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mediumgayitalian · 17 hours

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The Great Current is, as most things in Hades’ domain, expressly forbidden.

The Surface is iffy grounds. If Nico is feeling strong enough to brave his father, he may attempt to convince him to allow him up on the ice sheets long enough to catch some of the sun, unbidden, even as he is burned by the winds. If he is lucky he will have the time to watch the penguins as they tussle, leaping and bounding down their steep slides. If he is luckier Hades will allow Hazel to come with him, and he will poke her in the ribs, teasing, one when of the nestlings waddles after its father, tripping down the slope and rolling into a feathery birdball. On his luckiest days she will shove him tail over fin as she cursesinto a half-frozen ravine, cackling as he shrieks his promise for revenge.

Neither have them have been to the Surface in a some time.

It’s hard in the winters, he knows. Air whistles away the sun’s warmth so quickly, as flighty and biting as a dolphin, and to be beached upon the ice sheets in the dark is to die buried and forgotten under the snow, too far gone even too pay the due rites. But even the dry and barren ice sheets are a mercy compared to beyond the Great Current. As much as Nico chafes under Hades’ frozen glare and icicle rule, his strictness is protective. He has swum the wide expanse outside of the Underworld; endured the desert endlessness, the scarcity, the risk. Here m, within the boundaries of the Current, the boundaries in which Hades as confined them, they have plenty. Here there is no surface untouched. Here there is ice and cold and silent, endless stillness, but never emptiness. Inside the Current, inside the castle walls, is safe.

Nico peers around the castle wall. A small hole in the ice-crust allows a beam of sunlight, brightening the grounds significantly more than inside, bouncing and twinkling off the frozen pillars. Many of the bottom feeders have retreated away from it, slinking into the shadowy corners, but a minke whale floats near the surface, basking in the heat. Her warped shadow leads a trail across the grounds to a small-mouthed tunnel — more of a crack in the ice sheets than anything.

She catches sight of Nico’s lingering form, raising a lazy brow. He shrugs — minkes, unlike his father’s favoured starfish, know to mind their own — and smiles sheepishly. She holds his gaze for a moment, blinking long and slow, and then begins carelessly floating upwards towards the square. With every inch, her shadow grows larger, darker.

Nico grins.

As fast as he dares, mindful of the chattery crabs still hiding along the edges of the seafloor, Nico darts across the path, keeping every stroke of his tail short and shallow to remain within the minke’s shadow. She, for her part, takes an extra-long breath, cheekily enjoying the sweet air of the wintery Surface, remaining up top until Nico is curled entirely in the tiny crack, careful to tuck his fins against the ice walls.

“Thank you,” he whispers, poking his head out.

She shifts, humming low and rumbly. She begins her descent, slower even than her climb to fresh air, and winks when she is low enough to be eye level. Nico waves one more time before turning and rushing, careful not to get stuck between narrow walls, through the tunnel. The ice is slick enough to almost push him through, which is as fun as it is disorienting. The isopods hadn’t mentioned that when he’d asked for directions, but he supposes they’re not quite big enough to notice. Nor are they very smart, so Nico will have to take the sacrifice. The crabs would have surely tattled to his father after one too many questions.

He’d worried, in the weeks he’d planned this, that he would grow tired in the middle of the tunnel and die, hands outstretched, trying to wiggle his way out either end. Usually during long swims he can simply float somewhere to rest, or lie against the back of a blue whale if there’s one around. (Aside from the scratchy barnacles a whale ride is almost pleasant.) But the tunnels are thin and long, and colder than the regular waters. If he pauses to catch his breath, how long would he have before the blood moved too sluggishly in his veins; before eternal sleep would pull as he used to on Bianca’s sweeping fins? A question he’d save usually for Seph, on her kind days, but they’d been few and far between. Lately the cold has made her irritable.

Thankfully, his worries had been unfounded. Energy thrums unusually in the cavity of his chest, pounding along with the erratic beat of his heart. Even if he grew tired the endless twitches of his tail would surely propel him forward enough to eventually escape the tunnel’s narrow confines. Even moreso when the end of the tunnel begins to grow brighter, burning his pupil-blown eyes — he’s close. Bright enough to be blue, the isopods had promised; nothing but sun past the widest expanse of the ice. Sun and churning, twirling water, disturbed flurries of floor flakes.

His heart grows loud enough to echo, with every swish pushing him closer to the exit.

When the tip of his head breaches the narrow end of the passage, he hesitates. The tunnel has widened, now, wide enough that he can just barely bend his tail up under him, fins brushing gently on the round icy walls. His hair has escaped from his tie in his rapid drag against the ice and it floats around his head, now, inky against the startling bright blue of the definitely-warmer water.

The stories his father would warn of him, when he and his sisters were young. The stories he still tells, when he catches Nico watching out the castle windows. Of snarling mers and sharpened coral, of flesh-feasters, of endless grudges. Of monsters from the depths and water hot enough to boil a mer alive.

He is fabricating. Or at least exaggerating; that kind of danger cannot be so adequately held behind a border. Not for so long.

Other mers must be gone by now, mustn’t they? So much fighting, so many wars…wiggling migration lines and danger after danger…endless scarcity of food, of shelter…even the relentless beat of the sun, with no ice for shelter. How could they survive? Seph braves the Current to pay her respects, as is her duty. The restless dead are worth the risk of the living; they demand that respect. But had her kin lain inside the Current, she surely would never breach it. She charges under Hades’ strictness, sours under his chains like the rest of them, but she returns. With great harry, usually. The Underworld is the only place the Ocean will accept his kind; will welcome them.

But a visit is, Nico is sure, warranted.

