#i cannot support slander against them

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

W.D.Y.W.F.M [Lovebites]

Jungkook could've adopted anybody else, really. He's gotten to know a lot of hybrids left and right during his time at the carecenter and foster homes- low maintenance ones, friendly ones, ones that are easy to be around. So why would he want you?

Tags/Warnings: Idol!Jungkook, Hybrid!Reader, Fox Hybrid!Reader, mentions of trauma, Reader isn't cute & cuddly in this at all, manhandling (not the spicy kind), sort of brat-tamer Jungkook but not in the kinky way if that makes sense? This is about four years AFTER the Prelude chapter!, slight angst, okay it's actually not slight, mentioned attempted violence against mc, mentioned panic attack, fluff, slightly suggestive towards the end but overall SFW

Length: 3.4k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: Have you forgotten about this because I didn't

-> Masterlist

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He remembers the day he'd made it public. Not only the fact that he had you, was living with you, legally.. well, owned you-

But that he was also in a relationship with you.

Jungkook remembers the immense wave of both support and hate clashing against one another, both sides aggressively trying to win a fight that was never theirs to fight to begin with. No one ever really pushed against or with him- it had always been about you. Fans trying to shelter and protect you, others attempting to use your past against you, slandering you or even attempting to scare you away from him.

From online threats against your safety, birthday projects all over the world to people actually attempting real life harm against you on airports, and others making signs specifically about loving you to hold up during concerts.

It's a constant push and pull- but after four years now, fans had to pretty much accept the fact that you existed and had this connection to him, or stay in their delusions and theories as to why it cannot be true.

It's like it's gotten simply boring. Old news.

He's kept you at his side, safe and sound, through all these years. Doesn't hide you when he's live, or outside, or taking the plane, or filming. You're a part of his life, and he doesn't ever attempt to keep you hidden. And neither does he ever want to back down and give anyone reason to think that he's not taking you seriously- neither as someone to love, nor as someone to keep safe.

He will do both, fully. Love you, and protect you.

Jungkook is currently live, talking to fans while you're on the couch next to him, tired but unable to sleep yet because it's something you've developed ever since staying with him. It's kind of his own fault- bad timing of him leaving the apartment every time you'd sleep making you wary of leaving him out of sight even to this day. He feels bad for it- but you're both working on that these days.

He doesn't want you to believe that he'd ever leave you alone.

"Is that foxy? Yes, she's right here!" He grins, leaning back a little to teasingly pull one of your ears into frame, showing that you're halfway laying on his lap. It makes some people upset in the chat, but most find it cute. "She doesn't sleep well alone, when I don't sleep she doesn't either." He explains to the fans watching. "Which is.. my fault, I kind of messed that up, but we're working on it." He nods, leaning back forwards to read the chat. "Calvin Klein? Huh?" He wonders why he reads the name of the brand in the chat considering he himself is wearing a simple white nike shirt- before he turns around, spotting you climbing over the back of the couch, seam of your pale purple underwear displaying the brand name. "Ah, yes! We got sent some stuff from their hybrid collection. Looks really pretty!" He smirks teasingly into the Chat, and he knows his management is probably holding their heads again in agony- so he can't help but make them mad just a little more, by reaching out behind him to smack your butt once, earning a squeak from your end and a wave of emojis in the chat.

They can't do much against his relationship or you, but that doesn't mean that they like it when he talks so easily and openly about it like this, or even dares to show public displays of affection towards you. He's not supposed to.

He does it anyways.

"Calvin Klein shooting when? Ah~!" He laughs, leaning back with arms crossed. "I'm not sure if I'd be happy with others seeing her in underwear." He jokes, though there's a hint of truth in it. He's painfully possessive over you- he doesn't like you even just playing around with the other members, for example, does everything for you before anyone else could offer. He doesn't like it when you're being taken care of by others, and he knows that's a bit childish. "But maybe normal clothes. Who knows. Maybe one day." He shrugs and reads the chat that asks him what you're doing- so he turns around to check on you in the kitchen-

Instantly jumping up over the back of the couch to run to you.

"Hey hey hey, no climbing that!" He scolds on his way, pulling you down from the counter before setting you down. "What did you want?" He asks, getting the bowl from the higher shelf for you before teasingly pulling your tail. "Don't do that again, yeah?" He shakes his head as he walks back to the couch, sitting in front of the camera again. "What happened? Ah, she couldn't reach something and climbed on the counter. But she could get hurt, so I don't like it." He explains. "Why? Ah, she doesn't do it usually!" He waves off. "She really doesn't. She's just having an episode these days, so she's a bit more trouble than normal." He says, trying to laugh it off- quickly changing topic.

He doesn't want anyone to really dwell on the fact that the most recent airport accident had sent you into an episode of all things.

Episodes in hybrids can vary in severity. Yours is a pretty serious one- it's been more than 24-hours since the airport incident, and yet you're still quiet, you're still regressing, and most of all- still terribly jumpy, as if you're right back to square one when he'd first brought you home, just ten times worse.

He'd been caught off guard this time. The same as security. No one saw it coming.

The airport had been crowded from the start, which had been normal. It's not unusual for him to draw in a large crowd- you never changed anything about that at the end of the day, if anything, you just increased it with many hybrids becoming fans of you, begging their owners to take them to the airports and other places where they could garner a glimpse of you. But this time, a crazed 'fan' had slipped through security, had grabbed after you- acrylic nails scratching hard on your arm, drawing blood and making you panic, as she yelled in a language he couldn't understand fully at you, hand raised to strike.

Jungkook had barely managed to pull you close, dash towards the car with security suddenly on highest alert, until you both had reached and entered the car.

He will never forget the sight of you, terrified, scrambling to crawl over the backseats, trying to get into the trunk area instead because in that moment, everyone had been an enemy in your eyes.

Him included.

It took him more than half an hour to get through to you, reassuring you enough with his strong hold and scent to push through the fog in your mind, and make you remember that he is safe. He's your person. He's to be trusted. And he's not mad at you for biting him in that moment whatsoever.

You'd thrown up the moment you'd entered the apartment due to the stress, before you shamefully hid in the furthest corner of the shower, cowering in panic, body trembling still.

Jungkook had wanted to cry so badly while the guilt crawled up his neck. Instead, he'd given you space, and had instead called a doctor to schedule an appointment asap for today, and one home visit later, you're all bandaged up and medicated to help your anxiety until you're able to think straight again.

He doesn't like that it has to be like that. But he understands that it's all that can be done to at least make your episode a bit more manageable and comfortable.

"Yeah, I'm gonna take some days off. I actually wanted to anyways, it's not just because of what happened, so don't worry." He reassures the fans concerned over your well-being- probably mostly because of the official statement from his company, which also announced his short hiatus from all activities, and a sharp increase in security measures moving forward. You simply crawl over his lap to lay down lazily, tail smacking around, your impatience the result of lack of attention. "Is she okay? Yeah, she has been prescribed some medication, she is okay." He offers, before he changes the topic again for a moment, until he can finally find a good opportunity to end the livestream.

The moment he does, he leans back, tension leaving his body as he watches you turn your head towards him. You've not said a word since the airport- and your gaze is hazy, not quite there.

He feels guilty just looking at you.

"I won't let that happen ever again." He promises, a hand on your head gently petting your ears. "I'll protect you more seriously." He mumbles, and you just watch him, happy to gain his attention even if you've got no idea what he's saying. Right now, you can't really comprehend anything- neither time, nor words, nor anything else.

You just exist, healing in silence it seems like.

And that's fine with him, as long as you'll be okay.

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You're biting on his curled up finger, while he laughs and wiggles your head around with it, no pain whatsoever in your bites.

You do that, occasionally, even when 'normal'. Though in that state, you typically recoil from your own actions, feeling bad for them even with his patient attempts at reassuring you that it's fine with him. But like this, still in your episode, you're a lot more open with what you're usually hiding when it comes to your natural hybrid behavior.

Love bites. That's what Jungkook calls them.

You bite his arm randomly when he stops paying attention to the movie you're supposed to watch together. You bite his neck whenever you cuddle, tangled up limbs and careful nips on his skin, well aware you shouldn't mark him up- even though he wouldn't complain. You bite after his hands when he tries to feed you stuff, though his reflexes tend to be better. And you bite at his clothes and pillows and toys- those you have a tight hold on though, testing his strength every single time.

He doesn't mind any of those things. He knew what you'd be like right from the start.

Your mind is slowly clearing up a bit, the second day into your episode- though it seems like you're still hiding away behind your hybrid behavior, taking your time to properly heal and collect yourself again before facing reality. And he's fine with that.

You can take as much time as you need and want.

He's brushing your hair for you while you sit on his lap, still tired form having just woken up. He can't really leave you alone like this- and you also still need to go to your regularly scheduled appointments to make sure you're recovering physically and mentally. Last checkup they've found some growing bruises near your hip, probably from the car door having accidentally swung into you in all the frenzy, and because you can't really tell anyone how you're feeling right now, everyone including Jungkook is being a little extra careful.

Though he can't say he doesn't enjoy moments like these, where he's truly got you all to himself.

He's opening a pack of wet wipes specifically for hybrid features, and you automatically move to lay your head in his lap as he cleans your ears for you- something back then, the shelter had told him to teach you to do yourself first things first since you hated having it done with a passion, but he's never had any problems with you. Sure, you can be a brat-

But you always have somewhat of a reason for lashing out if it happens, down the line. And he's learned to take a step back and look for that reason first and foremost, before judging or scolding you.

You wiggle around a little bit as he finishes up, putting everything away before he lets you go to lay down somewhere near the windows on a mattress he'd laid out. He chuckles as he walks back inside the living room, holding out your collar towards you, and his heart breaks a little when your ears clearly droop, probably still scared of leaving the apartment. "I know, but we have an appointment today that has to happen at the doctor's." He gently speaks, squatting down to where you're stubbornly rolling away from him, shielding your neck so he can't put your collar on. He clicks his tongue, carefully putting the collar down into his lap before he pulls your wrists away from your neck. "Baby please. I promise you, no one will ever hurt you again as long as I'm with you, okay?" He presses on, and at that, he can see your ears turn towards him, before you slowly give in to his hands pulling yours down.

