he left small finger-sized bruises on her sternum from pushing her off of him and that was the ONLY “violence” on his end) but if you really don’t believe that women can abuse men you are NOT an ally to the abused.

[ecoamerica]

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[rosiewitchescottage]

Aaaand here we are again. 🙄

Another person has blocked me on the quite mistaken assumption that I am a TERF. (Whatever that even means these days.)

Do I look like any kind of feminist? Let alone a RadFem? 🙄

I'm Pro Women and I'm Pro Men. I don't need a label for that.

I wouldn't mind. But the post in question wasn't even remotely related to the subject.

Someone had asked the question

'Are The British Real?'

I'm British (surprise, surprise ehh? 😁🇬🇧)

And I found it absolutely hilarious.

So I wanted to join in.

I joshed that we're just a figment of everyone's imagination, but that we believe in ourselves.

And that we really shouldn't be encouraged.

🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧

Evidence for The Defence continues below.

I do NOT hate trans people.

I do adhere to the long standing definitions of Manhood and Womanhood that link them with the sexual biology of the body

Man = Male

Woman = Female.

Gender Dysphoria is absolutely real, and it continues with the theme of biological sex

You're Male. Your mind has a disorder that makes you unbearably ill at ease with your Maleness.

You know that Man = Male. So, you live as a Woman, to distance yourself (as much as is possible) from the Maleness of Manhood.

You're Female your mind has a disorder that makes you unbearably ill at ease with your Femaleness.

You know that Woman = Female. So you live as a Man, to distance yourself (as much as is possible) from the Femaleness of Womanhood.

I have zero issues with any of this.

In fact I feel nothing but compassion for anyone in the middle of a battle between his/her mind and the unchangeable sexual biology of the body.

I can't imagine the feeling of living completely as a woman. Whilst knowing that my genes, my bone structure, my body processes, are all biologically male. And I can't do anything to change them. Opposite wise for a trans man.

You won't hear me oppose anything that helps you live with this dilemma.

What I do oppose

Confusing and Abusing Children and Teens - Biological Sex is real. Aside from the above situation, which needs to be thoroughly diagnosed by a reputable and ethical medical professional, and then treated in the way that best suits each patient.

Boy to Man = Male

Girl to Woman = Female

I've no idea of the full range of potential causes for a child/teen to be going through an identity crisis.

But this is exactly why we should be allowing, nay insisting that medical professionals be required to do their job fully.

They shouldn't be just taking the word of a scared and confused child/teen at face value. What kind of help is that in the long run?

Their job is to question and question again, to look at and listen to every symptom. Then they should be using their trained expertise to help this vulnerable young person discover the root of this distress.

Once there, a solution can be looked for.

If throwing 'gender transition' at every poor, confused kid after a couple of hours chatting (if even that long), were the one and only solution. Then why are we seeing so many coming forward with heartbreaking detransition stories?

Some of these children/teens will be in the Autism Spectrum, which simply means needing to find out how to live with a brain that processes differently to other people. (My own beloved sons included amongst them.)

Some will be Same Sex Attracted (yes Same Sex) and needing to learn that this is absolutely fine.

Some will have suffered trauma of some kind, and they need help to heal from that. Not to have their young, healthy bodies artificially altered, for no good purpose.

Other potential causes? I leave those to the professionals who can help discover them.

But Gender Dysphoria is only one, rare cause amongst many , many potential alternatives.

If it's being a TERF to care about these young people's full well being. Then my conscience is clear.

**********************

Separating Womanhood and Manhood from biology.

I'm a woman. And the only thing that makes me a woman is my female biology. That's it .

A biologically female adult human. That is WHAT I am. Womanhood is my biological reality.

Who I am within that biological reality is entirely up to me.

I could be as ultra feminine as a 1950s housewife. I could be as ultra masculine as the butchest of lesbians. I could be so androgynous that my biological sex isn't immediately apparent.

I Would Be a Woman In Every Case

A man could be the most feminine of drag queens, he could be more masculine than The Rock and Jean Claude Van Damme combined. He could be so androgynous that his biological sex is not clear.

He Would Be A Man In Every Case.

Womanhood and Manhood are solid.

Masculinity and Femininity are completely flexible.

Woman or Man are our biological framework. Within those boundaries. Who we are in our individual selves is limitless.

You are absolutely free to disagree with me about all this. Go right ahead.

In fact I don't even object to you simply blocking me, without giving me a chance to reply.

All that tells me is that you have nothing solid and rational with with to counter what I'm saying.

[crocerella]

To the men that decide to abuse women. When I was in kindergarden my mom used to let me pick out my outfits each morning. I would wear pink skirts and t-rex t-shirts and oddly colored hats. My best friend's name was Nikki and we'd play and laugh for hours running through the sprinklers and down made-shift water slides. I cried every time that Nemo got separated from his dad because my heart ached so strongly with pain. I wanted to be a butterfly when I grew up, and then a cake bakery owner, but I can't remember what I wanted to be next.

My parents were gay so I learned from an early age that love could be seen as ugly even when it's all you know. My mother got cancer when I was eleven so I learned that life is temporary, I learned what it was like to cry so hard you couldn't breathe.

When I was fourteen I wore rainbow socks and these awkwardly long ones with sloths and bulldogs. They were my favorite animals. I wrote poetry during class and dreamt about being a pirate at night when I was falling asleep. I spent hours making travel itineraries and watching historical romance movies.

I wanted that type of love, so when the first boy that ever professed his attraction to me wanted me to be his girlfriend I called a friend for some advice and said why not. Fourteen. He was almost an adult so I thought that meant I must have been more mature. Good for me.

I wasn't more mature. I planned dates with pillow forts and showered him with handmade notes and gifts and paintings. I felt so full of life, everything was so funny and abundant. We fell in love and he was the first person I ever let in entirely. I had been too scared to do that before. He took my love for him and my desperation to make him happy and destroyed pieces of my dignity and soul.