Without another lingering second to talk himself out of it, Nico darts forward. The moment he is free from the close-cropped ice walls he can feel the difference, the beat of the sun pressing into his skin, the giggling warmth of the shallow waters. The unbelievable blue of the water makes him lighter, makes the near-translucence of his skin even more obvious, the dark of his hair almost navy. He spins, once, to watch his scales catch the light, his fins flare out and swirl against each other in a spiral as dizzying as snail shells. The smile on his face is wide and unbidden, ache pulling at his cheek, and he can’t help quiet laughter, carried away by the roar of the Current.

He’s hardly a few dozen sponge-lengths from home, but he feels as if he’s woken up from a dream, floating within a brand-new planet.

All the worries that had plagued him burn to melting lava in the bright heat of the sun. They have no place to fester here, in the shimmering light, the roaring water. The flakes from the seafloor shoot upwards in a constant stream, unrested by the rapidly cycling streams, and they catch the sunlight in little burst of light, dotting Nico’s skin. He’s seen snow like this only in the deadliest of Surface storms, watched safely from the thinnest sheets of ice in the top of his father’s castle, but it is beautiful without the barrier; delicate.

There is no one beyond the Current. Only pods of dolphins, at this time of year, and the beautiful, brainless fish they brag of teasing; graceful whale sharks and pretty pink corals. Nico won’t stray too far. He only needs shells, glittering and iridescent, and a moment in the open sea. Hardly longer than a minute, really.

He needs to feel it. For himself. To say that he’s done it, if nothing else, to remember in his own head that there is somewhere outside his father’s domain.

With a resolute, steady nod to himself, Nico swims towards the Current.

It gets louder as he approaches. The churned-up snow gets thicker, too, so much so he swims nearly blind, and he is grateful for it. Much harder to back away from a threat he can hardly evaluate. He lets himself sink into it all, the roar of the current, the tickle of the flakes, the thick presence of them in the water, the lovely, bubbling warmth. They swirl around him, a pressurized swell of constancy, and drag him forward, swirling hands of promise, if chainbreakers, of swelling breaths of freedom. He churning current whips him around and he rides through it with all the bravery he can summon, loose somewhere in the expanse of his skull, churning identically to the water in the echo of his chest. He forces his tail to rest loosely, to ride along where the water takes him; swimming, he knows, is futile, fighting against the current useless. There is no force more powerful than the water, no pillar thicker or stronger than ice. The ocean will drive as she sees fit and Nico can only hope she finds him satisfactory enough, that she hears his silent begging, his endless longing. I want to see all I can, he whispers to her, eyes squeezed shut, teeth burrowing into his bottom lip, gills flaring. Please, even just a sponge-length into the open sea. Under the wide, sizzling sun.

It is only after an eternity in the brushing pound of the current that he is released. His skin almost aches with its absence, body reeling from the sudden loss of feeling; his ears, only, relish in the still-constant sound, if at all muffled. His head still spins as dizzy as the hermit crabs he and Hazel used to toss around, chasing after their warning claws and retreating legs. His hair billows in every direction.

Slowly, allowing himself to relish in the sensation, he blinks open his eyes. His fins are the first thing he sees, tangled as they are all around him, reaching far enough even for of them that the tip of it tickles his wrist. Some of his scales are missing, even, torn off in the power of the water, but he is almost pleased at the physical marker of this change. No matter what, pieces of him will have stayed in the Current. Even, perhaps, crossed the border entirely.

In looking under him he realizes the water is still churning — he has not, yet, made it entirely outside of the Current. Water roars in a wall behind him, circling around him in a giant, lengthy spiral. He hovers in the inside of the great churning river; hardly a sponge-length away from fully foreign waters. Once he crosses he has a few hours, at least, before his absence is noted; to swim around, to note, to gather. Or even simply to bask in the sun, swim up the the Surface and breathe air outside of what his father rules.

Smile spreading giddily across his face, he looks up, determined to find the weakest link of the Current wall and swim right through it.

And locks eyes with another mer, staring at him as if he’s a ghost.

#MER NICO MER NICO MER NICO #i have been obsessed w the antarctic ocean lately ISNT THIS SO SICK #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #nico di angelo #ghost king #mermaid au #mermay #mermaid nico #solangelo #nico di angelo/will solace #nico/will #will/nico #pjo hoo toa #my writing #fic #longpost

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dunmeshistash · 2 days

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I have like sorta of a headcannon of how much hair each race can grow like I remember there's a tibit about how other races can grow hair, it's just normal to shave/wax (I could be misremembering) sorry if none of my words make sense I'm having a migraine

From least likely/hardest to grow body/facial hair to easiest to grow body/facial hair

1. Elves

(from what I remember we literally see no elf possesses body/facial hair minus Senshi in elf form, and if we compared his dwarf and elf form, for elves, Senshi in his elf form has like a lot of facial hair if his I'm pretty very long beard is barely a mustache, implying even growing a visible mustache is hard for elves)

2. Half-foots

(once again using Senshi as an example, when we see Senshi as a half-foot, his beard while still there, is still shorter? At least I think it's shorter in my opinion compared to dwarf Senshi, also We see Chilchuck with a noticeable peach fuzz/scruffy beard? Idk what's it called again when he's a tallmen or dwarf while it's not there when he's a half-foot)

3. Gnome

(oof this was a hard one, since I'm pretty sure tallmen can also share this spot, main reason why I'm putting gnome as number 3 and not tallmen is because for some reason, Chilchuck does not have his scruffy beard when hes a gnome, idk how long Senshi's beard is in his gnome form compared to his dwarf appearance)

4. Tallmen

(yup, uhhh reasoning ; Chilchuck has his noticeable peach fuzz/scruffy beard when he's a tallman, Senshi still his gracious long beard but noticeably shorter in tallman form, gnomes and tallmen have such a close tie with this, i seriously can't decide)

5. Dwarfs

(Reasoning : Senshi, I'm pretty sure this beard is the longest is this form, and with Izutsumi, whenever she is any other form her neck is slick and has no indication of fur poking out, but in dwarf form, she has a little fur poking out of neck, idk if what i said made sense for ituzumi but this is the best way i can put it)