He carefully places the simple velvet collar around your neck, both an Identification mark and a Yellow mark with the words 'Caution; Nervous' on it. He's received it from the doctor that checked up on you right after your episode had started- and he feels awful that you have to wear it like this.

But he'll do anything to make sure you're safe.

"…kook?" you ask, and he immediately perks up at hearing you speak again, arms open to let you crawl into his lap. "M' scared." You admit, and he nods.

"I know." He agrees, because he really does know that you're still fearful. It's only natural after what had happened. "But I'll do anything to keep you safe. You trust me?" He asks, and after a moment of thinking-

You nod into his chest, making him feel unbelievably proud of himself.

He won't let it go to waste.

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It's been a week, and Jungkook has to admit- he's never been happier that you're back to your old, chaotic self.

"You know you're in trouble." He states, holding up one of his sweaters-

The strings of the hood all chewed up, clearly because of you. You're just sitting on the floor on a random pillow, tail wagging, as if you're proud of your work. "People keep staring at you!" You complain, huffing in anger as you cross your arms. "You need my scent on you, so they know you're taken!" You say, and he sighs, shaking his head.

"It's not like I'm gonna wear this with those strings still in place anyways." He tells you, and you seem to become even more frustrated now. "In fact, I'm not really wearing anything top-wise in the most recent photoshoots-" He says, and suddenly, you get up, and dash past him, your shoulder hitting his body as you push towards your room- But he doesn't want you to just lock yourself in and 'sleep it off' like you always do. He wants you to explode into his face like this- he needs you to be honest for once. "No, you'll stay right here." He tells you, but you shake your head, trying to claw his hand from your arm.

"I don't want to!" You bark at him, now simply letting yourself drop down, hanging limp from his grip, and he just watches how you throw your little tantrum. "Let me go!" You hiss up at him, but he just takes in a deep breath, and continues to hold you.

"No." He denies. "And I can do this all day long, you know?" He shrugs, dragging you over the floor by your arm into the kitchen to get some water out the fridge.

And even as he can see your eyes start to tear up, he doesn't budge.

"You know, I'd really like to help you." He sighs, sitting down on the floor close to you. "I hate seeing you cry."

"Then let me go!" You try again, but he shakes his head.

"I won't." He denies once more. "I told you that's not how it works. Over and over again." He reminds you, his grip softening a bit. "I need you to talk to me, not just bottle things up and shove them into a corner inside your head." Jungkook complains, and you deflate at that.

"I don't like that.. no one takes me seriously." You say, and he tilts his head a bit in question. "People act like.. like I'm not even there." You say quietly, and he's unsure what you mean.

"What are you talking about baby?" He wonders, helping you sit on his lap, legs over his thighs wrapped around him just like your arms. "Many people love you. And by now, almost everyone knows you too." he reminds you, but you shake your head.

"They know me as your hybrid." You say, in a defeated manner. "But people don't see me as.. you know.. your mate." You complain into his shoulder, and at that he hums to himself, seeing the issue finally reveal itself.

"You're jealous?" He wonders, and you shrug.

"Sometimes." You admit. "When.. people how well this or that.. famous person fits you, you know." You finally say honestly. "And the worst is that they're often right. You do look nice with a pretty actress maybe, or-" You begin to rant, when a hand runs over your back, up and down.

"Mark me." He tells you, and you freeze.

"What?" You wonder, leaning away to properly look at him. But he just smiles, teasingly almost, and leans his head to the side a little.

"You heard me." He chuckles. "Wherever you want. Mark me up." He shrugs.

"But.. I'm not allowed." You shake your head, unsure if you understand him correctly. "I'm not supposed to."

"I do it all the time to you, don't I?" He asks, and you nod, a little shy now. "So? Only fair if you get to do it too. I'm sorry I didn't realize how.. that must've felt like to you, the fact that I always told you not to do it." He offers, a hand running over your tail.

"But they'll get angry at you-" You remind him, and he still denies it, instead leaning in to peck your lips once. You huff at that, even after the second, the third- but the fourth is when you melt, join in, and let yourself be swepped away by his love.

Jungkook knows best, you remind yourself. He knows what he can and can't do. He'll manage that.

You're mouthing at his neck on instinct, careful still- before you actually do end up biting and marking him, the evidence of this staying even the next day and the day after, causing his management to scold him numerous times- all of them Jungkook simply lets wash over him, not really taking it to heart.

He loves you, and therefore things like these are simply normal. They shouldn't be forbidden. He's not a child anymore.

And, at the end of the day, he doesn't need the fame, or money, or anything else.

He only needs you.

[sunderwight]

In the theme of "just ignoring whatever the people behind the show say", I have disregarded the idea that the people of KL don't cheer to see Meleys' head because they've somehow forgotten that she killed a bunch of them just a short while ago and are thus somehow mourning her.

I think reactions are muddled because they just really don't know how to take this.

The last time a dragon was killed and anyone other than the riders involved saw it would have been when Maegor slew his nephew Aegon and Aegon's dragon Silverwing. And even Maegor didn't parade the dragon through the streets. Because Maegor presumably understood that his control over the populace was reliant upon the image of dragons (and Targaryens, by association) as closer to gods than to mortal things. That image is diminished by reminders that dragons can not only be killed, but are reduced to the same rotting animal parts as anything else after the fact.

So this is strange. It's doubly strange due to Cole's decision to try and call Meleys a "traitor dragon", which was a bad idea and almost certainly went against previously established notions and precedents.

To go back to Maegor again, the guy was such a widely unpopular king that he is still wielded as an example to discredit other Targaryens. Otto warns that Daemon is too like Maegor. Anti-Rhaenyra statements often slander her as "Maegor with teats". Being like Maegor is shorthand for "person technically in the line of succession who should never inherit because the people and gods would not support their rule".

Maegor, however, flew Balerion. The Black Dread. Aegon the Conqueror's dragon. The dragon. The same dragon that Viserys I claimed. The fabled "last living creature to see Valyria before the Doom" that still lives large in the cultural legacies of Westeros even by the time of Robert's rule.

Dragons can live for centuries, and they don't seem to give much of a shit about political allegiances when accepting or rejecting riders. While it's certainly a feather in the cap of any Targaryen that can tame a powerful dragon, you cannot hinge much on the dragon's "opinion". You can call Rhaenys a traitor but not Meleys, because ideally if they'd killed Rhaenys and not Meleys then one day one of Aegon II's own descendants might have claimed and ridden Meleys.

Cole, I think, has made this decision because he finds the idea of dragons as beatable animals reassuring in the wake of watching the battle at Rook's Rest. He's trying to take control, to treat this as a victory. He's not registering the unease and questions he's introduced into the minds of the even the least transgressive common folk by putting a dragon on the level of an animal, or the fact that this undermines certain ideas that bolster Aegon's right to rule as much as Rhaenyra's. After all, the people of King's Landing haven't come back from witnessing a battle where the dragons unleashed their terrible might.

I think this fits well into the impending uprising that is going to result in Certain Events at the dragon pit, too. No cheering. Just unease.

[introverted-imagineer]

The Innocent and Guilty Parties

Warnings: Classist themes and language. This chapter jumps between 3rd person and 1st person. Each section has a name above it to help guide who each bit focuses on.

Hello, fellow Imagineers! Please forgive the long wait. I have been battling writer's block. I cannot begin to tell you how many times I have tried and failed to start and write this chapter (so frustrating!) But I truly hope you, fellow readers, enjoy this chapter.

Please support me here and enjoy! http://buymeacoffee.com/the_introverted_imagineer The Introverted Imagineer

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Y/N

‘Why did he just walk away like that?’ Twyla asked innocently. 

She sat in the small wooden tub, her knees under her chin as she hugged her legs tightly to her front, resting her chin on her kneecaps. My body froze, my fingers stiffly nestled in her thick locks as the soap bubbled against her tiny scalp. Why did he walk away? A question I’d like to know the answer to myself. 

‘Well, sweetheart it’s been a long time…I suppose he was just very shocked, you were just a baby when he left and now you’re a beautiful young girl…’

She simply nodded, but her rigid posture relayed the truth, that her queries and worries were still very much at the forefront of her mind. My fingers slightly released from their rigorous mortis like state, allowing me to massage them through her curly locks, a feature I had almost forgotten that resembled Harald’s so closely. 

‘He thinks I’m a thief’ she whispered, whether she intended for me to hear her or not, I couldn’t stop my instincts from diving into protection mode. 

‘Well he doesn’t know you.’ I fiercely responded, the resentment in my voice not mistaken, even by a seven year old. I tentatively reached for the small bowl, scooping water from the tub, rinsing the long curls that reached halfway down her back. ‘I mean to say darling, you’re not a thief, and what transpired this afternoon…’ my voice trailed, my thoughts racing. She wrapped her arms around her legs tighter, almost trying to cocoon into herself, bracing herself for whatever consequence was to come. 

‘Sweetheart…why did you not feel you could go ask your tutor for some spare materials? Why did you just take them?’ I remembered my own mother, how she would always meet troubling topics with an open mind, an open ended question, no matter how much she probably wanted to clip me around the ear. 

She didn’t move from her self made cocoon, only shifting her head so that her cheek rested on her knees, gazing at me side on. Her words clearly rested on the edge of her tongue, but her willingness to share was evident. I reached for the cloth, returning to scrubbing her back as a way to make it seem my concentration was elsewhere. 

‘Because…they don’t like people like us’ she reluctantly uttered. 

‘People like us?’ I responded quizzically. 

Truth was, there was no need for her to explain. A childhood full of slander, stereotyping, and misunderstanding meant I knew all to well what her words meant, and the weight they carried. 

‘He said I’m the Emperor’s bastard…and he accused me of taking things that I didn’t take.’ 

It was almost primal. My urge to attack, to scream, to shout. The wickedness of it all unbearably believable, to think that someone could be so sinister to anyone, let alone a child. My own childhood was plagued with such burdensome thoughts. So carefully I had tried to shape a life for Twyla that wouldn’t be anything similar to my own, a life where there was no space for such thoughts. Yet here she sat, in her most vulnerable state, my heart bleeding with guilt and worry. 