You see, when you hurt someone's body from the inside you change them. When you damage parts of someone that they cannot escape, skin they cannot shed, you leave markings that stay with someone forever. Men who abuse women I will not beg you to change. I will not plead. I will not cry on my knees. I look you straight in the eyes, I sit in front of you as a human being and a child and now a woman and tell you this. You hurt people because you fear that you are unacceptable as you are. You do not believe in your own ability to receive love freely. And so you must take it or make people feel the same way you do on the inside - powerless. I will not ask you why. I pity you, I pity that you may not know how it feels to hug a friend tenderly and pull stray fuzz from the tendrils of their hair. I pity that you will not know how good being generous to strangers feels or how light it feels to compliment a women without expecting anything in return. These moments everyday make the world feel so warm and beautiful that it feels like my heart may burst from overflowing.

Your obsession with control will cause you to look back on your life in old age with many regrets. You will realize you wasted it in the wrong pursuits, feeling as though you spent it all avoiding yourself. And you will die bitter. That is the curse of selfishness and violence.

I will spend the rest of my life in harmony with the deepest parts of myself. I will show the parts of me that I am most ashamed of the most love. I will spend the rest of my life treating myself gently, forgiving myself, raising myself as if I would my own dearest most beloved child. And I will know true love and power in a way that you may never know.

[gohyuck]

pairing: head knight!jeno x monarch!reader (reader has genitals attributed to those considered biologically female but no pronouns are actually used)

genre: fluff, mild angst (they discuss an oncoming battle they must prepare for), smut (it’s mostly smut)

word count: 6.5k

warnings & notes (nonsexual): mentions of war/battle, mentions of injuries retained from past skirmishes, jeno is as tall as you need him to be in order to rest your head against his chest without leaning down, it’s kind of cheesy tbh they are disgustingly head-over-heels in love with each other, also a peryton is a fantasy creature that’s essentially a stag + a bird, also i know y’all must be tired of royalty aus but i swear this is almost pwp (except there’s context so there’s plot) so give it a chance (if you’re legal) i guess

warnings & notes (sexual): oral (giving and receiving for both parties), fingering (reader receives), spit kink (lmao sorry), general messiness honestly, mild knife kink (no blood drawn, he just uses a dagger to tear apart clothing), gratuitous usage of the name ‘lionheart’, jeno has a big dick because i cannot stop myself from doing that to y’all for some reason, some choking

special thanks to @moonlit-jeno​ @domjaehyun​ @waithyuck​ for reading parts of it/all of it beforehand!

the soft hours of twilight have their holds on you, chilling you to your bones even as you pull the heavy fur cape tighter around your body. you should’ve pulled something over your thin nightgown, you suppose, something to act as a middle layer between silk and skin and peryton fur, but it’s too late for that. you’re already out on your private balcony, overlooking a kingdom you’d do anything to see the sun rise on day after day. 

far, far past the outskirts of your humble realm, barely visible to your own eye, an unsettlingly large camp of soldiers is finishing setting up camp for the night. you watch as tiny, tiny orange pinpricks - no doubt the fires they’d set to make food, to alert you of their presence - begin to get snuffed out. finally, they sleep.

if you were any worse of a person, of a ruler, you would send your army after them now, hours before the battle is set. perhaps, if you were any less selfish, you would do so regardless of keeping your status as a good and just monarch. if you were any less selfish, you would shake awake the love of your life and hand him his cape after shedding it from your shoulders. you would tell him to rouse his men and women, to arm them to their teeth, and to fight for what is right using means that are entirely wrong. 

as if privy to your thoughts, your head knight stirs in the too-large bed behind you. you turn just in time to see him sit up and twist his body left, right, left as he stretches to rid himself of sleep. it’s too late - or maybe too early - for either of you to be awake. maybe you should have stayed within his warm embrace rather than gotten out of bed to size up the army of the kingdom of crithage. 

even now, you can’t help but strategize, at least on a basic level. crithagians are unused to the cold of your beautiful - but often frigid - ekoria. they won’t expect your people to fall upon them from the icy cliffs that surround their camp, nor will they be able to see over the oncoming blizzard your royal sky-reader has predicted. she has not been incorrect in many, many years. ekorians have, over the years, grown accustomed to heavy snows, among other weather phenomenon, so your army’s visual acuity is not to be questioned. 

that, and your troops are in the hands of the best warrior ekoria has ever had.

jeno. your jeno. your lionheart. you rein your thoughts in just as he pulls open the balcony door, closing it behind him with a soft click as he steps over the threshold separating in from out and warm from cold. goosebumps rise across his bare flesh the moment his skin meets air, and you don’t hesitate to slide his cape off and thrust it towards him, knowing full well that his arms will provide more than enough heat for you. he fastens it with ease, seeming slightly amused at how you’d been using it as a blanket, and gently grabs ahold of your wrist before pulling you into his chest and wrapping an arm around your waist. with his other hand, he takes a corner of his cape and wraps it around you, leaving you enveloped in both his hot-to-touch skin and the comforting fur. 

“they’re out in the valley, aren’t they?” he finally murmurs, leaning to place his mouth against your ear. jeno’s voice is thick and sleep-ridden, still raspy in a way that settles around you, inside you, within you. you lean back slightly, raising a cold hand to rest against the tattoo of a lion that adorns his left pectoral, mane stretching up to his collarbone and encroaching on his bicep. the lion has a scar on its right cheek. you pull away more, eyes landing on the thin discolored line underneath your lover’s same eye. 

it had been a longsword, meant to slash across your throat. jeno, with the speed of a star falling from grace and enough adrenaline to fuel a hundred men, had leapt across you in order to take it across the face. for crown and for country, bard’s songs later regaled of him. for you, he’d whispered to you that same night as you’d stitched him up, using the threading tactics you’d learned from the castle medic as a child. for you. always for you.

“my love?” jeno prods, and you realize you haven’t given his rhetorical question any acknowledgement. you hum, meeting his eyes with your own, and watch as he allows one corner of his mouth to turn up. 

“they only just put out their fires.” you finally respond, moving to be against his chest again. you rest your head against the intricate ink against jeno’s skin, finally letting out a breath of what one might consider worry. the air that leaves your lungs manifests into wisps out in the cold world that surrounds you. your lionheart pulls you ever closer. 

“you need not stress.” he says simply, and an outsider to your relationship would see no cohesion between your statement and his. still, you know precisely what jeno means, why he’s said what he’s said. you turn, pressing your lips against the lion’s forehead. above you, your own lion brushes his lips against your temple. 