I'm not gonna do other races, because from what I remember and can find, there's no official art of them as orges/orcs/kobolds

-🐰anon, sorry for the long rant

That sounds about right! Although I'm not sure how accurate the changelings are, senshi is the only half-foot/elf with facial hair we see, and while chilchuck gets a 5 O'clock shadow as a dwarf Laios doesn't, so maybe changeling magic is a little more subjective? Or maybe chilchuck just doesnt shave

On the race portraits the examples we have of facial hair for tallman arent very full tho, even for the half-dwarf (might be based on styling rather than growth tho)

For the half-foot even the oldest looking one doesn't have even a hint of a beard

Gnome beards do look a little fuller than the examples we have for tallman ones

They even have some with fuzz, which I might be reading too much into it but maybe it means their facial hair grows back faster? Or maybe just that they're less worried about appearances I'd say Onis are about the same? Or maybe a little more cause they seem to be harier in the face in general? Or maybe its like tallman and they have a bigger variation on facial hair between regions.

Kobolds and Orcs might not count since they're hairy all over but I think these are cute

My rating would be Elf > Half foot > Tallman/Gnome/Oni > Dwarf > Orc/Kobold

#dungeon meshi #daydream hour #dunmeshi thoughts #ask #facial hair #longpost #long post

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thankstothe · 1 day

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#house md #gregory house #james wilson #hilson #longpost #screencap #s08e02 “transplant”#I NEED TO CRACK SOMEONE'S ARM LIKE A GLOWSTICK AND THEN CHEW IT CLEAN OFF THE BODY AND CRACK IT AGAIN AND AGAIN #WTFWTFWTF #yeah normal friend to friend apology MY ASS #please give me violence because being in pain stuck in this uncertain limbo is worse than straight up pain #<- says the guy who's always in pain and goes to extreme lengths to avoid it #spoilers he did punch that old man #yes all of us are jealous #long post

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sabrebash · 3 months

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I have to draw a lot of gold and metal for my work, but wasn't happy with any of the metal tutorials i could find around. I prefer really specific instruction, so after some research i put together what i think works as a generalist's guide/tutorial. Not perfectly accurate, but i hope it's helpful!

#tutorial #tutorials #art #painting #artists on tumblr #reference #art reference #useful #art tutorial #art resources #tips #longpost

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kyra45 · 3 months

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Scammer pretending to be in Palestine v2

This post has been remade with better info! Please go to this one:

Got an ask from someone claiming to be in Palestine needing mutual aid? Unfortunately there is a scammer going around and it’s likely the ask you got sent is the same one being sent by multiple accounts who target users interacting with Palestine posts. These blogs use the text/images off a real fundraiser and then post it here pretending to be the person it’s made for. Their accounts are usually only a few days old and they don’t interact beyond the ask/follow. Lately they might make the link to their PayPal account in different colors or claim their GoFundMe is pending so you will assume the real one is theirs. They don’t have any GoFundMe’s set up. They steal from them. If you need proof of something being stolen, searching the text of their post in a search engine should pull up the source. If you know how to report PayPal accounts, please report those used by the scammers.

(Moved to new list)

Below is a growing list of fake/stolen names used across the accounts:

Keep in mind this post isn’t saying all accounts asking for mutual aid in Palestine are scams. Rather, this post is meant to bring awareness of a scammer stealing money from those who really need it by pretending to be a person in Palestine. To report scams, use this:

Report -> Something else -> Illegal uses or Content -> Phishing

#scam #Palestine #psa #scam alert #scam warning #long post #longpost

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kringle-c · 22 days

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"It's only-"

#longpost #bg3 #wyllstarion #wyll ravengard #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #lyric comic #standing on my lil soapboc and crying #guys guys i worked rly hard on this be nice to me plz #i know its angsty but its good right #right #rolls around in my angst pile #lyricstuck #finally its only taken like #5 years

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whysosiriushuh · 4 months

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Sirius: Which one of you was going to tell me that tea tastes different if you put it in hot water

Lily,*slowly puts her book down *: Y-You were putting it in cold water....

Sirius: ....

Remus: Padfoot? Answer the question. Sirius!

Sirius: Yeah I thought for like 5 years that people just put it in hot water to speed up the tea-ification process. Didn't realize there was an actual reason.

Everyone: ....

Sirius: You think I have the patience to boil water?

Regulus: You don't have the patience to microwave water for 3 minutes????

James,*grabbing him*: Why are you. putting it in the microwave to boil it?!

Regulus: Do you think I have the patience to boil water on the stove?!

Remus: Fuck Regulus you too!!??!!

James: It takes less than a minute!

Marlene: IS YOUR STOVE TOP POWERED BY THE FUCKING SUN?????

James: HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE YOU TO BOIL A CUP OF WATER ON THE STOVE!??!

Remus: Like 7 minutes!

James: Just stick the mug on top of the stove on medium heat and it boils in like 2 minutes less than that and you use a saucepan.

Pandora *taking notes*: Everyone in this room is so creative :)

Dorcas*turning to Remus*: So no one in your house uses a fucking kettle!?

Remus: Its right there near the stove!!

Sirius: Wait a second... that's used to make tea??

Regulus: You told me it was there for aesthetic!!!!!!

James: So its not???

#james potter #sirius black #regulus black #remus lupin #lily evans #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #pandora lovegood #dead gay wizards #marauders #wolfstar #jegulus #dorlene #pandalily #longpost #black brothers

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o-craven-canto · 8 months

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Euphorbia euphoria

Was sent this by a friend:

which is a reference to this:

namely, the fact that the wild mustard Brassica oleracea, once domesticated, produced a bewildering variety of vegetables by selecting each cultivar for a different part (cabbages from terminal buds, Brussels ssprouts from lateral buds, broccoli and cauliflower from flower buds, kale from leaves, and so on), all of them still being technically part of the same species, Brassica oleracea var. whatever.