‘Everyone at the palace is the same…even him’ she said, sighing deeply. ‘Him?’ I asked curiously. 

‘My father.’ She sighed. 

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Y/N 

What was usually the sounds of birds calling and insects chirping was replaced by the sound of thumping in the distance. I opened my eyes, gently brushing Twylas curls from my face as she rested in total uninterrupted slumber. The thump followed a continuous beat, the rhythm thumping from afar. 

I quietly rose from the bed, eyes adjusting to the gentle sunlight as I moved the cloth from the window. Each morning, the small settlement was usually busy with farmers milking their cattle, children distributing hay to the livestock with pitchforks that were too big and heavy for them. The sound of crunching as people harvested crops for their market sales. Instead, it was barren. In the distance, I could see familiar figures walking down the hill towards the city, following the sound of the drumming beat in curiosity. It was only when the distant sound of cheering emitted that the reality truly hit. 

The Emperor’s army had returned in full. 

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Twyla

The day before had been exhausting. The overwhelming adrenaline that had transpired from the events of the day before, the trepidation of being faced with her father; someone she always thought deep down she might recognise if their paths ever crossed. The reality that she would no longer be welcome at the palace…although in that moment she wasn’t so sure that was a bad thing. 

The little girl felt heavy, slumber-some at the thought of having to face the day, a new day which didn’t include the long walk to the palace, the droning on of her tutor, or her post lesson debriefs at the tree with her best friend. 

She wearily reached into the bucket of water in the corner of the hut, wiping away the dry tears that had formed crusty cluster on her skin. 

The sky was already shining, contrasting to the normal black sky she greeted most mornings. The hut, usually filled by her mother making her breakfast, was instead stark silent. She opened the door of their small home, startled by the absence of her mother or any of her neighbours. Retreating inside she dressed herself, lacing up a pair of boots that were slightly too small for her growing feet. Her other shoes long lost amongst the gardens of the palace, likely already thrown into a fire somewhere. 

Daring to venture out she stood in the doorframe unsure whether to retreat back inside or explore the vast emptiness. What if they had taken everyone away? What if the settlement had been ransacked while she were asleep? What if they had taken her mother away? Her thoughts racing with questions, anxiety bubbling in her stomach at the thought of her mother being questioned and crucified by her behaviour the day before. 

She took a deep breath, poking her head out, assessing her surroundings determining the safety. Whatever had caused the silence, she was determined to find out why. 

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Y/N

As I edged closer to the city centre, the noise was overwhelming. What had started as a solemn solo journey, I was now swept up in a sea of people constantly pushing one another as more people joined the crowd, all joining the expedition to the central chaos. Women held bouquets of flowers, men held long wreaths that they shook above them in celebration. Children ran around clapping their hands as they weaved through the crowd of people. 

The drumming became louder, the sound of clanging symbols now complementing the rhythmic beat. People stood on the roofs of buildings, people hanging out almost every window of their homes as they cheered and sung praises below. I weaved through the crowd, placing myself at the edge of the stone wall, looking below. A sea of red paraded through the streets, each one equipped with shields and weapons as they waved at the adoring crowd. Flowers rained down as people threw petals and stems at the soldiers, yelling admirations and blessings, some even crying joyfully. The sea of red seemed to endlessly flow through the streets, people following their path right towards the palace walls. 

As I made my way closer to the palace, the sea of red was a stark contrast to the small party of gold that led the parade. So perfectly, the army lined themselves in rows that stretched all the way down and around the path. The crowd watched from above, packed shoulder to shoulder as everyone cast their eyes towards the front of the palace. A long black canopy adorned the front of the palace walls, blocking the view from the crowd above. 

As the drumming stopped, the rhythmic clanging from the symbols subsided, the chatter and cheering from the crowd turned to quiet. Many members of the crowd were unsettled, their eyes desperately searching amongst the crowd of warriors, looking for lost family members and loved ones. Their attention disturbed as two men made their way forward, standing on the small podium facing the mystery canopy. 

Their presence was met with cheers from the crowd below, banging their weapons on their shields, clapping. As the pair peeled their helmets from their heads, I could feel my blood turn cold. His hair, even from such a great distance, those thick brown curls, the bits of yellow naturally bleached by the sun. Exactly like Twylas. Silently grateful for the crowd from above, I hadn’t noticed my weight leaning against others at the mere shock of his grandeur presence. 

From under the canopy, a bejewelling gold figure emerged from underneath. It was only when the priest had finished his speech was the silence broken by an even more chilling voice.

‘Today we welcome back our beloved army, and celebrate their overwhelming victory in Sicily.’ 

Another voice I hadn't heard in seven years. Another voice that reminded me that the last seven years, everything I’d worked for, the home we’d built for ourselves, the friends we’d made, all of it could be ripped away from under us by the click of the Emperor’s fingers. 

The crowd cheers, relishing in all his glory. His every word, his every movement, the crowd couldn’t get enough of his splendour. The excitement amongst the crowd was electric, intensifying as the Emperor invited another presence that terrified me even more. 

Her new name, the Empress Zoe. 

It was in this moment. Looking at the endless sea that was the Emperor’s army, the way the Empress, Emperor and Harald commanded the audience, did I truly realise the fragility of our situation. The last seven years was only but a passing dream. Reality had returned, and it had returned in full. 

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Twyla

Twyla walks cautiously through the streets. The sound of cheering emits from the centre of the city, the calls sporadic and inconsistent. It seemed like a deserted wasteland, clothing left to dance in the breeze, every door and window shut, which were usually open in such heat. She had even seen a couple of rats running freely on the cobblestones. 

Her tireless venture was eventually interrupted by the smell of smoke. Instead of following the cheers that had come from the city, she followed the wafting of burnt embers that encapsulated her senses. It wasn’t a smell of wood, or food, or even animal excrement, all smells she was used to at home. 

She trailed around, poking her head around the corner of one of the buildings, finding the source of the fire itself. The house stood at the end of a desolate lane, a small courtyard with an array of shrubs and overgrown gardens. Clearly a place that lacked any attention for some time. At the edge of the courtyard, a short stone retaining wall stood enclosing the property. It was along the wall she saw a small collection of scrolls and papers, inscribed with words and drawings she couldn’t make out from her distance. 

She tentatively ducked, slowly following the edge of the property. The edge of the retaining wall backed onto a small cliff, but this didn’t seem to deflect her new-found bravery to find out what was written on all the discarded pages. She climbed atop of the small retaining wall, crawling along the top that was just thick enough to maintain her balance and weight. She cautiously looked around, there was no noise, no presence, only a burning fire and a bunch of parchment. She reached down, sitting herself on the wall, and unravelled the wonders of her new-found treasure. 

Upon the parchment, sketches of plants and flowers, along with descriptions of healing properties. Another parchment showed drawings of the night sky, little scribbles and notes she couldn’t quite make out. As she kept unravelling, she didn’t notice the new presence that had entered the courtyard. 

‘Found what you’re looking for?’ The man sarcastically noted, causing the young girl to jolt, dropping the parchment she was holding. Frozen, she stared at the man as he held an armful of leather bound scrolls above the fire. She didn’t know what was more terrifying. Him, or his willingness to burn what seemed to be a library full of information and knowledge. 

‘Bring those to me’ he commanded, dumping the parchment on the ground, taking the metal rod and poking the small fire. Twyla remained still, casting her eyes down at the cliffs edge, debating if it would be a worthy escape. But the man interrupted again. ‘Don’t be foolish, just bring me some of those papers by your feet’ he said, not even looking up at her, clearly more concerned with his task at hand. 

She carefully placed her feet on the ground beneath her, watching the mans every movements as she collected bits of paper. He looked up at her, his eyes a natural squint, his hair untamed, his skin a deep brown that indicated he had spent too much time in the sun. She slowly approached, standing opposite him, the fire a barrier between them that made the young girl feel a little safer. 

‘Why are you burning all this?’ She asked, her arms full of parchment. 

He looked down, his lips pursing, slightly hunched, clearly uncomfortable by her sudden inquisitiveness. He glanced at her, his attention intensifying on her as he took in all her features. 

‘Where are your parents?’ He asked, countering her question with another. Little did Lief know, it wouldn’t be enough to deter her. Little did Twyla know, Lief Erikson already knew all too well who the her parents were. 

‘Answer my question first’ she responded more confidently. Lief couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle, the similarities to y/n evident. He watched the young girl, wondering how similar she might be to his own niece or nephew. 

‘I’m burning these because the information they possess are not helpful for anyone’ he said solemnly, his attention turning back quickly to the fire. 

‘Why is that their fault?’ Twyla asked, tilting her head to one side. 

‘Whose fault?’ Lief asked unenthusiastically. 

‘Well…all this information? Just because you don’t think it’s helpful for you doesn’t mean it’s not helpful for anyone else?’ Again, her attention unwavering, making Lief feel all the more uncomfortable. He didn’t want to have to tell a child about the horrors of Syracuse or the guilt that he carried since. 

‘It’s just not something anyone should have’ his voice carrying a tone of impatience as he said it. The young girl let out a sigh, raising one of her eyebrows, a feature that undeniably matched that of Harald. It always bothered him when Harald did that, but he couldn’t find himself getting the same feeling from the young curious girl. 

‘You disagree?’ Lief asked, placing the metal rod to the side, crossing his arms. The young girl was clearly tense, her head lowered slightly as her eyes flickered between Lief and the fire. ‘Go on’ he said, forcing his voice to be more cheerful. 

‘Well…I think that there are things here that could be used to better the world…and maybe there are things here that can be shared’ her words trailed off as she busied herself with the scrolls in her arms, reaching for one in particular. Her new found confidence was striking to Lief, as the previously timid girl walked around the fire pit, her arms outstretched as she offered Lief a piece of parchment. He tentatively took the page, unravelling it’s contents. On the page, a series of drawings and words about plants and flowers. 

His throat hitched. The memory of Miriam, how she carried such plants on her person to manage pain and aches. It was only the sight of Twyla in front of him that brought him back from his internal darkness. He sighed, unsure of how to balance the moral queries of the little girls questions and what happened in Syracuse. 

