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thesteriuswife · 10 days

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this has nothing to do with my selfship but i want it on my blog so im posting it anyways... a situation where pat and achilles are forced to interact with theseus 🙏🏽 from a scrapped fic where he would've shown them around elysium's library.

Being that his contract previously kept him bound to the dank House of Hades, Achilles never saw much of King Theseus. Despite this, he was aware of a great many rumors surrounding the man. Some say to ensure Asterius' safe passage into Elysium, Theseus spent several days or nights at the lord's desk, ranting and raving, telling irrelevant stories, until an irritated Hades caved in and gave him all he demanded.

Other rumors stated that the King was a son of Poseidon (or something close to that), and he acquired the Minotaur through that godly connection, though this action supposedly caused him to fall out of the Earthshaker’ favour. “There’s another rumor being spread. Claiming that the Lord Hades lost a bet to King Theseus, and won the Minotaur as a prize.” Achilles had his head rested on his beloved’s lap, while Patroclus wove slender fingers through his blonde hair. “That’s a new one,” replied Patroclus, “I’ve heard something similar. But it claimed that it was the Minotaur who bested Hades, and he asked to be placed within Elysium to humiliate his rival for all eternity.” Achilles snorted at that. The King was… well. He was rather odd. He was not like most heroes, who would gladly slay a beast then never speak of it again (unless, of course, it was to brag of their greatest achievements). It was obvious from what few interactions Achilles had with Theseus how deeply he cared for the bull. He bought his rival passage into the blessed realms, crafted an arena in both of their honours, and now fights by his side for all eternity.

All this would imply that there is something deeper to King Theseus- something hidden beneath his golden bluster. Most of the time, however, it seemed as if the man really laid it all out on the surface. Either way, no one really understood why the Minotaur stayed with the king. Zagreus himself even concluded that Asterius did not owe anything to Theseus at this point. Achilles had his own suspicions about the true source of that dedication, but no real leads on the matter just yet… “You’re curious about them, aren’t you, Achilles?” Pat gave Achilles a small smile. While he held no love for the king, he did enjoy indulging Achilles’ interest to an extent. “Why don’t you ask King Theseus himself, then…?” “Ahaha, yes! You’re welcome to ask me anything, Great Achilles!”

Achilles startled off of Patroclus' lap, and Pat, in turn, fell over onto his side. Before them stood King Theseus, his stance wide in the same way he presented himself within the arena. Despite his larger than life personality, Theseus seemed quite small away from the splendor of the arena. He truly was no taller than Prince Zagreus- a fact Achilles always seemed to forget.

As usual, he'd barged into Pat's glade unannounced. Most of the time when he did this he was quick to run off towards wherever he needed to be, but the perfectly timed mention of his name captured his attention. (Patroclus scowled: it was one thing to be interrupted by Zagreus, who was only ever polite and had even helped to reunite him with his Achilles… but Theseus was nothing but a nuisance.) “King Theseus,” Achilles hummed while readjusting himself, “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” “Aha, well!” Theseus cleared his throat, “I am on my way to visit Asterius! He is currently at the library, no doubt reading up on the great works of writers and scholars from across the land! …Or he is reading a fantasy novel. Regardless, the bull's taste in literature is always impeccable!!"

"If that's the case, King Theseus, I kindly ask that you be on your way,"sighed Patroclus, "My Achilles and I still have much catching up to do, and I'm certain any questions he has can wait. Can't they, Achilles?"

"Ah, yes. I agree that another time would be preferable. Would you mind dismissing yourself, King?"

King Theseus appeared thoughtful for a moment, taking their place request into deep consideration. Then, he spoke: "Yes, actually, I would mind!!"

Theseus sat on his knees before the two Myrmidons, his blue eyes glittering. "Achilles! I, Theseus, Greatest King of Athens, humbly request a sparring match against Asterius and myself!"

“Well, erm…”, Achilles smiled his usual tense smile at Theseus; he didn’t have any real dislike for the champion (unlike his beloved), but that didn’t change the fact that he was truly too much for one person to deal with (unless that one person was the Bull of Minos, who dealt with the king “loudly and often,” according to Pat), “I’m not sure if I have much interest in sparring with you, King Theseus.”

At that, the king’s eyes widened, quickly becoming tear-filled and cloudy. “Why?! Do you think I’m too weak to be of any use to you? I am undefeated in the arena! That daemon and his foul, cheating ways don’t-”

“Peace, King Theseus. It is no comment on your martial skills. I simply do not have the interest in battle I once did." while Achilles tried his best to sound comforting, his voice teetered right on the edge of sounding baffled instead. Patroclus had mentioned that Theseus cried easily, but Achilles had unestimated the king’s crying skills all the same.