“i have an army, a kingdom, even, to worry about, and yet i only fear tomorrow for whatever outcome befalls one man.” you whisper, and even you are surprised to find tears catching in your throat. you do not cry easily, not when you know firsthand how cruel the world can be. 

you only reign because your parents no longer breathe. 

tomorrow’s battle could easily bleed into next year’s war, and while your kingdom is prepared for such a thing, your heart may not be. your people are not belligerent, and neither are you. crithage had been the one to throw the first stone, had sent word that if you refused to relinquish your throne and bow your head, they would aim the first arrow, draw the first blood. no tears had been shed then, not even when you’d paced around your bedchambers, reading and rereading the note signed with blood red ink until jeno had physically pulled it out of your tight grasp. you hadn’t cried, not even when he’d said that he was willing to die if it meant keeping crithage out of ekoria, out of the kingdom you’d both built from ground up after the war that had taken your parents, out of the home you’d created together. 

“wherever you take us, i will follow. wherever you need me, i will lead.” he’d murmured the words against the lobe of your ear, standing beside and slightly behind your throne as you’d written out your reply to crithage in a room full of your advisors. nobody else had moved a muscle then, not even as you closed the envelope with hot wax and the royal seal. 

you’d sent back a much, much shorter letter than their own in response. 

a time and date for battle. nothing more and nothing less.

that had been so many months ago, so far away that the concept of time dissipates when you attempt to organize it in your harried mind. with a hostile army on your doorstep, everything suddenly feels far more real than it has before. your people have been evacuated, your troops have been trained. your lionheart is unafraid to the world, standing tall and proud at your side as he always has.

a sigh that starts from deep in jeno’s chest brings you back to the present. tomorrow is it, you’re reminded. crithage has seiged almost every other state between themselves and your beloved ekoria. if they get to you, they’ll have your head, raised high on a stake they’ll erect outside of the gates they’ll install to the place you call home. if they get to you, it means they’ll have gotten through jeno.

you can’t live in a world without him. it’s a dangerous attachment for a ruler to have, you’re well aware. if other kingdoms find out that your weakness is a person, one that lives and breathes, you’re not likely to ever see your love again.

it’s little comfort that jeno can’t live in a world without you, either. 

“i worry about not being here, at the castle, to protect you,” he mumbles into your hair. “i know that you are perfectly capable, and that you’ll have your own faction of our knights with you, but i- it feels as if i’m about to open my chest and leave my naked heart unguarded, right there for any arrows to pierce.”

jeno’s confession is simple, beautiful in the way the most ornate of daggers are: that is, you feel as if he’s just dragged a sharp edge down the length of your sternum, taking you apart piece by piece. his words cage you in, force you deeper into your own head in a way you can’t afford, not right now. 

“eloquent,” you hum, unable to resist teasing him even as the moment does not call for it. it’s to save yourself from your heavily beating heart. “it isn’t too late to make you my poet laureate, you know. no need to wield a sword tomorrow then.”

“and who would be your head knight then, hm? the current laureate? you want renjun to lead the charge against the crithagians? to be your lionheart?” your lover draws back to ensure that you can see his eyes, glimmering with mirth. renjun is an able man, and one of your best friends, but he is not the warrior jeno is. 

nobody is the warrior that jeno is. 

“such a foolish thing to say,” you smile up at him, lips folding from joking to earnest within moments. the merriment fades a little from jeno’s eyes at recognizing the change in your expressions. “you’re my only lionheart. always have been and always will be, even when you’re too old and gray and slow to be my head knight.” 

“someone seems confident of that happening.” he says quietly, raising the hand at your waist to come up and rest over your own hand that lies against his chest. you swallow, your own spit feeling too heavy for you to stomach, your throat dry and scratchy. 

“who else can have confidence of a victory rather than a monarch?” you ask, a smile that isn’t quite sad - but isn’t quite self-assured either - resting on your lips. jeno raises your hand to his lips, pressing one, two, three chaste kisses to the back and then repeating the pattern against your palm. he does not let go.

the two of you stand there for a stolen moment. you lay your head back against his chest, listening to the thundering of his heartbeat below the ink and skin and muscle and bone. he is real, and he is here. 

he is real. he is here. 

“the monarch’s lionheart, of course,” he murmurs, finally dropping your hand to reach back and push open the balcony door. “we only have four more strokes of time until i must go, my love. is this truly how you want to spend it?”

it’s evident that jeno no longer wants to mull over the what-ifs, not when he prefers living in the present more than anyone you’ve ever known. unsurprising, you suppose, for someone whose livelihood involves strategizing away his own mortality. you allow him to pull you back into your bedroom, immediately more comfortable when the door closes behind you, keeping you in with the body heat of your lover and the warmth of the crackling fire on the hearth in the corner of your room. jeno sheds the cape, draping it over the nearest chair, before bringing you back to his chest by placing his large hands against your waist.

it takes feeling his fingers against your skin through the thin silk of your slip to remember that jeno has nothing on. he’s always preferred to sleep naked, unlike you. though you hardly have any undergarments on, you at least wear a sheer gown most nights. 

you’d ridden him passionately before bed, tiring both of you out in order to get any semblance of sleep. as your lionheart pulls you flush against him, though, it’s difficult to avoid the way his cock hardens against your hip once more. you want to quip about how jeno’s insatiable, but he trails a hand up, up over your body to swipe a thumb over one of your hardened nipples, and you can’t help the sigh that escapes through your prettily parted lips. 

“will you get on the bed for me, love?” jeno’s voice is smoother now that he’s more awake, though you can’t help but miss the low growl that had come with the earlier rasp. he may be asking you a question, but you know that it’s an order in disguise. wordlessly, you step back, back, back until the wood of your bedframe presses against the soft plushness of the back of your thighs. jeno has not moved, choosing to stay put and appraise you instead. his eyes are hooded now, and as his gaze trails from your neck - he’d marked it up earlier, the kiss-bitten bruises not yet having faded from your skin - down to the curve of your chest, over the expanse of your thighs, he can’t help but reach one hand down to his dick, swiping two fingers over its head to collect his precum on his skin. 

jeno says nothing else, makes no other move. it’s to give you an illusion of control, you suppose. not that you need one. 

“should i rid myself of this, lionheart?” you ask, the words coming out breathier than intended. the nightgown leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and you’re sure he can even see the slick wetness that’s pooling against your inner thighs. jeno adores seeing your body more than anything, but the gown does not inhibit that. 

it’s no surprise, then, when he shakes his head no, instead finally moving to stand at the edge of the bed, slotting himself between your thighs as they naturally move apart to fit him in. his clean hand slides up under your gown, resting just above your cunt, as he raises his other hand to your face. 