‘Maybe I can take some? My mother and I could maybe use some of this to help people? Better than burning it?’ She said, opening scrolls and assessing the contents. Lief couldn’t help but feel enamoured by the young girls curiosity, and her proficient wisdom. He couldn’t help but admire the young girl, and the job her mother had done in raising her. He hoped his own sister had done the same for the child she bore. 

Lief smiled to himself. ‘You have a look, and show me what you want to take, I can’t promise I’ll let you keep everything, but if you think these writings will make the world a better place then I’ll let you take it.’ The young girl couldn’t help but jump up in excitement, and Lief happily watched as she took to her task, unravelling all the parchment within reach.  

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Harald

The palace, that had stood solemnly and lonely for the past seven years, now possessed a resurgence of life. A grand feast covered the tables in the main hall, there was chatter, and laughter, almost causing a headache for the Empress. The Emperor strode around his grand hall, the familiarity giving him a sense of peace. His castle the same as when he left, but with his newfound successes, it felt all the more glorious. 

The Empress watched from afar, watching as Harald politely shook hands and engaged in conversation with admirers, accepting congratulations on his new title Spatharkandidatos. She watched as Harald glanced over at his friends, trying to politely dismiss the strangers who were desperate to talk to him. The Empress slowly made her way towards the group, anticipating her moment with Harald without drawing the suspicions of her husband. 

As Harald finally approached the group, the Emperor approached also. ‘Harald!’ He cheered, his smile wide, his teeth gleaming as Harald directed his attentions to him, bowing dutifully. As the Empress was about to speak, the Emperor interrupted again. 

‘Harald Sigurdsson, I’m disappointed to not see your wife or daughter here celebrating with us’ he said, wrapping his arm possessively around the Empresses waist. The discomforting look did not escape their friends, however the Emperor was none the wiser. 

‘After seven years away, it’s overwhelming for us all I suppose’ Harald offered as diplomatically as he could. The truth was Harald was speaking more for himself than of y/n and Twyla. The parade, the honouring of his new title, his return to Constantinople had been all a blur since he came face to face with his daughter the night before. Like the walking dead, his consciousness was punctured and subdued by the fear in his daughters eyes when he had faced her. Harald had gone to bed that night, replaying the scene over and over. How he had yelled, how he had scared her, but how he sensed that the life he had tried to set up for her had not acclimated at all. The prospect that his daughter had succumbed to a life of thievery and pickpocketing to survive. The way her clothes were ripped, the mess of items that fell from her bag. Harald was disappointed, but no more than himself; how he had simply walked away, failing to acknowledge his wife nor daughter after seven years of absence. 

His guilt was matched, however, by anger. How y/n had never responded to any of his letters, how nobody seemed to know anything of his wife or daughter when messengers travelled between Constantinople and wherever the war had taken them. In his mind, y/n had robbed him of what little he could have. Seven years of wonder, of broken hope when messengers informed him they had no news of his family, that his wife refused to take any letter or message from him. The torture of the unknown was more menacing than any opponent on the battlefield. 

‘I sent the invitation personally’ the Empress remarked, placing her hand on her husband’s which still rested on her waist. Harald’s face dropped, his eyes seeming sullen all of a sudden. ‘The child had stopped attending her lessons…I wonder if she is unwell?’ The Empress continued. But the Emperor interrupted once again, sensing the confusion and concern that was rattling inside his noble warrior. ‘My dear, this is not the time to discuss such personal matters’ he whispered, his tone condescending. 

‘Emperor’ a voice called, drawing his attentions to another part of the room. He placed a gentle pat on his wife’s lower back as he walked away.  

‘Do you still wish to return to Norway to be King?’ The Empress asked. 

‘My desires have never wavered. It is my destiny’ Harald responded, his unwavering doubt clearly a disappointment to the Empress. 

‘Destinies can change’ she remarked confidently. 

Harald was not naive. It was very clear, even after seven years apart, the Empresses admiration for him had not faltered. Harald knew that her feelings was more a cause of danger for him rather than the Empress herself. But even with a wife, Harald could feel his insides quiver. There was no doubt, the Empress was beautiful, generous…possessive, but Harald needed to get closer to her. She clearly knew something about his child, and he was desperate for information. 

His sense of danger heightened as a group of palace guards approached him in the middle of the celebrations, leading him to the underground of the palace, away from the safety of anyone else. 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Y/N

‘Y/n’ Mathilda’s voice softly called as I sat in the garden, ripping weeds from the crops, aimlessly throwing them over the small wooden fence. Anger. All I felt was anger. How proudly he stood, basking in the glory of an empire that wasn’t his. How the Emperor and Empress decorated him with titles. 

‘Harald is back’ she said, letting herself in through the small garden fence, picking up the destruction that I had clearly made by ripping away at the garden. 

‘I know. I saw him’ I stated coldly. 

‘You weren’t at the celebration?’ She said, more as a question rather than a statement. I couldn’t help but scoff at the ridiculousness of it. ‘How was I supposed to know that I had been called to see the great Harald Sigurdsson? He certainly didn’t say anything yesterday’ I sarcastically and aggressively stated. 

‘You saw him yesterday?’ She quizzed, lowering herself down to the ground next to me. ‘He called Twyla a thief, and then walked off when we finally came face to face. SHIT!’ I exclaimed, holding the stems of an onion plant that clearly wasn’t ready to be pulled. ‘Seven years, you’d think he might have at least said hello or asked how we were, not fucking walk off’ I yelled, startling the livestock as they ran further away from the fence near the house. ‘You know, from what those viking scum took from us all those years ago, the events we endured, how our lives have been affected, why is it that people like that seem to get every fucking thing they want!’ 

I could barely catch my breath before Mathilda made another remark. 

‘Are you jealous y/n?’ She asked quietly. 

It was then that my arm seemed to involuntarily thrust, my arm giving a sharp whip as the premature onions went flying into the paddock. 

‘I’M NOT JEALOUS, THE WORLD JUST TIME AND TIME PROVES OVER AND OVER AGAIN TO BE FUCKING CRUEL AND COMICALLY UNFAIR’. It was only when my shouting finished did I realise that a sheep had jumped the paddock, and my cheeks were wet with tears. 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Harald

‘Forgive the intrigue, but no one can know where this place is’ the Emperor noted, standing cynically at the end of the hall. Harald, startled, remained quiet as he waited for whatever move the Emperor was about to make. 

The Empress stepped into view, making Harald’s insides quiver. 

‘Can I trust you Harald Sigurdsson?’ The Emperor asked. 

His question struck two emotions within Harald. Disbelief and fear. Disbelief that after seven years of loyal service, that the Emperor would question his loyalties. Fear, as to the uncertainty of the Empresses presence. 

‘I believe I have earned that trust’ he responded. The Emperor smiled, turning around as he walked further into the private chamber. 

‘Then enter the Emperor’s vault’ he announced cheerfully. 

The room was filled with gold, silver, and jewels. It was unlike anything Harald had seen. In that moment, he was finally distracted from any thought of his daughter or y/n. His attention wavering even further when the Emperor announced it was for Harald to take, and not simply admire. 

But the diverted attention only lasted momentarily. Even faced with all the treasures he could ever dream of, he still wanted information on his greatest treasures of all. 

‘What of my daughter…and wife?’ Harald asked. The Emperor smiled. ‘I admire your devotion to family’ he said, strolling casually towards another door. ‘For this, I shall leave you to deliberate with my wife’ he said, exiting the chamber mysteriously. 

The Empress watched him eagerly, teasingly strutting closer and closer to his large frame. But Harald was determined to keep his composure. Eyes were always everywhere.

‘I tried to give your letters to your wife personally’ she said. ‘I even tried to give them to your daughter to take home, but they never seemed to make it home’. Harald’s hands tensed, clamping his fingers into a fist. 

‘You said she has stopped attending her lessons?’ He asked. 

‘Harald, I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but your daughter has been accused of stealing prized jewels from the palace.’ Harald couldn’t help but be confused by her statement. ‘What kind of prized jewels?’ He asked curiously. ‘Some relics that clearly have been taken from the church, her tutor managed to retrieve from her belongings, but there are more missing items that the clergy have noticed.’ Her faced offered a comforting softness as she looked at Harald, lifting her hand and brushing her hand against his cheek. ‘I’m sorry, this is not news I wanted to share’ she whispered softly. Defeated by the news, she trailed her hand down his arms, placing something solid in his hand. 

‘But you don’t have to choose, you can have everything’ she said, gesturing to the items in the room, before taking her leave, leaving Harald Sigurdsson vulnerable and confused. 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Harald

’This is what you fought for. Everywhere we went these were your rewards’ Harald exclaimed, baffled by the sight of Lief burning all the knowledge that he had procured over the last seven years. But Lief was determined, he had already been diverted by the young girl earlier that day, he simply wanted to finish what he started. 

‘I intended to use the knowledge to make the world better. I have used it to make it worse’ Lief coldly responded. 

Lief, what happened in Syracuse was not your fault’ Harald said, so matter of factly in a way that had always irritated Lief. But as he looked at Harald, his stern face softened to one of compassion, he couldn’t help but speak. 

‘She’s a lot like you…the expression similar’ Lief said, waving the scroll in his hand. ‘Expect, she’s a lot wiser than you or I in many ways’ he said, facing his back to Harald as he retrieved more materials to burn. 

‘Who?’ Harald asked curiously. 

‘Twyla’ Lief responded, deciding not to look at Harald, incase his words hit deeper than intended. 

‘You met her? You talked to her?’ Harald asked, pacing closer to Lief, his face one of disbelief. Lief simply nodded casually, fuelling Harald more. 

‘She was here? What did she say? What is she like?’ Harald asked, his strong hand grasping onto Lief’s wrist as he went to throw another scroll in the fire. Begrudgingly, Lief dropped the scroll, walking over to the retaining wall, taking a seat as he looked at the dumbfounded Harald Sigurdsson. 

‘She is stubborn, but wise and curious, especially for someone so young. She is kind, but not in a manner that is overbearing. She is cautious, but bold. She is certainly her mothers daughter.’ He said, realising that his last sentence might not be a comforting factor to his friend. 

‘Did she ask about me at all?’ Harald asked, his vulnerability surprising Lief. 