“Ah, well…” the king wiped away his tears, “Yes, that is… hmph! I won’t say I understand, but I do respect such a thing! Somewhat.”

He beamed a bright smile at Achilles, already recovered from the sobbing he was surely about to do. “I propose unto you a new offer; a tour of Elysium’s premises! You should know, Great Achilles, that one of my many duties as champion is to act as a guide for shades who have only recently entered the blessed fields! I doubt you’ve seen much of the realm just yet, especially as you spend most of your time with your brother-in-arms, who seems to prefer wallowing within this glade!"

“I do not wallow.” Pat rolled his eyes. “I merely have little interest in this land of empty-headed fools.”

“Hmph. Well then! Achilles!!” Theseus reached forward to grab the warrior’s hand within his own . “Shall we leave now? Other than the library, there’s a lovely little garden area that I think you will find enchanting! And many other lovely little shops and eateries and the likes! It could be just us two and Asterius, yes? I must say, I am afraid your companion here will turn our journey sour.”

Patroclus grabbed Achilles’ other hand, holding it firmly as he glared at the much shorter man. “My Achilles would not agree to such a thing. You’re being presumptuous, as always.”

"You are the one who's being presumptuous, Patchouli!!"

"Patchouli?"

"Patroclus," Achilles firmly corrected, "I wouldn't be opposed to your suggestion, King Theseus. But-" Achilles gave Theseus a stern look before he could gloat, "You have to be polite towards my beloved. And… " Achilles gently held Pat's hand, rubbing it with his thumb, "that also means you can't purposely provoke him, love.”

"My one source of entertainment in this cold, hard world, and you're taking it away from me. Fine."

"Ahaha, splendid! I must go to Asterius, but I shall return momentarily for our tour! I shan’t keep you waiting long- this, I promise!!" Theseus gave a half-crazed laugh before bouncing back up and onto his feet, then running out the opposite door of the glade before either Myrmidon had a chance to speak.

"Achilles… why did you say yes to him?" Patroclus pinched his temple; just the idea of spending more time with Theseus of all people was giving him a headache.

"It has a chance to be enjoyable experience, yes?” Achilles’ clasped his hands together. “And besides, I am curious about his relationship with the bull. It will be a good learning opportunity, if nothing else.” "I suppose we'll see once he returns."

With a sigh, Patroclus laid on Elysium’s soft moss. With luck, Theseus would soon forget all about his whole tour plans… somehow, however, he had a sense that for once the king’s memory would hold firm, and in some days or nights he and Achilles would find themselves being dragged halfway across Elysium.

#📚 codex #with the premise i could make a part 2 to this involving dia... idk if i will (that would be 5(!) characters all interacting) but i could

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stuffforme2 · 8 months

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Long ass rant yw. Tw!! Rape.

Welcome to my Ted talk. I will be beginning with Ares. Also my trashy grammar.

Ares is usually depicted as a cruel violent man who would abuse his children or not give a fuck about them. He is depicted as a villain, a terrible person, in modern literature/film. This is entirely incorrect here is why.

Ares is war. He is the god of War. Yes war is violence and carnage and hate but it is also loyalty, unquestioned rule follower, fighting for the ones you love, trust, kindness when needed, mercy. Ares would have all these attributes and he does in Greek literature. Ares is one of the 12 major gods meaning he should be very powerful but he is seen being bested over and over again be it by demi gods or gods this is because of his loyalty and care. Ares cares deeply for his mother Hera [momas boy] and his sister Athena he cares deeply for Aphrodite and all his children. Ares has purposely given up fights, decided to lose, etc. Just to make his family happy he has put himself into embarrassing situations to protect them, honour them, or so they do not have to suffer embarrassment.

In the Trojan war literature by Homer and many others Ares was meant to side with the Atheians he had wanted to be on the side with his sister and mother but instead he was convinced by aphrodite to side with the trojans. Since Ares is the God of War he is able to tell which side of War would win. Which means he put winning below his love. War put love first. This is important because it is the true meaning of War. War is fought over love. Pride is love. Your pride is your love for a certain hinf be it yourself, country, family, honour, etc, and Ares chose his pride and love Aphrodite and his family because he has had children with aphrodite making her his most important family member.

Ares is not a villain he is war itself he is an unwin war that's constantly being battled and yet he still contains himself he even puts his children at his side Deimos and Phobos instead of ignoring them or throwing them off a mountain or beating them he makes them equals.