“lie back, and open.” jeno states, no air of leniency about him anymore. you oblige, and your love leans over you, his dark gaze centered on your parted lips. 

he lays his two precum-coated fingertips against your tongue, pressing in and then down and revelling when you don’t gag but instead run your tongue over his fingers, cleaning them off for him. you haven’t gagged in a long time, your reflexes getting used to him in the way the rest of you is. when he withdraws his hand, your mouth stays open, and jeno can’t help himself as he leans over you and, after gathering it in his own mouth for a moment, allows his own spit to fall from his own tongue and onto yours. 

your eyes go wide at the action, and you know that he notices it even as he does not acknowledge it. even so, you don’t miss the smirk that crosses his face upon hearing your breath hitch. jeno has you in his palm.

satisfied, he stands, and you close your mouth and swallow a part of him with a part of you. jeno’s no longer looking at your face, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he’s ruching up your nightgown with growing hunger, not when he’s kneeling on the stone ground just to make himself eye-level with your pretty, pretty pussy. 

“i took you hardly any time ago,” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin as his mouth nears where you so desperately need him. “and yet here you are, laid open once more, all for me. only for me.”

“always you, jeno, please - ” you can’t get any more words out, the air being pulled out of you as he dives in and circles your clit with his tongue, bringing his two spit-soaked fingers up to press into you with almost no resistance. your reaction is instantaneous, walls clenching like a vice around his fingers as he lays a filthy kiss against your bundle of nerves, hips jumping up only to be kept down by jeno’s other hand, pressing down against the bottom of your stomach. 

“patience.” he pulls off of your clit just to growl the word out against the skin of your inner thigh, and the wet heat of his mouth directly against your flesh has you practically gasping out. when jeno sinks his teeth into your thigh as he’s often wont to do, you let out a full-bodied whine, the kind that starts in the back of your throat and rises up through the inner column of your neck, meant only for your lover’s ears. jeno laves his tongue over the marks he’s just created, as if to wash the pleasurable pain from your body. 

he does not reattach his mouth to your core, choosing instead to fall back and watch, eyes trained, as he scissors you open. with hardly any warning rather than his gaze jumping up to meet your own momentarily, jeno presses his thumb into your clit, using your slick wetness to eliminate any raw friction as he rubs slow circles against your nerve endings. he’s never failed to bring you to the edge with ease, and now is no different. you’d be embarrassed at how easily you fall apart just from his simple simultaneous motions, in and on you, but it’s jeno, and he knows your body maybe even better than he knows his own. 

keening, a loud, gasping wail, falls from your lips only for jeno to rise from his place in between your thighs and swallow your sounds with his open mouth, his clean hand coming up to cage you in against your sheets. the way you raise your arms to loop them around his neck is akin to the way a drowning man would grab on to a lifeline, and once he rises you pull him back into a longer, filthier kiss, where your teeth click against his and his tongue opens up your mouth the same way it feels like his touch opens up your body. 

you feel as if you’re being flayed, as if hellfire is the only thing comparable to the heat against your skin. jeno steps closer, just by the tiniest bit, and you feel his hand - the one shining with your arousal - brush past your hip before he uses it to wet his cock with one, two, three firm strokes. copious amounts of precum arise from the tip before being pulled down against his flesh with expert downstrokes. your mouth waters as you watch.

“my mouth, lionheart, please?” you finally gain the courage to ask what is on your mind, sitting up on your elbows as you begin to slowly find your strength. your love raises an eyebrow, and not without reason: jeno is a big man, making even you - a literal monarch - feel small at times, and this does not end with his personality or his person: you have never been able to take all of him into your mouth. the ache borders on painful, frankly, and jeno himself refuses to harm you in that way. 

“this, now, is about you.” he responds, and your heart cracks as you register that as a ‘no’. still, you speak again. you need him in your mouth, suddenly. it isn’t just a want. something has to anchor you to the here and now, it may as well be the head of his cock, heavy against your tongue.

“what is about me is about you as well,” you respond, and before he can lay his refusal down out flat, you slide onto the floor - warmer than expected - and tuck your heels behind your bare ass. “i need this. please.”

you’re directly in front of him now, face parallel to his strong thighs. jeno strokes up, squeezes tighter just below his frenulum, and you watch, struck, as precum beads at the tip and then splits into two streams, half sliding down his hard dick and the other slowly-but-surely falling to the ground, hardly a quarter of a step from one of your knees.

“give me your hand, then,” your knight murmurs from above you, drawing your gaze from his leaking cock up past the dainty curve of his lip to his hard eyes. “now.”

when you raise your hand up, you only put it up limply, unsure of what he means to do with the limb he’s asked for. your eyes must be swimming with questions, because jeno gives you a hint of a sweet, reassuring smile before allowing his expression to become stoic again… right before he grasps your given hand and straightens it out, gentler than expected from such a great warrior but harsher than he truly ever treats you. 

he’s passionate. this demonstrates it. 

before you can react, your body following your hand up off of your heels, though only slightly, as he yanks up your hand, jeno leans down and licks up your hand, from the bottom of your palm to the top, all while maintaining eye contact with you. he lets go, though you keep your hand raised, your gaze obviously dumbfounded. 