‘Not specifically’ Lief responded. ‘I asked her where she learnt to read, she said she used to go to classes her father had organised for her before he left for the war’ he noted nonchalantly. Harald raised his hand, covering his mouth in frustration as he scratched at his chin. ‘The Empress told me she’s been stealing from the palace’ Harald responded, his face back to that sternness that was so common to him. 

Lief laughed, angering Harald. 

‘What?’ Harald demanded. 

‘Harald, you and I come from very different worlds. I have known thief's, and pickpockets, and liars. Your daughter is not one of them’ Lief said, so matter of factly.  

‘Well Elena said…’ Harald begun, only to be interrupted by Lief. 

‘Elena is dead, she is now the Empress Zoe. Elena was your friend, but the Empress is not’ he sternly told Harald, reaching for more scrolls and waltzing back over to the fire. 

‘Well explain to me why she has been accused of thievery, has stopped attending her lessons, and my daughter nor her mother ever responded to any of my letters? The Empress seems to be the only person willing to tell me what's been going on, so explain to me how I cannot consider her a friend if she’s the only one telling me anything of use’ Harald impatiently remarked, using his fingers to count off each fact. 

‘Maybe you should ask y/n yourself’ Lief remarked, causing his friend to stomp off angrily with a final remark. 

‘My wife has refused contact with me in seven years, why would she start now!’

Little did either of them know, the young girl sat hidden, her back pressed against the wall, having heard everything between Lief Eriksson and Harald Sigurdsson.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Y/N

‘YOU LIAR’ Twyla’s voice screamed, causing me to jump. 

‘What are you talking about sweetheart?’ I asked, dropping the large wooden spoon in the pot. ‘And what are all those scrolls?’ I asked, rising from the small stool, giving her my full attention. 

‘I HEARD HIM, I HEARD HIM TALK ABOUT THE LETTERS!’ She yelled, stomping her foot on the ground. 

‘WHO AND WHAT LETTERS?’ I yelled back, my eyes closed, my hands involuntarily twitching. 

‘MY FATHER! He says he sent letters!’ She exclaimed, my dumbfound expression not deterring her. 

‘You spoke to him?’ I asked, squatting to match her height as I reached out, trying to comfort her distresses. But she took a step back, determined to keep composure. 

‘No, he told the man, his friend…Leaf’ she said heatedly. 

‘Lief?’ I asked. 

‘He told Lief you didn’t respond to his letters’ she expressed defeatedly. ‘Maybe he wouldn’t believe I was a thief if he knew a little about me, but you didn’t reply to his letters.’ She dropped the scrolls, her mouth turned downward. 

I cautiously shuffled closer, placing my hands gently on her now-crossed arms. 

‘Twyla, I never received any letters.’ 

[tamayula-hl]

It's been a long time since I've posted as my daughter and I have both been in bed with the flu and Covid! And once again I apologise for posting an article that is disturbing the atmosphere of HL fandom.

I have discussed the false accusation of trace plagiarism levelled against me with @freewld and have received an apology from her saying that it was a misunderstanding.

Here is a verified image of this case (Twitter/X)

I am now deeply relieved that we were able to end the discussion with a result that convinced her of my innocence. If it was a misunderstanding, I am willing to end it all this time. I would like to end this false accusation racket with a discussion with her. I will refrain from mentioning the matter once and for all (unless another disturbing incident occurs), and I hope that you will refrain from further mention of it too. I also do not want any slanderous behaviour, excessive criticism, speculation or falsehoods towards her, so I strongly urge you all to refrain from doing so. (Just in case , I have compiled screenshots and other evidence regarding the defamation of me that I have received in this row, and submitted and consulted with lawyers and others)

She also requested that I make a correction announcement on four points, which I would like to make here.

She said she conducted the survey with the intention of "using it as one reference for the opinions of her followers".

Tamayula's wish was the reason she decided to make the suspicion of plagiarism public.

She did not vote on the survey from multiple accounts to give herself an advantage.

She only made her Twitter account private after the survey was invalidated.

My verified public article was written in Japanese, which I wrote in a very confused and upset state, and translated into English and published at DeepL. Therefore, it was very difficult to understand and there were many phrases that may have led to your misunderstanding. I would like to apologise deeply for the confusion caused to everyone by my misunderstanding and incomprehensible article, and at the same time, I would like to correct it here. Although it has taken me a long time to respond, I have corrected the English text of the article on Tumblr and made it private, and on Twitter, I have deleted the tweet that referred to the survey.

I was very upset by the false accusations that suddenly fell upon me, and I sincerely regret that I repeatedly exposed myself in an emotional and unsightly manner, and that I failed to respond correctly to the incident. I cannot thank enough those who were kind to me and gave me warm words and those who believed in my innocence. I am sorry, but I will refrain from replying to you now, because if I do so, it is likely to cause an uproar again, but your words of encouragement and support, which I received at a time when I was feeling quite emotionally drained, gave me tremendous emotional support, more than you can imagine. Thank you very much. I am deeply grateful.

As for my future creative activities, I plan to continue with both Tumblr and Twitter as they are now. (However, I intend to move at the end of March in my real life and will be very busy for a few months with preparations and my new life, so my activities will be quite low-key for the time being). My interest in HL, Seb and Omi has not changed, and I am still motivated to paint, but in reflecting on the current turmoil, I now realise that I was very easily influenced by other people's creative styles, and that I had a vague idea of what the boundaries of inspiration were. In the future, I will continue to be self-conscious about my own dangerous values and make every effort to correct them, and if I have used a work as a reference, I will clearly state it and do my utmost not to cause trouble for others as an artist.

Finally, I am very sorry for the trouble I have caused to so many people. And to those of you who have been so warm and thoughtful, once again, thank you very much indeed 🙏 I will continue to do my best in drawing from now on!

[acequinz]

WWX would have been a better sect leader this, Jiang Cheng is the best sect leader that.

Yknow who would actually kill as a sect leader? Wen rouhan.

Jk that was a bad joke, it's every sect leader. All of them have killed in cold and warm blood.

But in all seriousness. Jiang Yanli as a sect leader would have been perfect. Now whether she leads the Jiang sect or the Jin sect because you cannot convince me that Jin Zixuan would have absolutely loved to hand it over to her if she wanted to be the sect leader.

She's gentle and understanding but also firm enough when she needs to reign people in. She is so demure and mindful but insult the people she cares for and see how fast she puts you in your place.

She's unshaken in her belief, she trusted her A-xian until the end and even forgave him for what happened with jzx even when everyone turned against him, she never uttered one mean word towards him and stood strong.

She's amazing. I love her so much and I wish she hadn't died.

I know JFM said that WWX truly understands and follows the Jiang sect motto, I think Jiang Yanli executed it better, because while she didn't have the same skills she never let it hinder what she could do, she was out there helping in the camps and healers and providing so much emotional support, she stood tall by Wei Wuxian even as he was slandered and everyone doubted him but she just worried for him and said it outright.

Also comparing other women candidates for sect leader position.

Wen Qing would also make a good leader, but I think she would prefer doing research so it's a disqualification by choice.

MianMian already has her happy life going and I am not disrupting that, good for you queen enjoy your life with your man, hope he treats you well.

Madam Yu and Madam Jin are immediately disqualified because they are both people who take out their anger of their husbands on your kids and if you can't even handle you anger and upset well, you would not make a good sect leader.

I honest to god can't even think of any other women from this....

Anyways Jiang Yanli my beloved. They had to kill you because you were too powerful and would have eventually fixed shit so WWX wouldn't have had to d ie.

[horizon-verizon]

I don’t understand the fuss. Not long ago, people were complaining that it didn’t make sense for Rhaenyra to carry a sword, completely ignoring its symbolic meaning. Yet, just a week later, Audrey Benjaminsen’s artwork for the new Fire and Blood edition by The Folio Society shows Rhaenyra holding a sword. Seriously, it feels like people are just hating for the sake of it.

Anon is responding to this post, where I reblog many things that are in response to S2 Rhaenyra holding out a sword before S2 aired. My personal thoughts, I had way more issue with Rhaenyra a sword around like she either had intention to use it or she knew how to fight with it more than her holding a sword at all. And bc it's these writers and I trust none of them, I thought they they might try to make Rhaenyra into a swordswoman like Visenya when she was nothing like that. And thus, in the writers' eyes and after the producers have:

seemingly decided to both have Emma say the "power" the blacks/she should have will not be in jewels and clothes and appearance when canon Rhaenyra very much both just loved these things/"beautifying" herself and used these things to signify her status (femme-coded things) to make their Rhaenyra more "serious" as if canon!Rhaenyra was not a fierce woman and "girliness" means "not strong" bc the idea is you lean into "femmness" and "femininity" is socially coded as inherently "weak"

remade older!Rhaenyra into a much more people-pleasing person than she originally was, her in hotD seemed like it'd stay on track of her being too eager for approval from men instead of feeling entitled to support and loyalty as she was

(Yes, Emma waving the sword around could also be interpreted as just Rhaenyra trying to practice feeling powerful or pondering her own limitations or learning to defend herself enough; the issue is that bc it's these writers who remain...weird about how to write their female characters, well you know?)

All in a bid to make her more "likeable" or to get already sexist-based audiences to think she is a better leader simply because she (show!her) refuses to recognize a danger when it apears and properly prepare for it. Is it commendable and necessary to try to neotiate your way out of possible violence, yeah...that's not what show!Rhaenyra did, though. She was ready to totally capitualte, whic NOT good in of inteself for anyone, esp her and her kids (Otto and hostages). And it makes as if the book was not showcasing an imperfect victim-turned to victmizer was still only usurped bc she was a woman.

It's very important in how Rhaenyra was not as compassionate as Daenerys or even Alysanne, but it is important to not react to the gender violence and injustice of the entire war being predicated on upholding male entitlement (regardless of a woman's true character). The slander done against her. Her being NOT a swordswoman, leaning more into the femme-coded aspects of womanhood as understood in Westeros--and thus NOT being closer to the Westerosi/Western ideal of a "nongirly" woman--lends to the idea of a "girly" irl being "strong", even with GRRM not allowing her to participate a bit more in the non-fighting aspects of war when he's writing so much about war and its effects. One cannot and should not expect a person, man or woman, to repress their grief and also do a fabulous "job" in order to prove they are definitively a good leader...Rhaenyra lost sons successively, the same ones she worked for years to protect from the court and the greens after having had little choice to marry a man who no one would ever believe fathered her heirs.