Now, as far as I know, nobody has bred B. oleracea into a tree. But there is, not quite a single species, but a genus, that has gotten pretty close to that kind of internal morphological diversity:

Behold Euphorbia, the genus of spurges, counting over 2000 species (that nevertheless are often capable of interbreeding) scattered throughout all continents:

Euphorbia dendroides (Mediterranean)

The poinsettia, Euphorbia pulcherrima (Central America)

Euphorbia actinoclada (East Africa)|, one of the many cactus-like species (cacti proper are all American species except one, so if you see a cactus-like plant in an African or Asian deserts, odds are it's actually a kind of euphorbia)

Euphorbia trigona (Central Africa)

Euphorbia myrsinites (Southeast Europe)

Euphorbia obesa (South Africa)

Euphorbia ferox (South Africa)

Euphorbia ampliphylla (East Africa) (source)

Euphorbia aphylla (Canary Islands)

Euphorbia helioscopia (Eurasia and Africa)

And so on, and so on...

#biology #botany #plants #evolution #longpost

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hailmaryfullofgrace55675 · 3 months

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for a few years now (like since at least 2021) i’ve been occasionally seeing isolated individuals try on “AFAB trans woman”, “AFAB transfem”, “AMAB trans man”, “AMAB transmasc” and dreading the possibility of this becoming an inclus/exclus thing where there’s a huge vicious debate and a ton of people develop calcified stances that it’s “valid” because they are straight ticket voters on uses of language being “valid”. i’ve recently come across multiple fairly high-note promotions of each of 1) yeah, sure, anyone can be a trans woman (normal understanding of the language of AGAB, replaces meaning of “trans woman” with “someone who is a woman and also trans” or, worse “someone who identifies with the vibe of trans womanhood”) and 2) your AGAB is whatever you decide it is, maybe even a neolabel (completely opposite the concept of gender assignment at birth). i’m crossing my fingers that these uses somehow go no further, or that if they do the ensuing fight blows over quickly.

as an individual topic, it’s frustrating because it points to the complete failure on a lot of people’s parts to absorb or understand the basic premises of this idea of transgender.

we live in a world where, when humans are born, the adults around them decide what role they are going to have in a system of male/female boy/girl man/woman. usually they pick based on a quick look at the child’s external genitalia. if the quick look doesn’t match their idea of what a baby boy or baby girl is supposed to look like, they might or might not do further physical investigation, and either way they will pick a role for the child. if the child doesn’t look one of the ways expected, they might enforce this decision through surgery to conform the child’s body to their ideal for the role they chose. whether the decision was immediate or after deliberation, whether surgery was performed or not performed, this process of role picking is coercive. a first act of coercion in a childhood of coercion in a lifetime of coercion.

children are raised to the roles they were assigned. sometimes this involves the deliberate imposition of a lot of restrictions and expectations about how the child will look and behave, sometimes fewer, sometimes almost none but that they will agree that they are what the adults said they were. even if it is only the last, the child will sooner or later feel the weight of much greater expectations, because they will become aware that wider society says girls should look girly and do girl things and boys should look boyish and do boy things. sometimes it becomes apparent that a child’s body is growing to not match the adults’ idea of what a male body or a female body is supposed to look like or do. if this happens, the adults might allow or force the child to switch roles, might ease or double down on their expectations, and might or might not give the child a choice in whether they biomedically intervene in the child’s physical development.

sometimes, a person grows to refuse the role they were assigned and adopt a new one. sometimes they only refuse the role they were assigned. sometimes they only adopt a new one. sometimes they only refuse the expectations and restrictions. sometimes they refuse being a boy-male-man or girl-female-woman. sometimes they first do this as a child, sometimes as an adolescent, sometimes as an adult. sometimes they conform to the expectations and restrictions for the role they adopt on purpose, other times less so, other times not at all. sometimes they seek to change their body. rejecting one’s assigned role is an opportunity to escape the pain of the old coercion and find new joys in new, chosen ways of being.

to adopt a new role is simultaneously to adopt that role and to adopt the social position of a role-adopter and the social position of one-who-has-moved-from-that-role-to-this-role. these social positions come with expectations and restrictions in addition to the ones associated with the role adopted. having rejected the assigned role, more possibilities are available to a person. there is a great deal of free choice available for those who are willing to make it. sometimes there are special roles that are never assigned at birth and can only be taken on by someone conscious enough to choose.

gender assignment at birth isn’t an identity, it’s an act of coercion. trans womanhood isn’t a feeling, it’s a particular confluence of adoption and abandonment in a social system premised on gender assignment.

the prospect of discourse fights over “AFAB trans girls” and etc. is unpleasant because they’ll suck super bad and exhaust tons of people for nothing, but more present and disturbing is this even being an issue. understanding the nature of gender assignment is such a keystone in trans theory that i genuinely do not know what models of transness people are functioning on without it.

#trans #transgender #gender #longpost #effortpost

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jewellery-box · 3 months

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Ball gown, 1900–1903. French. Silk.

The MET Museum

#edwardian #edwardian era #edwardian fashion #dress #ball gown #fashion history #historical fashion #20th century #long post #longpost

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felassan · 9 hours

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this post is under a cut in case anyone would consider it to be DA:D spoilers, as the things it mentions came from the leak a year ago (spoiler warning for link) that included screenshots and a gif of the game. (the things this post mentions are therefore not new information and this does not reference a new leak)

I'm just thinking again about Rook (which seems to be the PC's name or title) and the imagery conjured by the name. ◕‿◕ this post is just speculation and overanalyzing for fun. also this post is a now-finished draft from my draft section from a while back.

I think it would work as a surname (like "Hawke") or a codename (think Leliana's spies and contacts such as "Butler", "Farrier", "Butcher", "Charter", etc although these are all professions that end in "-er" or "or" iirc). it could also be a title (like Warden, Hero, Champion, Inquisitor, Herald) or a nickname - like maybe it's short for "Rookie", it's a Varric-assigned nickname and it references how the DA:D PC is the newest member of the team after he recruits them?