“a dry hand would rub me raw,” he explains, though the smirk that’s tugging at one corner of his mouth shows that he finds your wide-eyed expression at least mildly amusing. “we do not want that, do we?”

it’s amazing how easily he can get you under his thumb when you give out orders that hold his life in the balance on a day-to-day basis. maybe that’s why he finds taking charge in private so easy. maybe it’s his way of evening your dynamic out. even now, as he asks you an innocent question with no hidden meaning or reaction, you find yourself shaking your head along enthusiastically. no, of course you don’t want to rub him raw. of course you and him don’t want that. 

you raise the hand now deemed ‘not dry’ up as jeno watches, finally, finally wrapping your hand around it. your thumb and middle finger do not meet, no matter how tight you squeeze. your lover lets out a fulfilled groan at finally feeling a touch other than his own on his hard cock, and it’s a beautiful sound. you want more of it. you want more of him. 

as if mesmerized, you lean closer, darting out your tongue to lick experimentally at his slit. he holds his breath, a large hand coming to rest lightly against the back of your head and base of your skull, waiting. you take this as a sign to stretch your lips wider, engulfing the entire tip of his cock in your hot mouth. his grip tightens in your hair, and, in return, you clench around nothing. 

as you struggle to take more of jeno in your mouth, you do your best to stroke the rest of his cock with a tight enough grip to make him feel everything, but not tight to the point where you’re hurting him. regardless of how little you can take on your tongue - not your fault, by any means - jeno seems happy, barely able to stop himself from bucking up into the back of your throat. at this point, you’re essentially just warming his cock, so you pull off with a slick pop to look at him with slightly watery eyes. a string of precum and saliva connects your bottom lip and his tip, and when it breaks, you’re acutely aware of the mixture dripping down your chin and onto your nightgown. it’s no matter.

jeno’s thumb runs over your scalp, just above the bottom of your skull. you close your eyes momentarily to take in a deep breath. 

“you can force yourself down my throat, you know,” your voice is raspy when you speak, eyes fluttering open almost drearily. “i’m not too delicate for it.”

there’s something simultaneously raw and pure about the way you speak, and jeno recognizes that your headspace has changed, just a little. your need truly is all-encompassing now. he must tread more delicately than usual.

there’s so much love, so much adoration in your wide-eyed gaze. he only wishes to return it with the same intensity and double the care. 

“i know, love,” jeno responds, finally moving his hand in order to place two fingers under your chin. he tilts your face up, taking note of the way your eyes run over his tattoo before looking at his chin, then his jaw, then his nose, then his forehead, until, finally, you land on his eyes. you’re a tad bit unfocused, full of need, but that’s okay. you’ll always come back to him. he continues speaking. “you’re so strong. always so strong for me. that’s why you deserve to be rewarded, yes?”

“rewarded?” you’re confused, to say the least, though you do not dislike the direction jeno is suddenly moving towards. he only smiles, gentle and kind and good and yours. all yours. 

“on the bed, (name).” he tilts his own head, jutting his chin towards the bed you’d slid off of earlier. you don’t hesitate to follow, pushing yourself up onto your feet and all but scrambling backwards to be seated against the soft mattress. the blankets are all haphazard and the pillows aren’t straight, but that’s the least of your worries right now. jeno gives no other orders, only stepping closer and, without warning, winding his arms underneath your thighs and propelling you backwards, causing you to land, back flat, in the center of your bed. 

it had always felt inescapably large when you’d slept in it alone. now, it feels welcoming. safe. 

“you’re ready for me, yes?” the tone of voice jeno uses is soft, even as his rough palms push apart your thighs. you nod, murmuring a small ‘yes’ once you realize he’s waiting for you to verbalize your thoughts. this is all jeno needs to climb onto the bed and move in between your spread legs, settling back on his calves as his hands smooth over your hip bones and waist. it’s evident that he’s bent on taking his time with you tonight, likely under the illusion that that is what you want. 

it is not what you want. it is most definitely not what you need. 

“i need you within me, lionheart,” one of your hands clutches at the sheets beneath you while you stretch the other towards your lover, imploring. “soon. now. please.”  

“absolutely impatient,” jeno only chuckles in return, drawing an indignant whine forth from the base of your throat. he looks over your barely covered body once more before finally - almost in slowed motions as if to tease you further - rising up onto his knees. his hands stop moving against your skin, finally circling around the soft meat of your upper thighs. swiftly and fluidly, jeno pulls your body towards his, wrapping your legs around his own waist. his wet cock lies heavy against your pelvis, leaving slick precum against the apex of your thighs and the bottom of your stomach. he smirks. “is this what you wanted?” 

the motion of being pulled into your knight had forced the air from your lungs in a surprised yelp, and the feeling of his warm skin - he’s always supplied so much heat, it baffles you to no end - against your own momentarily blanks your mind. jeno repeats his question twice, cocky grin growing with each utterance, before you nod vigorously and sputter out something vaguely affirmative. yes. yes, this is exactly what you wanted, exactly what you want. 

you’ve been growing steadily wetter the longer your foreplay had drawn out, but jeno, ever-caring, still pulls back - his cock sliding against your thigh has you moaning - to slip two thick fingers into you, adding a third when he’s absolutely sure that you can take it. in no time at all, you’re grinding your clit against his rough palm, the friction absolutely heavenly. jeno makes no move to stop you, only gently forcing his fingers in deeper. 

a fourth finger is added just as your abused clit can’t take anymore, and you spasm on his hand as you fall past the point of no return. your second orgasm of the night washes over you, and you can’t help the muted but harried gasps you let out as your hips buck up, driving your head back into the mattress. jeno draws his fingers out slowly, licking your essence off of them with practiced ease. once your body has calmed down, you can only let out a small whimper, still basking in the intensity you’ve just experienced. 

jeno knows your limit, and knows damn well that you haven’t reached it yet. it’s because of this that, even as your walls are still clenching around nothing due to aftershocks that wrack your body, he places the fat head of his cock against your hole and slowly but surely slides in. the hands on your thighs move up to wrap around the sides of your waist, and his grip is bruising as he pushes deeper and deeper. even as he goes at a snail’s pace, you feel as if you’re being pulled apart only to be pieced back together again. you hold your breath.

jeno is halfway in when he realizes you still aren’t quite wet enough. he shifts slightly, carefully moving one of your legs up just a little bit higher, before swiping over your raw clit with a thumb he’s wetted with his own tongue. a moan flies forth from your mouth immediately, and a gush of wetness coats jeno’s cock anew as he circles over your bud with abandon. he’s finally free to surge forward and bury himself within your warm walls without fear of repercussions on your own body… so he does. the breath you’d been holding in is punched out of you, replaced with an honest-to-god wail. tears bud at the corners of your eyes at the stretch, falling as he pulls out almost entirely and slams into you again. 

jeno does everything in his life in order to live up to the name you’ve given him: lionheart. he is just and loyal and thoughtful as an advisor, and analytical and fearsome and ruthless as a warrior. sex is where both sides of him meet. it is where he is not just the kingdom’s bravest knight, or the crown’s right-hand man. it is where he is your lionheart, and yours alone, where your souls intertwine at the place your bodies meet. 