Which is why I do not care for the "show is different from the canon" argument, bc the show has been doing a horrendous disservice to a huge element and point of the Dance from the very beginning of S1. A show's characters can deviate, but HOW do they do so, that's the real question that matters!

So, it appears that people are misunderstanding each other or misunderstanding the PRES2 priemere comments of Rhaenyra with a sword. The fuss is what exactly Rhaenyra's seen with a sword means as her being a woman trying to defend her lawfully-given rights towards leadership. And people are ignorant of how women in history has and continue today to impress others and esp men that they should and can be a leader or occuoy a previously male-dominated position OR create and enforce performances of leadership to affirm their power traditionally outlawed, excluded, or proibited to them. And some people are just hating to hate, but some are trying to bring a level of nuance.

[haggishlyhagging]

[Christine de Pizan] began [The Book of the City of the Ladies] with a marvelous account of her own transformation of consciousness. Sitting in her study reading one of the many misogynist tracts of the day, she began to wonder "how it happened that so many different men. . . are so inclined to express . . . so many wicked insults about women . . . It seems that they all speak from one and the same mouth." She examined herself and her experience and could find no evidence to support the claims of these men. Yet, she bowed to the authority of the male experts. "And so I relied more on the judgement of others than on what I myself felt and knew." Here, for the first time in the written record, we have a woman defining the tension every thinking woman has experienced—between male authority denying her equality as a person and her own experience. Christine was deeply depressed by this recognition, when, as in a vision, three ladies appeared to her to comfort her and to bring her out of the ignorance which had blinded her intellect. Lady Reason explained to her that she had been selected to "vanquish from the world the same error into which you had fallen" and that she was entrusted with the task of building a city of ladies in which all valiant women might find refuge from attacks and slander. The other two ladies, Rectitude and Justice, would help her in this task. Awed and elated, Christine asked the three women to explain to her why men had so universally attacked and slandered women. The ladies offered various explanations: men were motivated by greed, envy, impotence and thwarted desire. The ensuing long dialogue with the three spiritual guides allowed Christine de Pizan to develop her historical argument and to illustrate by exempla the virtues of women.

This allegorical framework, which assumes that the patriarchal explanatory system is built on error, structures the book. It determines also the way in which she uses her sources. Where Boccaccio, with a few exceptions, followed a roughly chronological outline, Christine de Pizan arranged her list to follow a series of themes and arguments. She also used different criteria of selection. She wished to write a universal History of women and their achievements, therefore she included women of Antiquity, the Christian era and even her contemporaries. She reinterpreted the lives of the women on her list in a significant way, since her aim was different from that of Boccaccio, who simply wanted to prove that there had been illustrious women in Antiquity. Christine de Pizan wrote in defense of women against what she considered the misogynist attacks of men, and she wrote from an entirely woman-centered point of view. In revising Boccaccio's list therefore not only did she exclude all evil women, but she often reinterpreted the stories of women with a bad reputation so as to present them in a positive light. This is most obvious in her treatment of Medea, who is cited under the heading "The Faithfulness of Women in Love" without any reference to her murdering her children. Boccaccio's story of Medea abounds in condemnation of her treachery, her witchcraft, her cruelty. He described her murder of her brother, her theft of her father's wealth, her winning of Jason by sorcery and finally her murder of his children out of jealousy. Christine ignored all these crimes. Instead, she credited Medea with the wisdom and magic skill which she used to help Jason win the Golden Fleece on the condition that he would make her his wife and be faithful to her. "However, Jason lied about his promise, for after everything went just as he wanted, he left Medea, for another woman." At this, Christine tells us, Medea turned despondent, and thus she ends Medea's story. . . .

Neither Boccacio nor Christine could meet the standards of objectivity demanded of professional historians nearly 600 years later, and one cannot expect that they should. The changing of evidence to make a point or impart a didactic message was a well-established convention in the Middle Ages. What is remarkable is Christine's consistent insistence on her right, as a woman, to interpret the past from a point of view sympathetic to women, and her speaking as their advocate.

After questioning the truth of the historical tradition by pointing out the male bias of selection, Christine attempted to answer every commonplace prejudice voiced against women. Men had charged that women governed unwisely when they had power. Christine refuted this argument by citing a long list of exempla of women who governed wisely and well. She answered the charge of women's intellectual inferiority by citing a long list of women who excelled in learning, in poetry, in science and in philosophy. Here, as elsewhere, she freely mixed historical figures with allegorical and mythological persons. She also attempted to show female superiority in sensibility and caring by citing a long list of virtuous wives and mothers, chaste virgins and self-sacrificing women. All of this material evidence allegorically built the city of the ladies. When it was finished, the Queen of Heaven was invited to be its first inhabitant, attended by a large number of female saints.

Having thus completed the city, Christine dedicated it to "ladies from the past as well as from the present and future," urged all ladies to take refuge in it and to defend and guard it against enemies and assailants. She explicitly defined men "who accuse you of so many vices in everything" as the enemies and urged women to flee from male slanders and entrapment, "to cultivate virtue, to increase and multiply our City, and to rejoice and act well."

The allegorical city of the ladies, filled with heroines of worth and valor, represents the first consistent effort by a woman at constructing Women's History as a means of creating collective consciousness. Her attempt at creating a unifying ideology is deliberately broadly based; she speaks at various points of “all women—whether noble, bourgeois, or lower-class,” and even her seeming distinction between the virtuous and others is not to be taken too seriously since in her various lists she manages freely to include wicked and even sinful women. Her essential contribution was not only to attempt to rebut misogynist arguments by means of historical evidence but to insist that patriarchal generalizations and dicta would have to be evaluated and tested in light of the female experience, past and present. What Christine de Pizan had to offer to women was the insight that women must look to other women for their defense and that the collective past of women could be a source of strength to them in their struggle for justice.

-Gerda Lerner, The Creation of Feminist Consciousness

[edwardseymour]

i'm new to the tudor "fandom" can you explain why anne fans hate jane rochford?? like it's so strange seymour i can atleast understand even if their wrong but what on earth did rochford do to make them hate her?

✨ terfs/zionists fuck off ✨

well, i don’t consider myself the best spokesperson for ab fans, to be fair! certainly a lot of anne fans do like jane, and go to significant lengths to challenge the negative ideas surrounding her. many anne fans appreciate jane’s close relationship with the boleyn family, and recognise the misogyny and injustice present in both cases that led to each women’s executions, as well as in subsequent historiography.

however, with that said: yes, there can be a perceivable trend of anne fans not liking jane rochford.

firstly there’s the fact that jane has been scapegoated for anne’s death for centuries, and still is — many recent works have been all too willing to uncritically repeat the narrative of a scheming jane acting against the boleyns. if you are new to fandom, you may be unaware of the context for discourses around jane. eric ives’ book on anne is perhaps the most influential modern biography on her: it concludes that jane must have colluded with cromwell. susan bordo’s the creation of anne boleyn was hugely popular in fandom and likewise argues the same. conversely, jane’s main reappraisal should be credited to julia fox, who arguably takes a more critical view of anne boleyn. this is to say nothing of all the popular history books/documentaries on the subject, or dramatisations that still characterise jane as spiteful and scheming, such as the tudors, wolf hall, and channel 5’s anne boleyn. for anne fans, this view may well compound the idea that jane betrayed anne and caused the deaths of her and her brother. perhaps there is some substance to such a view, as james taffe’s recent biography of jane has countered fox’s reappraisal and defends the view that jane testified against the boleyns. personally, i think he over-corrected in this effort, but nevertheless, that may be the simplest answer to your question.

beyond this, i suppose historical evidence might arguably put them at odds (jane may have supported mary, she ‘confirms’ anne’s guilt through the testimony that anne slandered her husband, anne seems to have used and discarded her when banished from court for trying to remove another lady from court which challenges the idea of anne as a ‘feminist’ defender of women). beyond anne, people might take issue with jane’s involvement with katherine howard and thomas culpeper. but quite honestly, i think (some) anne fans don’t like jane rochford because i believe anne fans don’t like historical women, in general. we unfortunately simply cannot discount misogyny.

i get the impression that the dislike stems from the same issues anne fans have with other female contemporaries (catherine of aragon, mary i, jane seymour)… i.e. difficulties in tolerating women who aren’t entirely loyal and subordinate to anne, and a discomfort at the narrative of historiographical misogyny being applied to historical women other than anne. i imagine this is a symptom of the ‘not like other girls’-esque exceptionalism that anne’s fandom popularity is built on. in other words, i think acknowledging a historical woman other than anne might have been mistreated by the historical record seems to threaten the popular idea of anne boleyn as singularly persecuted. i have seen whinging about a historian tweeting their personal opinion (which they qualified as such) that jane was the “most maligned” woman in history. this prompted the (reasonable) argument that others had it worse than jane in historiography only to cite a (unreasonable) ‘better’ example of a maligned historical woman in the form of Literal Nazi™️ wallis simpson… and not, say, any historical women of colour for whom history has certainly been unkinder to than another aristocratic white woman. i have seen complaints of a “industrial complex” over jane in fandom, and i have seen fans sarcastically mocking “slander allegations”, attempting to diminish and delegitimise defence of jane — as if the dehumanising and misogynistic historiographical record regarding a woman judicially murdered by a man willing to change laws protecting people suffering from mental illnesses from capital punishment is anything but slander. i can't find any other explanation for this than misogyny, really.

[reckoningeverymile]

An Open Letter to the One Who Tried to Break Me

You were once the loudest voice of criticism in a place that should have been safe for growth. You made my journey at work heavy, not because of who I was, but because of the battles you were silently fighting within yourself.

You started what became the most difficult season of my professional life. You bullied me. You slandered me. You went out of your way to turn others against me, fueled by a competition I never signed up for. For the longest time, I couldn’t understand why.