I think it sounds catchy, and cool - it's snappy and short, Hawke-like in this way. and it sounds like the kind of name a spy or secret agent might have in a fantasy, superhero or sci-fi-type setting.

a rook is a black bird, Corvus frugilegus, a member of the corvid family. rooks have been perceived as vermin and nuisances by people in the past, and persecuted due to this. they bear a resemblance to their crow and raven relatives, both birds which have a large cultural footprint and lots of symbolism in areas such as folklore and art. Hawke obviously also had a bird motif going on from their surname and associated art pieces. corvids also bring to mind the Antivan Crows (assassins, thieves, & spies), reminding of the stuff about how in this game the PC may be trying to operate under the radar, and the reporting on a previous iteration of DA:D which had the game concept as being focused on spies and heists. rook plumage is inky black, bringing to mind darkness and shadow.

from the bird angle, a "rook" sounds neat opposite a "wolf" imo. wolves are obviously another animal that have large footprints in culture, myth and folklore. in the natural world there is symbiosis sometimes between wolves and corvids when hunting/feeding. there are lots of photos of wolves and corvids together.

a colony of rooks is called a rookery. of course, the fortress of Skyhold has a rookery. it's from there that Inquisition Spymaster Leliana operates, sending her black birds on missions with letters and messages to her many agents and spies throughout Thedas. what if Rook is one of Leliana's... "rooks"? a spy or agent of the remnants of the Inquisition.

A rook is also defined as "A cheat or swindler; someone who betrays" [noun], "mist, fog" [noun] and "to cheat or swindle" [verb]. it's also a type of trick-taking card game. these sorts of things bring to mind a rogueish, stealthy aspect, and the shady, shadowy dealings and card-game played in Minrathous Shadows.

a rook is also a chess piece. they're castle-like (since "rook" can also mean a castle or fortification) and usually have their top in the shape of a battlement. they can move in any direction along a rank or file on a chessboard on which they stand (horizontal/vertical, not diagonal). they can also do the "castling" move. in history, rooks have also been called towers, castles, rectors and marquesses. in chess, each player starts the game with two rooks at opposite ends of the first rank. chess itself is a game of strategy and tactics. "the chessmaster" as a trope is a character type who manipulates events, tugging on strings and moving 'pieces' into place on a metaphorical chessboard. [Solas' DA:I dialogue about his past, like the one he has with Sera about cells of spies/agents, hark to this]

in the castling move,

"Castling is a move in chess. It consists of moving the king two squares toward a rook on the same rank and then moving the rook to the square that the king passed over. Castling is permitted only if neither the king nor the rook has previously moved; the squares between the king and the rook are vacant; and the king does not leave, cross over, or finish on a square attacked by an enemy piece. Castling is the only move in chess in which two pieces are moved at once."

castling rules often cause confusion, even occasionally among high-level players. historically the move has its roots in the "king's leap", of which there were two forms and which arose in part it seems due to increasing importance of king safety as other pieces were given increased powers through time as the game developed. "the king would move once like a knight, or the king would move two squares on its first move. The knight move might be used early in the game to get the king to safety or later in the game to escape a threat." basically it moves the king away to safety and the rook to a more active position. there is also kingside castling and queenside castling. I wonder, symbolically.. is Rook more the king's rook, or the queen's rook? (reminds me of the Left Hand and Right Hands of the Divine hh). who or what is the king in this hypothetical analogy? the World of Thedas itself? as a castle or fortress.. Rook is the bulwark against what's to come? [over-thinking ik ik, tis just for fun hh].

by now we're all familiar with the chess game Solas plays in banter dialogue with Iron Bull during DA:I. in the in-world chess game, rooks are called towers. Solas moves his right-hand tower once. at a later point in the game, Iron Bull's "Arishok" piece takes Solas' left-hand tower, getting a check and leaving him feeling triumphant. Bull asks Solas wth he is doing as Bull takes Solas' remaining tower. "Your last tower, by the way". Bull, a spy and liar himself, bears down on Solas' pieces "with his full army", thinking a win is in sight. Undeterred, Solas executes a few moves in a sneaky plan and entraps Bull in a checkmate, winning the game after sacrificing various pieces to enact his plan.

rook also brings to mind the Tower tarot card and its meanings. it's associated with sudden, disruptive revelation and potentially destructive change. it connotes danger, crisis, sudden change, destruction, higher learning, and liberation, as well as adversity, calamity, deception, ruin and unforeseen catastrophe. reversed, it connotes things such as negligence, carelessness, apathy and vanity (vanity.. pride). in this depiction of the Tower tarot, lightning strikes from the sky, striking a crown (hubris) off the top of a tower and setting it alight as people fall from the tower to their doom. this imagery and the upright meanings of the card bring to mind the sudden massive change Solas seeks to bring about (destroying the Veil), the revelations and liberation for some that it might bring, his identity as Fen'Harel Lord of Tricksters (deception) as well as the destruction he seems to think the Veil destroying action will cause ("as the world burns in the raw chaos"...). the 'Tower scene' has also already played out once before in Thedosian history, when Solas created the Veil and sealed the Evanuris away, leading to the fall of Arlathan and its wonders. in modern Thedas, Morrigan and Flemeth (as well as possibly some side 'prophecy' type things) both allude to a big change coming to the world.

in DA:I, the Tower tarot card is ofc none other than Solas' ending card, if he is not romanced. in the DA:I version of the card, we see Solas, cloaked in a dark robe and holding a mage staff under a half-moon or eclipse. darkness seeps from his shadow, stark against the orange sky, and blends with the giant black Dread Wolf, looming ominously and open-mouthed above him with its many eyes. (the Tower tarot card Solas scene is later referenced in DA:D promotional art and DA:D-era in-world murals). it makes sense to have assigned this to Solas given the above discussed meanings of the Tower tarot card, but it's a verrry inchresting choice imo to then give "Rook" as a name/title for the DA:D PC.