he notices how your hands come up to reach for him, leaning down so you can place one hand against his heart - against his tattoo - and throw the other one over his other shoulder. jeno’s nose is almost touching yours, though your bodies shift continuously as he keeps drawing back and driving his hips into yours with force.

he never ceases to make you feel full. 

your walls grip his cock tightly, amplifying every movement jeno indulges you in. the slide is slick and wet and perfect, but it is not easy. the head of his dick catches on your clenched walls every time he pulls out just to slam back in, forcing you to feel him with everything you have. it’s exactly what you want. 

he slows down his thrusting for a moment as he moves forward slightly, leaning closer still as he places one forearm against your head and raises his other hand to fondle your chest over your sheer clothing. somehow, this is no longer enough for you. jeno’s cock is fully sheathed within you as he swipes a thumb over one of your nipples, and the feeling of his skin pushing the cloth against one of your most sensitive areas has you shuddering in a way that causes you to squeeze even tighter around him. his hips stutter slightly, driving him impossibly deeper into you.

“jeno,” you rasp out, tongue heavy and dry. “my pillow. beneath my pillow.”

his eyes go wide as he processes what you’ve just said, his shallow thrusts slowing down. jeno gulps audibly. 

“your- love, your dagger?”

“need you to touch me.” you respond, holding his gaze and watching it clear up from confused to comprehending you entirely. he pushes himself up from his forearm to his hand, sliding out of you in the same movement. you whine sadly at the loss of contact, but jeno mutters a good-natured ‘be quiet’ almost immediately. 

“you know,” he starts, voice teasing, even as he pulls your dagger - black steel, quillions and hilt encrusted with blue jewels, black tempered glass at the pommel - out from beneath your pillow using the hand that had been fondling you earlier. he moves back down to his prior position, and your breath hitches as he presses the apex of the knife against the collar of your nightgown. “i’m already touching you.”

“more,” you moan out, the end of your word coming out almost breathlessly. one of your hands slides against his tattoo once more, as if feeling the lion will make it roar to life. “touch me more.” 

jeno chuckles, albeit darker than he had been earlier, and digs the dagger into the cloth in front of it without any further ado. you hold your breath willfully this time, not wanting to actually nick yourself on the blade, as he moves down your body, cutting the sheer gown open down its direct center. your lionheart dots his lips against your flesh in a trail in his wake, scraping his teeth against your skin as he sees fit. 

he leaves a quick, but filthy, kiss against your clit for good measure, eyes lighting up as you attempt to close your legs around his head on impulse, only to have them pushed apart even farther than before by his strong hands. once he gets to the hem of the slip, he throws your dagger somewhere on the stone floor - neither of you pay any heed to where it clatters - and rips it apart with his bare hands, hardly able to bear not feeling you around him for much longer. 

before you can do anything or say anything or even think anything at all, your lover surges forward and presses himself back into you with a grunt that sounds almost like a growl. his hands knead at your thighs as he finds his rhythm with ease, pounding into you with practice as if you’re an art medium and he’s a skilled master. he’s everywhere, all around you and inside of you and in the air and in your skin, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“touching - ha - touching you enough now?” he asks, resolve crumbling bit by bit as he fights to keep himself from tumbling over the cliff’s edge before you do. you can’t dignify him with a response, unable to do anything but claw at his back and pin yourself further against his chest as if it’ll make even more room for you in his heart than there already is. he doesn’t need a response, anyways. jeno already knows. 

he knows just how close you are, too. just as close as he is. it’s because of this that jeno moves a hand up to curl around your throat just as he circles your clit with two fingers of the other hand, continuing to fuck into you at the same rate as best he can. with a sharp cry and the arching of your back off the bed, you clench around him for one final time before he comes to a halt, barely holding himself up over you as he releases within you with a shuddering, gasping groan. 

moments pass, stretching into longer than they typically are. jeno takes care as he slides out of you, climbing onto the bed and flopping down next to you right after. the feeling of his release, sticky and wet against your inner thighs, is unpleasant at best, but you can’t bring yourself to clean up just yet. instead, you turn your head to your side, your nose immediately brushing against jeno’s sternum as you realize that he’s turned his entire body towards your own. he lets out an airy laugh at the sensation, pushing half of the sliced cloth off of your body in order to run a wide open palm down your naked side. 

“good?” he speaks first, asking an arbitrary question. ‘good enough to make you forget?’ is what he means, knowing full well that you could never lose thought of what awaits the two of you. the sentiment is what’s important, though, and you let out an agreeable hum as a reply. the sex itself was great, of course. he’s well aware. 

“sleep, lionheart,” you say just as silence attempts to cloak the two of you. “we must be ready soon, as it is.”

jeno gives you no response, and you do not require one from him. instead, he pulls you even closer into his chest as if doing so will protect you from the crithagians across your kingdom. his entire world rests between his arms. you are both tired enough that sleep forces your eyelids closed swifter than expected, and as you fall asleep to your lover’s slowed breathing and muted heartbeat, you can’t help but, just this once, allow your worries to slip off your body as your torn nightgown does. 

just before the rise of the sun, jeno will have to get out of bed and clean you up as best he can before donning his clothing, his armor, and his cape. you’ll put his helmet upon his head, pull his visor down over his face after sharing a kiss that could be your last. it is always like this. jeno will rouse the army, you will dress and arm yourself, and meet with your own private troops. 

as the sun begins to take its place in the morning sky, luckily opposite your gaze, jeno will lead his people into battle, riding his steed far, far from you. you will watch him go, but he will not look back. doing so is unfortunate luck at best. you’ve ingrained this into his mind. 

you do not know whether he will be back or not.

you desperately need him to come back.

all of that will happen in due time, but now, you drift to dreamland, safe in the arms of the man you’ve sworn to be with until the end. he tightens his hold around you, and that is how you spend the night before battle, in total comfort and full of love. no matter what tomorrow brings, at least you have this now. at least you will always have this moment. 

the lionheart and his liege. your lionheart and his love. 

for now, you are at peace in the calm before the storm.

[runephoenix6769]

Why Netflix aging up the Characters could spell disaster.