But over time, the picture became clearer. Your insecurities were deeper than what met the eye. You were struggling with wounds no one could see—abandonment, a lack of love, the absence of support that every person deserves. You were raised not with tenderness but with expectations, treated more like a task-doer than a daughter. That leaves a scar. I see that now.

And when love finally entered your life, it looked more like desperation than healing. You clung to it, as any human would. But the unresolved pain—your longing to feel chosen, seen, enough—poured into your work and relationships. Jealousy took the wheel. And everything good around you became something you had to attack or destroy, just to feel in control.

The younger ones at work reminded you of dreams deferred, of years lost. We weren't your enemies, but somehow we became targets. I became a target. And for a while, I hated you for it.

But not anymore.

Now, I feel something else: mercy.

Because I realized… you’ve probably never known what real joy, peace, or security feels like. You fought the world with bitterness, because the world never gave you a reason to trust it. And for that, I am deeply sorry—for you.

I won’t waste energy hating you anymore. What you did was wrong, yes. It hurt me, deeply. But I refuse to carry that pain longer than I need to. I’m choosing to heal. I’m choosing to grow. I’m choosing to be better—not bitter.

And while you may never apologize, I’ve already decided to let it go. Not because you deserve forgiveness, but because I deserve peace.

I hope one day you find the love you’ve always searched for—the kind that heals, not hides.

Sincerely,

The one you tried to break—but couldn't

An Open Letter to the Unkind Ones at Work

There are people whose presence makes work heavier than it should be—not because of the tasks, but because of the hostility they carry with them like a shadow. You are one of them.

I’ve long been disturbed by your behavior—your vulgarity, your shameless pride in a life that betrays the very values you claim to uphold. You openly justify infidelity, blaming a disappointing marriage while painting yourself as a good father. But goodness doesn’t contradict itself. Fatherhood doesn’t excuse disrespect, nor does disappointment justify betrayal.

Your personal life, though not mine to judge, bleeds into your work. The bitterness, the unresolved anger, the resentment—it spills out in your attitude, in your laziness, in your passive-aggressive ways. You withhold effort. You neglect what needs to be done. You mock others—especially women—with cruelty, body-shaming while being blind to your own flaws.

You act as if correction is an insult, though it’s merely a mirror. You’re a grown man in years, but your actions speak of immaturity, of a soul that hasn’t chosen to grow. You single me out. You mock me. You attempt to isolate me. You twist truths and plant seeds of rivalry—all to ensure I never feel at ease, never feel joy.

And you’re not alone. There’s another beside you—someone who mirrors your misery. She’s drowning in her own life, tethered to a husband who mistreats her, buried in debt, and consumed by envy. She cannot stand to see others enjoy what she thinks she’s been denied. And so, together, you both look at my peace, my joy, my growth—not with support, but with bitterness.

But here’s what you don’t know: your misery doesn’t control me.

I see through your cruelty now. Not with hate, but with pity.

Because it’s clear: you’re not truly angry at me. You’re angry at life. Angry at how it turned out. Angry at yourself. You’re fighting shadows in your own heart and projecting them on someone who never wanted to be your enemy.

And for that, I no longer hate you—I pity you.

I pity you for never knowing real joy. For living without peace. For being stuck in a cycle of destruction, both personally and professionally. I pity you because your war isn’t with me—it’s within yourself.

But while I pity you, I will not let your misery become mine.

I won’t let your bitterness bury my light. I won’t carry your burdens or wear your projections. I won’t apologize for my joy, my boundaries, or the life I’m building—just because you can’t stand to see someone else free.

You will not steal my peace.

I’m walking forward—calm, focused, and unbothered. And I hope, one day, you find healing too. Until then, I release the weight of your actions and carry only what belongs to me: joy, purpose, and peace.

Sincerely,

The one who chose growth over resentment

[desideriumdaydreams]

I posted about this, vaguely, on my main blog... but, since it involves Desiderium, wanted to post more about it here.

Someone random stole two pictures of Flopsie and my self-insert, Flora, to use them as ammo against somebody else in a PSA. This person has never contacted me. I had to be informed by a third party a few days after my art was stolen.

They decided to steal the art because they wanted to accuse somebody else who had made an Art Fight for me last year (what the PSA creator called "a commission," oddly) of supporting CP, and without asking me, decided that my self-insert was "a child" and "a baby."

I've always known that depicting my own body proportions- and sometimes depicting them even a little more chibified- would be "iffy" for some audiences. But there is a difference between feeling uncomfortable with it and calling somebody you haven't made contact with, point-blank, "CP," "pedo," "little girl," and saying I wear "children's dresses," since I do wear frilled nightgowns irl to bed.

If I had been spoken to I could have let them know she was a self-insert, and indeed follows my own body type and mannerisms, but based on how this person speaks down on others I doubt they would have cared. And, I personally believe they did not contact me first because they knew if I had told them the character is of-age, then they would not have had extra ammo against the person their PSA was actually about.

I draw cartoony porn of a fantastical version of myself with my own plushies. I do not draw NSFW of children. Whether one is uncomfortable by it or not, you cannot slander them like that. You are not "more moral" by being mean to somebody over something you don't even understand, because you didn't even speak to them about it.

I get that people are very wary online, but I do not feel that these accusations were made in good faith, especially given the incorrect details of the PSA (that I commissioned that person) and the commentary (OP blackmailing someone, saying opposition was 'going over their head,' and claiming the one questioning them was somehow my friend when I'd never seen them before).

I have half a mind to give out this person's usernames- after all, if they are making PSAs like this they want to be seen, and do want attention on it. But I don't feel like it would be worth it, given everything. But, I have taken screenshots of the most heinous parts of their commentary.

If you must involve yourselves in PSAs, just please do not be like this person (hell, you shouldn't speak to anyone like that at all.) "Assumptions make an Ass out of You and Me," and all that.

[theridgebeyond]

one last thought before I go to bed. I am so scared of the new Bonhoeffer movie. for the following reasons.

All The Light We Cannot See had such a horrifically dangerous depiction of Nazis that I am so afraid Bonhoeffer will just be another Captain Evil “I vill shoot zhe puppy” von Evilheimer parade. Because that portrayal lulls us to sleep with the lie that it could never happen here.

Angel Studios has already produced a lot of far-right media. Like, an alarming amount. Even The Chosen jumped ship.

Christian Nationalists, for some reason, love pretending that Dietrich Bonhoeffer is one of them. From the guy who wrote the literal book on Bonhoeffer becoming a major Trump stan to the Bible study in my own church watching documentaries about how Bonhoeffer totally supported Christian Nationalism, there are endless people who are convinced that the first person to publicly denounce Adolf Hitler (and at the age of 27), who went from preaching that “Jesus doesn’t mean we should actually love our enemies, that would be like saying Jesus doesn’t want us to protect the Volk!” to fighting white supremacy in America the minute he had his conversion in the Black Church in Harlem during the Harlem Renaissance, and was very likely a part of two or three assassination attempts against Hitler (who at the time was publicly endorsed by the Evangelical church in Germany and given a pass by the Lutheran church in Germany), is somehow a fucking Christian Nationalist? How are we looking at the same guy?!

I have seen far too much slander, far too many misguided interpretations, and far too many red flags to have any faith in the Bonhoeffer movie. I haven’t seen the trailers, I don’t know a thing about this film. But if my suspicions are correct (and I hope I’m horribly horribly wrong) it’s just going to be more fuel for the alt-right to make its way mainstream.

[themonotonysyndrome]

For the question I asked earlier, (what if the children were slanderred by the press), I had sort of an add on question?

Let’s say the situation and scenario are the same as before, but the teens have now reached their late teens. Would Cecila and Castin do the same? Would Rhett tell Cecila to still calm down? As Castin cannot now protect them from the media’s cruelty and slander towards them, what will he do?

I don’t know if age makes a difference, but I thought that it would’ve been more serious given that they are now older; and they see it for themselves. Will Cecila still do the same thing, or more of a cruel punishment?

What would happen then?

Thanks, as always, Mono!

Castin and Celica are still enraged but Celica is gonna use this as a teaching moment. Remember, she's a Baroness first.

So she's gonna let their children decide on how they wanna deal against this defamation and slanders. Celica's only statement is: "Remember. They did not just slandered the two of you. They slandered the reputation of House Anesidora as well."

Castin, immediately wary. "Babe..."

Celica: "Be at ease, husband. I will support whatever decision our children will make."

At first, Dain and Deirdre would definitely feel hurt and confused when they read the newspaper. They didn't even do anything wrong! They literally just came back from the academy!

But after the hurt comes the anger. Dain is feeling particularly nasty with pettiness, and Deirdre wants to throw some hands. Castin helped them work out their negative emotions, but the pettiness is still there.

If they want to start shit up? Fine.

It's also interesting to note that the twins felt pretty powerful because, for once, they had their mother's full attention and resources. It made them feel giddy and special. But since they're still teenagers, they asked for Celica's help in planning how they could get back at the media and journalists.

(I haven't figured out yet what their revenge entails, though, so you have to excuse me for that.)

All in all, unlike how Celica would do it, the twin's revenge isn't as cruel as their mother's.

[smolwritingchick]

How would Jungkook feel when he keeps seeing rude questions about Jennie like "Why are you dating a black woman instead of a Korean woman?" Would he be really mad or annoyed? What would the other members' reaction be if they see rude questions/comments about Jennie and Jungkook as a couple?

Definitely a mixture of both. It’s ridiculous getting bombarded with ignorant and nosy questions about Jennie. It’s nobody’s business and he can love whoever he wants. It’ll anger him to see some people make it seem like Jennie isn’t “good enough” for him and that “he can do better.”

Like who tf are you to tell him who he can’t and cannot date? After everything he has been through to confess his love for her, do you honestly think he’s going to stand for the slander? Nah. He will be vocal and won’t play about Jennie. Same goes with Jennie defending Jungkook when people rudely ask why she is dating an Asian guy instead of a black guy. They will defend each other and shut down any rude questions or comments. The way some people are about interracial relationships is so weird. The rude comments and so on. It’s so ridiculous.

Big Hit will also step in to take legal action against malicious comments against the couple. Once the blacklists of antifans start to drop with it trending on social media, people are going to understand that Big Hit is serious about the safety of their members. And I see it getting a lot of praise especially with them protecting a black woman who is getting hit the most with antifans hating.