and most inchrestingly, there's the symbol from the front of Mark Darrah's mysterious Red Book. this mysterious red book shows "a flaming rook" on the cover. the book was an internal guide for developer and publisher eyes only that summarized the vision for DA:D, in its Joplin iteration. we know that the Joplin project has since been revised to an extent that it was the newly codenamed Morrison instead, but the red book is known to still contain plenty of ideas likely to appear in DA:D. most pages of the book remain highly classified. it's the symbol on the front that's of most interest to us though for the purposes of this post. there is a castle, tower, or rook, like a fortress or the chess piece. above the tower, a fire burns, reminding us of the burning tower from the Tower tarot card imagery and what that symbolizes, as well as Solas' "world burning in the raw chaos" line from Trespasser. inside the fire is a wolf, the Dread Wolf, in a now very-familiar and repeated motif in DA:D art, merch, murals, teasers etc. whatever else "rook" may connote, it feels like it's not an accident at all that the PC's name is apparently "Rook", given this depiction of a fiery rook and the Dread Wolf together.

what do you think? ^^

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mediumgayitalian · 1 month

Text

“Oh, fuck.”

The clatter of her practice sword on the ground is almost louder than the crunch that rings out from his wrist. He inhales sharply, biting back a shout — no matter how many times it’s happened, he will never get used to breaking a bone. That shit hurts.

“Fuck, fuck fuck. Fuck, Seaweed Brain, is it broken?”

“Think so,” Percy grits out. He tries for a smile, and Annabeth matches it, small and worried. He leans into the hand she cups over his cheek. “Not too bad, though. If I just dump my water bottle on it —”

“Absolutely not. Water healing leaves you achey when it rains, you know that.” Shifting to wrap her arm around his waist, she helps him stand, shouldering some of his weight like it’s his ankle that’s broken. He lets her, reaching down to squeeze the hand resting on his hip — I’m fine. We’re good. She turns her hand to wrap clasp their hands together — Okay. If you’re sure.

They walk together to the infirmary, taking their time. Aside from the pain pulsing from his arm, it’s not too bad — camp is as balmy as usual, and the spring break energy is practically visible, it’s so potent. The Demeter cabin has plants growing everywhere, flowers and fruit trees blooming as bright as a box of new crayons, and the air is filled with shouts of laughter and teasing. Annabeth’s steps fall in time with his, and she’s a comfortable warmth at his side, pressed from shoulder to hip.

“You still okay?”

“Yep.” He catches her eye, smiling crookedly at her. “Doesn’t even make my top fifty.”

She rolls her eyes, hipchecking him. “Don’t I know it, ya klutz.”

“Not sure I would call being flung from the St. Louis Arch being a klutz. Or exploded in a volcano. Or crushed under the sky. Or slashed by giants. Or chased by —”

“You’re talking, but all I’m hearing is Annabeth, please, please pinch me, as hard as you can —”

“Hey! Get those claws off me, gods you’re worse than an empousai —”

“— and when you’re done pinching me please put me in the tightest headlock you can manage —”

“I am injured! You are beating up an injured person right now!”

“— and then please just bite a chunk out of my shoulder —”

“Cut it out or I’m telling Mom!”

“Wimp,” she taunts, finally releasing him. “I don’t go running to Sally every time I lose a fight.”

“Wha — you do so!”

She ducks through the infirmary door, smirking like she can’t hear him.

“You literally — you snitched on me last week! I got grounded for two days!”

“And you deserved it,” she says primly.

He gapes. “I did not!”

“Anytime you two are done,” Kayla drawls, shoving a clipboard at them. They accept it with matching sheepish grins, cowed at her perfectly arched eyebrow and slowly tapping foot. “I got patients to deal with and older brothers to harass. Let’s get this moving.”

She is shockingly good at humbling people for a thirteen year old. The two of them turn to their clipboard, chagrined, letting her stomp away with an exasperated He’ll be with you soon! Don’t set off the sprinklers again!

“That was one time,” Percy mumbles, ears reddening.

Annabeth pats him on the back. “There, there,” she says mockingly. “The fact that it was one time definitely negates the fact that you flooded the entire Big House because you got jumpscared by a child.”

“Harley can be sneaky, okay. Let me live.”

“Literally no.”

Annabeth does most of the paperwork for him, ‘cause she’s a nerd because his wrist is far too swollen for him to write properly, so it takes maybe half the time it normally would. The infirmary is crowded as Hell, though (he knows, he’s been), so they settle in for the wait, amusing themselves by tearing little pieces off of a blank form, balling them up, and tossing them in increasingly harder places. Percy is winning 7-4, although Annabeth might just pull through if she manages to toss her paper ball into Travis’ wide-open snoring mouth.

“Hey, guys. Sorry for the wait.”

Aw. She missed. Percy was looking forward to that.

“Hey, Will.”

He drags his attention away from the son of Hermes to greet his friend, but frowns before he can open his mouth.

“Woah, dude, you good? You look exhausted.”

Will snorts. “Welcome to spring break, man.” He holds his hand out for the clipboard, scanning it briefly. “Sparring injury? Oh, thank the gods. I could use a break. Here, face me.”

He climbs up onto the minimal left over space on the cot, tucking his legs under his thighs. Percy turns to mirror him, hesitantly sticking out his arm — A break? he mouths to Annabeth, meeting her eyes over Will’s head.

She shrugs.

“Just spent four hours putting Jake’s nose back on his face,” Will mumbles, placing a careful hand on his fingertips and his forearm. Percy flinches — his skin is blisteringly hot. Like someone just dropped a hot stone onto him. “I never want to sing a skin cell hymn again in my life.” He prods at Percy’s wrist for a moment, gentle enough not to hurt. “Okay, hold still, I’m gonna fix ya right up.”