Ok, so I’ve tried to find confirmation that this is true and kinda found bubkiss so far.  But.... Zuko being aged up by two years does not bode well his motivation or Azula (or Sokka for that matter), narratively speaking and will massively change how their stories/character arcs hit.  It’s my belief that by aging up the characters they’ll kinda lose some of the soul of the show AND the poignancy of just how much pressure has been laid on the shoulders of Gaang and Azula's trio. The nuance of Children fixing a world broken by adults. (I shall preface by saying that anyone under 18 is a child and therefore even joining the military at 16 is still awful, but this post is being written within the context of the avatar universe, its societal norms and customs.)

Hear me out.  Within the show, all the main cast of children are supposed to be outliers and exceptionally skilled, even surpassing many of the adults in that world in terms of mastery of their elements and ability to execute strategy.   At 16/17 Rangi had her first commission after graduating from the Junior Corps in record time, to eventually become one of the youngest Lieutenants in Fire Nation Army service, during peace time.  400 years later we are in the midst of a global war, meaning the goal posts within the various societies would have shifted considerably. (Apart from the Earth Kingdom, they seriously need to get with the times.) Zuko is the heir to the throne of an imperial expansionist country, where military service is expected of many of the aristocracy. (If not every citizen doing something towards the war effort.) And has been since the reign of Sozin.  Being the heir, he would naturally be expected to take a military commission at 16/17, as precedent has been shown to us via Rangi. This would serve to foster loyalty from his soldiers, train him in ways of command to prepare him for taking over the Nation, etc etc.  Lets say that Netflix keep the rest of his story the same, so he is still ousted at 13 sent on a mission of folly as a cruel punishment. Well that just casts his 4 years at sea and his behaviour towards his men in an awful light. In four years he has not learned regard for the safety of his men? It makes the treatment of his men look callous instead of being a child who doesn't quite grasp how much his crew do for him, that they too have been ousted and separated from their loved ones! Four years of shite treatment would surely land a mutiny on his hands?  If anything, it serves to make him look whiny, and incompetently oblivious to the needs of others.  And what does it mean if they move the timeline of the Agni Kai up by two years, to 15?  It doesn't have quite the same impact. Remember what sits at the core of this show. It is ultimately about children trying the fix the world that the adults broke, violence, cruelty, child soldiers and the effects of war upon them, under intense pressure to succeed.  Zuko is supposed to be a child who hasn’t even begun to figure out what he wants.   His character arc in the show is supposed to be that journey!

Which brings me to Azula!  A child prodigy, who took down Ba Sing Se in a relatively bloodless coup at 14! Its meant to be an awe inspiring Herculean feat! A top notch military strategist, she is meant to be unmatched by any of her peers.  Her age in the OG show certainly explains her behavior, her not being developed enough in many ways. This contributes towards the deterioration of her mental health when she cannot reconcile the heavily cultivated sense of self with the reality culminating in the tragic and heart wrenching mental breakdown at 14! At 16/17, it makes it look like a huge ass hissy fit! OG Azula’s inflection moment begins in The Beach episode. She is begins to ask questions of herself in the form of small experiments. It takes the form of her hiding their identities on Ember Island.  It is as if she is trying to feel out if she is as witty and charming as she believes, but she comes to learn that she is woefully socially inept, people don’t like her for her, beginning the spiral of insecurity and self doubt. We are also told that Azula’s mother thought her a monster and she is massively hurt by that, though she plays it off as nothing.  This insecurity is blown wide open on the Boiling Rock cemented by Ty Lee’s betrayal and culminates in Azula, who is truly terrified that he might burn her in a way similar to Zuko, seeing her being sidelined by Ozai.  She takes as a form of punishment for her ‘failure’, a form of banishment, that she has been discarded like Zuko, when she had imagined being by her father’s side as they burned the world in celebration of their mutual victory rather than for what is truly is which is Ozai being a glory hog and reaping all the benefits from Azula’s hard work.  Which brings me to the suggestion by Azula to burn the world in the first place. A child suggesting that you ‘Burn the World’ smacks a whole lot differently when you think of it as a kid not quite grasping/understanding the ramifications of such a suggestion, but a 16 year old? Such a thing tips her from confused mentally unwell child with a crippling fear of failure raised without a lick of compassion to full blown villainy with nothing remotely sympathetic about her! The way the last Agni Kai is framed you are supposed to feel sympathetic towards her! Which makes me wonder if they are gonna paint Azula as unhinged straight from the get go? Her unravelling at the seams is supposed to be her journey!

Sokka.... at 17!  In the OG show, Hakoda does the right thing by telling Sokka to remain behind to look after the village because at 13 he is too young to go to war.  Why leave him behind at 15? Would that not serve to feed into feelings of inadequacy, that he was deemed too weak to leave and fight with the other men and boys of the tribe?  Now, I would argue that Sokka’s OG arc rivals Zuko’s redemption. He does feel inadequate and overcomes it. He also unlearns a shit load of misogyny! What 17 year old doesn’t take responsibility for his own clothes, in a tribe were adults are few and far between? What 17 year old expects his little sister to be his mother and bear the brunt of the domestic? How obtuse and unfeeling would that make Sokka? It would propel him to the side of boorish, lazy and entitled rather than the sweet teenage boy who grows to realise he has a lot to learn.  OG Sokka is humble as hell and not afraid admit when he is lacking! He will go and openly admit his flaws and learn from others who he had previously written off.  Suki gives him a glass of respect women juice and he keeps on chugging, only adding to the Sokka we know and love.  This is supposed to be his journey! 

OG Sokka is just as much of a genius as Azula!  They are both supposed to be exceptional. Having them sit at 16/17 figuring this all out within a war torn world were it would be totally normal for them to participate in the generational war machine kind of robs them of this. Their more child like behaviours, grappling with concepts and truly understanding their consequences is supposed to remind us that they are children, being asked to do something no child ever should! Aging them up casts these things in a whole other light, skewering the what makes this show so beloved!  If you change the core characters to the point their journey’s don’t make sense within the world they inhabit, or they become unrecognisable to the audience you’re trying to milk then really.....what’s the point?  

[mrsalwayswrite]

Mine (Hvitserk x reader)

So this is my (first) contribution to @ofmanderley​ 300 followers celebration challenge! Congrats again! I’m so excited for you and thankful for the brilliant work you do.

I chose a gif set for my prompt that you can find here. Go check it out!

Warnings: none, this is pure cavity-inducing fluff. 