The members will think it’s laughable how some people assume JenKook are going to break up easily. They made it this far, they will keep going and withstand through anything. I see the members immediately frowning at the rude questions and comments and call them out on it.

I know at times it seems whenever idols date, everyone is pretty much silent on the matter. But I wanted to go a different route and have the members protect JenKook and defend them during interviews and so on. The constant vocal support and praise will be well received by real fans and supporters of BTS and JenKook will definitely feel the love from everyone

I rambled but I hope that sort of answered things! As I write the chapters the ideas will come to life and be better when written.

Also I apologize in advance for the hurtful words I will be writing for the negative comments regarding their relationship 😣💜

[theactsoftheapostles]

"The Iceberg." From the Acts of the Apostles 7: 42-43.

The Babylonian Exile is the tail end of the story of the Exodus from Egypt. After they achieved enlightenment and finished writing the Torah, the Jewish people fell into the hands of the Christian faith which lobotomized Judaism. The human race has struggled against it ever since. This Book of Acts is the response, a way to seamlessly join all the enlightening practices of all of history's Jewish people so the rest of the human race can make straighter its ways.

Luke calls the practices of Christianity Molech and Rephan, "To see what is in front of you and sink down for nothing."

42 So God turned away from them and gave them over to worship the stars of heaven, as it is written in the book of the prophets:

‘People of Israel! It was not to me     that you slaughtered and sacrificed animals     for forty years in the desert. 43 It was the tent of the god Molech that you carried,     and the image of Rephan, your star god;     they were idols that you had made to worship. And so I will send you into exile beyond Babylon.’

My comments are for the sake of signifying the Superiority of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. I do not slander these ever, no not even once, nor their Holy Scriptures. It is man I revile and his refusal to see, to be wakeful, to watch and learn how the Personages could be helping us turn the world, one we are holding still between our teeth like a fruit in a pig's mouth.

Until we seek the Counsel of these, we are all exiles.

Exile beyond Babylon=1355, יגןה‎, yegeneth, "man is derogatory."

A man who sells Bibles told the world he thinks poor people who live in garbage tickled his sense of humor. That is a sign we are exile.

And his face is not red because of shame or humility or makeup it is because he is slamming meth and ecstasy. Everyone knows this is what he does.

v. 42: So God turned away. The Number is 12603, יבםג‎‎ ‎, b'icebarg "an iceberg."

Steinberg? Iceberg? What's the difference?

Icebergs are not continents or islands or dry land. They are not fixed, they cannot support life. The second they are exposed to heat the melt and become a navigation hazard to everyone else. Israel is a political and spiritual iceberg. The Acts of the Apostles were created to shuttle mankind back to dry land to the real state.

v. 43: You made idols so I sent you into exile. The Number is 11788, יא‎ן‎ףח‎, yan anephah, "mulled wine". Mulled wine is 1233, יבלג, "mixed, mingled, confused."

Rather than badmouth how we've handled things or theorize why they got that way, we should take advantage of the knowledge about the Jewish religion God gave us using the Magthorah.

The Magthorah is the setup for the math needed to solve the massive word problem created by the Angelic Code. It connects the Torah, all the volumes of the Tanakh, the Gospels, the Acts and the Revelation.

If one follows it correctly all confusion about the Holy Trinity and its Hidden Fourth Axle, the Son of Man, AKA the Iceberg of Israel will be absolved.

So what is the secret of the Magthorah? The Number is 1958, yatanach, יטן‎ח‎, ‎and bituch, three words, "The Tanach, all the Attributes of God, the Rest, AKA Shabbat and bituch, confidence, AKA Sukkoth" just like Jesus said.

The final Gemara is יגןהיבםגיא‎ן‎ףח‎יבלג, yagenehivamegi‎han‎ephach‎yavlag, "Protect yourself and the environment from harm."

[testajuliejane]

An Open Letter to the One Who Tried to Break Me

You were once the loudest voice of criticism in a place that should have been safe for growth. You made my journey at work heavy, not because of who I was, but because of the battles you were silently fighting within yourself.

You started what became the most difficult season of my professional life. You bullied me. You slandered me. You went out of your way to turn others against me, fueled by a competition I never signed up for. For the longest time, I couldn’t understand why.

But over time, the picture became clearer. Your insecurities were deeper than what met the eye. You were struggling with wounds no one could see—abandonment, a lack of love, the absence of support that every person deserves. You were raised not with tenderness but with expectations, treated more like a task-doer than a daughter. That leaves a scar. I see that now.

And when love finally entered your life, it looked more like desperation than healing. You clung to it, as any human would. But the unresolved pain—your longing to feel chosen, seen, enough—poured into your work and relationships. Jealousy took the wheel. And everything good around you became something you had to attack or destroy, just to feel in control.

The younger ones at work reminded you of dreams deferred, of years lost. We weren't your enemies, but somehow we became targets. I became a target. And for a while, I hated you for it.

But not anymore.

Now, I feel something else: mercy.

Because I realized… you’ve probably never known what real joy, peace, or security feels like. You fought the world with bitterness, because the world never gave you a reason to trust it. And for that, I am deeply sorry—for you.

I won’t waste energy hating you anymore. What you did was wrong, yes. It hurt me, deeply. But I refuse to carry that pain longer than I need to. I’m choosing to heal. I’m choosing to grow. I’m choosing to be better—not bitter.

And while you may never apologize, I’ve already decided to let it go. Not because you deserve forgiveness, but because I deserve peace.

I hope one day you find the love you’ve always searched for—the kind that heals, not hides.

Sincerely,

The one you tried to break—but couldn't

---

An Open Letter to the Unkind Ones at Work

There are people whose presence makes work heavier than it should be—not because of the tasks, but because of the hostility they carry with them like a shadow. You are one of them.

I’ve long been disturbed by your behavior—your vulgarity, your shameless pride in a life that betrays the very values you claim to uphold. You openly justify infidelity, blaming a disappointing marriage while painting yourself as a good father. But goodness doesn’t contradict itself. Fatherhood doesn’t excuse disrespect, nor does disappointment justify betrayal.

Your personal life, though not mine to judge, bleeds into your work. The bitterness, the unresolved anger, the resentment—it spills out in your attitude, in your laziness, in your passive-aggressive ways. You withhold effort. You neglect what needs to be done. You mock others—especially women—with cruelty, body-shaming while being blind to your own flaws.

You act as if correction is an insult, though it’s merely a mirror. You’re a grown man in years, but your actions speak of immaturity, of a soul that hasn’t chosen to grow. You single me out. You mock me. You attempt to isolate me. You twist truths and plant seeds of rivalry—all to ensure I never feel at ease, never feel joy.

And you’re not alone. There’s another beside you—someone who mirrors your misery. She’s drowning in her own life, tethered to a husband who mistreats her, buried in debt, and consumed by envy. She cannot stand to see others enjoy what she thinks she’s been denied. And so, together, you both look at my peace, my joy, my growth—not with support, but with bitterness.

But here’s what you don’t know: your misery doesn’t control me.

I see through your cruelty now. Not with hate, but with pity.

Because it’s clear: you’re not truly angry at me. You’re angry at life. Angry at how it turned out. Angry at yourself. You’re fighting shadows in your own heart and projecting them on someone who never wanted to be your enemy.

And for that, I no longer hate you—I pity you.

I pity you for never knowing real joy. For living without peace. For being stuck in a cycle of destruction, both personally and professionally. I pity you because your war isn’t with me—it’s within yourself.

But while I pity you, I will not let your misery become mine.

I won’t let your bitterness bury my light. I won’t carry your burdens or wear your projections. I won’t apologize for my joy, my boundaries, or the life I’m building—just because you can’t stand to see someone else free.

You will not steal my peace.

I’m walking forward—calm, focused, and unbothered. And I hope, one day, you find healing too. Until then, I release the weight of your actions and carry only what belongs to me: joy, purpose, and peace.

Sincerely,

The one who chose growth over resentment

[mrspsi]

It's not just that He is beautiful but that He is good. He is the personification of the archetype of the fairytale hero.

We're conditioned to believe that being good and being good looking are completely different things. And they are, usually. Which is why when somebody like Him comes along, it's all the more memorable.

It's like being told Santa Claus doesn't exist, and suddenly Santa is shimmying down the chimney with the very thing you were hoping for.

His beauty is not why people love him, but it adds a surreal dimension to the immensity and scope of what He is accused of.

Whether He did it or not, what is happenining to Him is an archetype of a fable that transcends culture and language. It is the story of youth up against the forces of darkness and experience.

*

Most people cannot imagine the kind of privilege he comes from. And yet He seems to think little of it. In His (supposed) reddit posts, He talked about living out of a backpack, and then a can.

Yes, a can.

Because I guess a backpack is too much of a luxury.

And if the video of him trying to rent a motel room in Altoona is real, one may ask why He never thought to bring an umbrella?

But I guess if you thought enough about how to live out of a can, an umbrella would be the last thing on your mind.

Personally I have never even considered living out of a can. Humans aren't build like that. We don't have waterproof fur or hides, we get cold, we get hot, and our skin is tender and easily damaged. Humans are social animals by necessity not inclination.

*

The feeling He evokes in women is more maternal than sexual. Though if you buy into Freudianism, these are not mutually exclusive things.

Many of His supporters are very protective of him. There's some thirst stuff, but a lot of it is them being concerned about him being treated well while being in an obviously very vulnerable position.

*

People trying to shame women for supporting Him just because He is beautiful are fighting a losing battle because His beauty is not the reason why women are supporting Him.

It's so simple. And the more shaming that goes on, the more His supporters will double down.

Why is the establishment media so fucking stupid?

*

The establishment needs to do a 180 and manufacture the fuck out of the consent to worship His fine ass.

Or at the very least, be neutral.

People's natural reaction to shaming in American society is doubling down not conformity.

By shaming and outright slandering His supporters, the media risks becoming seen as the mouthpiece of a corrupt and biased system.

Because right now, it is not clear even to His most ardent supporters whether He is guilty or not. Like no duh, the trial date hasn't even been set.

And yet the State and mainstream media is treating Him like conviction is a done deal.