Healing hymns are familiar, by now, but Percy will never get tired of them.

The cool thing about ambrosia and nectar is that as pleasure food for the gods, it’s pleasant. It’s whatever taste you want, whatever you need to have most, you get it. But healing hymns are intentional the way nectar and ambrosia aren’t. Ambrosia and nectar happen to be healing for demigods — healing hymns were constructed to knit you back together, like you mother smoothing a bandaid over a skinned knee. They’re warm and sweet and deeply, endlessly comforting in a way most things simply cannot claim to be. They don’t feel like a medical procedure or a hasty patch job, they feel like someone gripping you tightly and promising you’ll be okay. They feel like getting carried to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. They feel like sitting down after hours of standing, like a drink of water when your throat is drier than sand. Healing hymns draw the pain and sick and ache from your body, and they feel like relief.

But this time, Percy can’t focus on it.

With every word, Will seems to get a little duller. Nothing like the horrible ash-grey he went in the war, dragging the poison from Annabeth’s body, but like his usual sunny disposition was dialed down a few notches. Enough that Annabeth frowns in concern, drumming her hands on her thighs, watching him closely.

“There,” Will says, pulling away. Percy turns his now-healed wrist, noticing the slight pant to Will’s breath, the strain to his smile. The shake of his blistered fingertips.

“You look overworked,” Annabeth says quietly.

Will holds his hands up in a what can you do gesture. “Spring break.”

“You said.”

“It’s just busy, is all.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Guys,” he interrupts, smiling tiredly, “there are two hundred ADHD demigods at this camp right now who have been trapped in a classroom for six months. There are three of us. I’m going to be a little drained; we’re all a little drained. But I’m fine, okay?” He gives them a second to scrutinize his expression, eyebrows raised in amusement. “I have been running my infirmary for years. I know how to pace myself, and I certainly know how to make sure my siblings are pacing themselves. If something goes really wrong, Chiron is a whistle away. I can go longer than you guys without sleep, anyway. Apollo kid health.”

“If you say so,” Percy says reluctantly. “I just — I can wear a wrist brace, man. Not every injury needs to be handled when it happens. You can tell people no.”

“I appreciate that, Percy, and I’ll keep it in mind. Anyways, I’ve got more patients. Stay off that wrist for the rest of the day, okay? It might be tender for a bit.”

Percy turns to Annabeth as Will leaves, frowning. He’s has never noticed the so-called spring break stress before (his camp spring breaks are usually a blast, but now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t think of a single spring break where he spent any time at all with Will, which is odd), but it can’t be good for him. There’s gotta be something they can do to ease some of the bruising under their friend’s eyes.

“I could set off the fire alarms again,” Percy suggests. “That’ll certainly get this place cleared out.”

Annabeth snorts. “I think that’ll cause more harm than good, Seaweed Brain. It’ll just fall in him to clean it all up, after.”

“Shoot.”

Percy counts nine of the forty cots currently unused. Will, Kayla, and Austin are rushing from cot to cot, handing out nectar, wrapping bandages, rattling off hymns at light speed. All three of them look exhausted, squeezing shoulders when they pass each other, knocking hips, exchanging tired smiles. This is so clearly something they’re used to.

Annabeth’s head rests on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t always like this,” she whispers. “When it was fully staffed…”

Percy exhales heavily. Yeah. He remembers. There was a lot less complication, once upon a time. The most chaotic the infirmary would get was when Lee would challenge his siblings to Hymn Karaoke — trying to heal with pop songs. There was a lot more laughter, at one point. A lot more people.

Percy sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. It never does well to dwell, but he — gods, he wish they all had more time. To sit with it, to acknowledge…everything. Siblings. Friends. A camp that’s smaller than it’s supposed to be.

Annabeth squeezes his hand again, and he squeezes back, resting his head on top of hers.

“Hey,” she murmurs after a moment, pursing her lips at the front door. “Look.”

Slinking through the entrance like a criminal is Nico, in all his dork ass black camp shirt glory. He looks around shiftily, like he’s trying to make sure no one sees him, and when his gaze lands on Percy and Annabeth his eyes widen. Annabeth smiles at him, but it does nothing to ease the spooked look to his face, back arched like a startled cat. He turns to leave, but before he can slip back out the door —

“Nico!”

The son of Hades whips back around so quickly he brains himself on the doorframe. Percy ducks his head and bites his lip, hard, because he can feel Nico’s glare at the side of his head like the press of hot coal, and if he laughs as badly as he wants to then the infirmary is about to look like a Spirit Halloween.

Will turns back to his patient, squeezing his eyes shut and rattling a hymn off so quickly it makes a burst of light pop from his whole body, and rushes over to where Nico’s standing. He only trips over two things, which is remarkable for him. Percy would be proud if he wasn’t a little embarrassed on his behalf.

“Nico! Hi!”

“He-ey, Will,” Nico says, voice cracking badly on every vowel. Annabeth shoves her face into Percy’s shoulder, body shaking.

“I didn’t know you were coming! I thought you were in the arena all day.”

Nico shrugs, shoes scuffing the floor. “I am. I just — uh, I got hurt? So. Came to see you.”

Will’s beam is so bright it hurts to look at, a little. Percy squints and realises that’s not just the excitement, actually — he really is glowing, faintly. His hands flap slightly at his sides.

“Well, you’re in the right place, then.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them say anything for a minute, rocking back on their heels. Will watches Nico closely, biting his lip. Nico looks resolutely at the floor.

“We weren’t this bad,” Annabeth whispers, “were we?”

Percy shakes his head. “Nah, there’s no way.”

“Gods. It’s so — I don’t know whether to smile or take a dip in the Lethe. It’s embarrassing and endearing at the same time.”

“Painful to watch, but I can’t stop looking,” Percy agrees.

“What’d you hurt?” Will asks, finally. “Did you pull your shoulder again?”

A look of panic flits briefly across Nico’s face until he smooths it to something neutral, aloof.