Words: 1300

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​

(Note- this gif is not mine. It is apart of the gif set that I chose so all the credit goes to @ofmanderley​)

  The noon-day sun peered down between the thick clouds, creating pockets of light to shine through and warm the cold ground. Snow did not yet lay on the ground but the chill in the air fogged up one's breath in the early morning. 

 Mind swirling with thoughts of finalized preparations for winter, Hvitserk trekked towards the Great Hall. An intuitive feeling had him glance over towards the marketplace as he passed it…. only for his movement to abruptly cease. After a moment, he changed direction, strolling over to lean against a wooden post, half-hidden by the stall selling exotic spices. 

 The seller turned around soundlessly to look at him with a confused expression, probably wondering why one of the princes of Kattegat hid behind his stall. Hvitserk raised a finger and placed it over his smiling lips. The foreign man gave a single nod and turned back to the marketplace, calling out to those walking by in his thick accent. 

 Hvitserk's gaze returned back to what caught his eyes initially. 

 You. 

 Further down the marketplace, an elderly woman spoke animatedly to you from her stand. You gently touched the fabric she sold, making some comment that had both you and the elderly woman smiling. Passing her a coin, you chose one of the muted fabrics and slipped it into the basket hanging off your arm. With a final smile at the seller, you glided away, moving along the bustling marketplace. 

 No matter how many times Hvitserk's eyes feasted on you, it was never enough. Whenever you were around, he struggled to focus on anything other than you. His brothers teased him mercilessly about it but he did not care. You were worth it. 

 Especially now. 

 As you turned sideways to wave at someone calling your name, your belly bump became visible. Only within the past week had it suddenly appeared. It was as if your future child was trying to peek out at the world around them from behind your thick fur cloak already. Your bump constantly pushed aside the cloak no matter how many times you tried to cover it, revealing the life growing within your body. 

 Pushing off the post, Hvitserk stalked closer to you. He nodded to the few people who called out greetings but refused to let his pursuit be thwarted. Right now, you were his prey and he had every intention to catch you without hindrance. 

 Your leisurely amble slowed as you stopped at a different stand, admiring the furs laid out. 

 Sneaking up behind you, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. "Hello, wife." He murmured into your ear. 

 You stiffened initially, but once he greeted you, your body melted into his embrace. "Hello, husband."

 "And how are my two favorite people?"

 "Good." You tipped your head to place a quick peck to his lips. "We missed you this morning. When did you leave?"

 He hummed then stole another quick kiss before answering. "Early. You looked so peaceful; I didn't want to disturb you."

 "Mmmm…. your child kept me up most of the night kicking."

 Chuckling, he reached a hand down to touch your protruding belly. "Soon, my little Valkyrie, soon we will get to meet you. Now though, you need to give your mother peace."

 With a nod at the seller, he turned you away from the stand. Holding hands, the two of you strolled through the marketplace. 

 "You still think it's a girl?" You asked, shifting the small basket in your other hand. 

 "I do."

 "Why?"

 "For how much she moves. She clearly has her mother's restless, fighting spirit." He answered as if it was obvious.

 You laughed, drawing more than one set of eyes towards you at the beauty of the sound. Not that Hvitserk could blame them, you were always beautiful but when you laughed, Freyja herself must be jealous of your radiance. 

 "What does that say about me now? I feel like all I want to do is lay around in bed." You asked with such an adorable pout, he was half tempted to bite that lower lip right here without a care of onlookers. 

 "It means, my love, that you are putting energy into a different kind of fight. Besides with how much work it took to charm you into becoming my wife…." he lowered his head, whispering into your ear in a husky tone, "....I would prefer if you never left our bed."

 You giggled, letting him steal another kiss as you continued to walk beside your beloved husband. "Well you might get your wish with how this child wears me out already. Are you not headed to meet with your brothers at this time?"

 "I was, but I think I prefer to walk back home with you."

 "That's sweet of you." 

 "Yes, you rest when we get back. Lay down and I'll give you a massage."

 "Allowing you to massage me was what got me pregnant in the first place." 

 He smirked shamelessly. "It can't hurt to practice for our next child."

 "If…." You pointed a finger at his smug face. "....if we have more children."

 Snaking an arm around your waist, he dragged you into a desolate side alley. Though you pretended to protest, you willingly followed him. Standing there alone, he pulled you in, arms around your waist. Your arms automatically raised to lay around his neck, an action almost instinctive by now. Though this time, your belly bump certainly kept more space between you than either of you wanted. 

 That silly smirk still on his face, he looked down at you almost arrogantly. "Oh, I'm certain it's fated for us to have more."

 "And why is that?" You stared up at him amused.

 "You can't keep your hands off me."

 Cocking your head to the side, he watched you attempt to suppress a smile. "That's not quite how I remember it."

 He leaned in closer, mouth hovering just over yours, though his brown eyes remained focused on you. "Do I need to remind you? The claw marks down my back from last night are proof enough of that."

 Gods, the way you bit your lower lip so innocently was enough to drive him wild, then when you peered up at him through your lashes, he was a goner every time. 

 "It's the fighting spirit you like so much." You teased back, tugging lightly on the ends of his braids. 

 "I do. Though if you didn't fight against my attention so much when I was chasing you, I would have appreciated it." 

 "You liked the challenge."

 "Mmmm." He hummed in agreement. You had made him work for your affections, your time, your respect. Something no other woman had made him do. It was during that relentless pursuit that he realized you were the woman he wanted for his wife, not just another lover; but someone to always fall asleep beside, to love and cherish wholeheartedly, to trust with every part of his soul.

 He pressed a soft, tender kiss to your lips. "And now you're mine. Before the gods, you are mine. Forever, my love."

 The smile that you gave him was so full of fondness and joy, it was blinding in its simple beauty. This time you lifted up on your toes to kiss him, a tender parting of lips and slow tangle of tongues. 

 When your mouths finally separated, he dropped to his knees right there in the dirt. He placed his hands on your belly, eyes intent on where his child grew. "And you, my little Valkyrie. I hope you are as strong and beautiful as your mother. For there is nothing in this world as precious to me as she is."

 He looked up and met your eyes, seeing tears swimming in them. Rising back to his feet, he cupped your cheeks, gazing into your face with absolute devotion and loyalty. Though he had known many women, there were none like you and he knew with all the same certainty as the daily rising and setting of the sun, there would never be another woman like you. His life. His love. And soon, the mother of his little Valkyrie.