“Yep. Totally. During — sword fighting, I swung — I did this really big thrust, actually. Just — hugely powerful, training dummy exploded on impact.” He clears his throat. “Some might say too powerful. If you can imagine.”

Percy cradles his head in his hands. “Oh my gods — ”

“Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh,” Annabeth chants, “oh my gods, don’t laugh —”

A light flush dusts Will’s cheeks. He brushes a strand of hair behind his ear, fiddling with his earrings. “Woah, really? I’ve never heard of that before.”

Nico smirks, standing up a little straighter. “Well, it’s not the first time. I tend to go pretty hard.” Remembering his supposedly hurt shoulder, he exaggerates a wince. “Too hard sometimes, I guess. Could you do the — the energy thing?”

“Oh — gods, yeah, sorry. Hold on.” He stares at Nico’s shoulder, hesitating. “It, um, works better with skin-to-skin contact.”

“I have seen crystal vases less transparent,” Annabeth says, aghast. “In two years he’s going to remember this and try to drown himself.”

“I will be counting down the days,” Percy says gleefully.

On rare, rare occasions, the gods answer his prayers. Clearly, both Nemesis and Aphrodite are looking at him kindly today. Percy makes a note to scrape some of the good stuff off his plate for them both today. Hell, maybe he’ll skip the portioning and toss them an entire roast chicken each. Or something. They deserve it.

Will places both hands — interesting, Percy notes, his wrist was snapped cleanly in two and he only needed one hand, wonder why that was — on Nico’s shoulder and closes his eyes, screwing up his face in concentration.

“Huh. I’m not feeling much damage. You said it was your right shoulder?”

“I heal quick,” Nico says loudly. “I mean, some of the damage might have — um.” He clears his throat. His face glows a faint crimson. He clears his throat again. “Y’know?”

Will’s face is a similar shade.

“Right, right. Yeah. Um, brace yourself.”

Instead of starting to sing, Will closes his eyes, holding completely still. After a moment, the tips of his fingers begin to glow; soft, ambery yellow, flickering like lit candles. He opens his eyes again and focuses intently on Nico’s bare skin, tracing patterns around every defined muscle, leaving a trail of light behind. He lingers, for a moment, when he connects the last string of light, waiting until it has faded entirely from Nico’s skin to remove his hands and shove them in the pockets of his coat.

“That better?” he asks softly.

Nico swallows. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad, Nico. It means a lot that you — came to me. When you needed it.”

“I trust you, I guess.” Nico looks away. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,” Percy says thoughtfully.

Annabeth laughs, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be mean.” She pauses. “Me too.”

With a sigh that can only be described as besotted, Will steps reluctantly away.

“I have patients,” he says, in the same tone of voice Percy usually says I have midterms. “So I gotta…”

“Yeah, no, go. Do your —” Nico gestures vaguely. “Doctor thing.”

“Right. Yeah. I’m gonna — go.” He turns, walking back towards a group of Hephaestus kids who appear to be tightly entangled in some kind of net. After a few steps, though, he pauses, biting his lip, then darts back over to Nico, pressing a lightning-fast kiss to his cheek — “Um, bye. Thank you for visiting. Bye,” — and then runs back over to his siblings, shy smile on his face.

Nico’s jaw is brushing the floor of his father’s palace. He stands, still as a statue, for four entire minutes.

“I think he just died,” Annabeth observes, eyebrows climbing higher and higher up her forehead with every passing second “Damn. Survived so much only to literally die because a cute boy kissed his cheek. A true hero’s end.”

Percy, because he is a kind, concerned friend, clears his throat loudly.

“Yo, di Angelo, you alive?”

Nico startles so violently he falls right over. Percy shoves his fist in his mouth to keep from cackling.

“Shut the fuck up,” Nico hisses venomously, scrambling upright. “Both of you, shut the — not a word —”

Percy and Annabeth make the mistake of looking at each other and simply erupt. Percy can’t feel his stomach. His lungs have abandoned ship. He’s glad as hell he’s in the infirmary because he is heaving for breath, tears streaming down his face, entire body convulsing. Nico stands in front of them literally shaking with rage, entire body redder than one of Apollo’s sacred cows, trying and failing to string together a threat that will ease any and all of his suffering. Annabeth screeches, almost falling off the bed as she cackles. Percy cannot even find the strength to catch her, his muscles are so weak.

“I fucking — I hate you! Both of you! You’re dead to me!”

“Your face!” Percy shrieks.

“Percy Jackson, I am going to turn you to fucking dark matter! I despise your very essence! I —” He stomps his foot. “I’m leaving, and I’m going to leave a rotting corpse in your cabin! Screw you!”

“Oh my gods,” Annabeth wheezes, digging her nails into his arm. “Oh my gods, that was —”

Percy wipes a tear from his eye. “I love being alive. I love being alive so much.”

“It really is great.” Composing herself, and biting back the leftover giggles that keep bubbling out, Annabeth looks back towards Will. He stands much straighter, now, smile back to full brightness. His siblings, too, look rejuvenated, snickering to each other and making kissy faces behind Will’s back. “So many beautiful things to witness. I’ve never seen his face go that red.”

Percy sighs. “This is genuinely going to carry me through the semester. I think his soul died a little. And Will just — gods, that kid is bold.”

“Oh says you, Mr. Do I Get A Good Luck Kiss.”

“Hey, I earned that.”

Annabeth grins, punching him in the shoulder. He grabs her wrist and tugs her towards him, chasing the curve of her smile. She laughs into his mouth and it taste like strawberries and freedom, and he presses a kiss to her cheek, to her jaw, and the side of her neck, resting there, breathing against her skin. After a moment her hands come up and slide in his hair, gently untangling the knotted mess.

“He is one thousand percent going to put a zombie in your bed, you know,” she says after a moment.

Percy snorts. “Yeah, I know.” He smiles. “Worth it.”

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