Ares is also one of the few gods who have NEVER sexually assaulted or raped a woman or man. He himself has actually been raped when he was trapped in the jar by the twin giants. In many descriptions of Ares kidnapping and being trapped in the jar he was described to have been raped and tortured by the twin giants. Ares was only saved by Hermes, he himself could not escape. Ares would never ever put anyone through what he went through because for someone to use your body unrightfully is the opposite of honour it is horrifying and lives on with you forever as a traumatising.

So yeah. There's still so much I want to say but I think this is to long.🧍‍♂️✌️🐢

#pjo hoo toa #pjo #pjo fandom #pjo series #writing #rant #tw #ares #hermes #alexander hamilton #riordanverse

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fangirlshrewt97 · 1 year

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A Dream Come True

You know, it’s been a minute since I wrote for RamBheem. And @umbrulla shared the most adorable/delightful drawing recently that really set my gears turning.

I originally envisioned this as a comedic drabble, but predictably perhaps, it became super mushy instead.

Warning: This is set in an A/B/O world, but its as family friendly as can be. Just didn’t want to blindside you...

Still, I hope you guys like it!

///

Ram hums as he pats Hathrini's back, a steady beat that turns into a caress when she finally burps. He smiles as he feels her small nose twitching against his neck as she rubs her petal-soft cheeks against his scent gland. Caressing upwards, Ram rubs his thumb in a circular motion in the back of her skull.

He shifts her, so she is laying in the middle of both his arms, parallel to each other as he gently curls and uncurls his arms. The motion makes her lips twitch in a smile as her eyes blink slowly, halfway to falling asleep. Ram coos as her when she reaches up to grab at his hair.

"I think that's enough playing, my little talli." Ram tells her. He places her in his lap, jiggling one knee to rock her. When she yawns, he presses the side of his index finger to the bottom of her chin, closing her mouth for her. She blinks at him.

Ram kisses her hair, a dense layer of raven curls that immediately make obvious who her father is.

His heart feels so full nowadays, especially in the moments when his daughter is in his hands. The past few months, no, years, before her birth had been an unending series of trials and tribulations, miseries and unforgivable actions. But against all odds, for reasons he cannot fathom, yet is deeply indebted to, Ram has somehow managed to get a happy life. With a mate who adores him, and a daughter he loves beyond comprehension, with friends who are loyal to them, and their cause.

Of course, the fight is ongoing, and now more than before, Ram knows it is imperative that India be free.

Hathrini deserves to grow up in a land that is not being crushed under the heels of foreigners who think they have a right to it.

The baby mewls, turning to rub her face against his thigh, face scrunching at the feel of cloth in the way. Ram huffs. "Come now, amma, you have already had your dinner. Go to sleep."

He shifts her so she is laying pressed to his chest where his shirt is unbuttoned. At the feeling of warm skin beneath her, the baby settles.

Ram cups the back of her head as he tilts his head back. He is sitting up against the wall of their hut, on their old mattress and worn pallet. The village is quiet as everyone retires for the night, and from the shifting curtains by the doorway that are swaying with the breeze, he can make out the night shift sentries heading to the lookout post.

Ram and Bheem had had several discussions about whether to set up their home in the village or a little away, with Bheem saying Ram would feel more comfortable with the privacy they could get. But Ram had argued that Bheem's duties would be best fulfilled if he was near his people, and ultimately won him over.

Speaking of Bheem… Ram opened his eyes when he heard the patter of familiar footsteps cross over the threshold.

As always, Ram's heart skipped a beat as he drank in the sight of his mate. When Ram had first met Akthar, something inside him had woken up, and as they had spent those weeks together, that…thing, it had yearned. Yearned for this man who he could never be with, for so many reasons, not the least being his life was not his to give, but one pledged to a cause he could not fail. And yet. He had been weak, and selfish, and let himself have one night.

When the stars align, one night is all it takes isn’t it?

After ascending to pleasures he had never known, everything had been ripped away by the cruelest of circumstances. When he was given the “honour” of punishing the Alpha who had dared to stand up against the Britishers, it was also with the idea of adding another layer of humiliation for Bheem, being forced to kneel for an Omega. Ram had bled that day, but could not shed any tears, because he did not deserve it. He had been the one inflicting the whip, what right did he have to pain?

After everything though, Bheem had accepted him anyways. Not because he was with his child. He had accepted Ram.

Bheem carefully stowed away all his weapons before unwinding his turban. He stripped out of the rest of his clothes, removing his waist sash, kurta, and dhoti, leaving him in his brown loin-cloth.

At times Ram would pinch himself discreetly, just to ensure this was his life, and not a fantasy his brain conjured up as he lay dangling from shackles, awaiting a noose that would send him and his child to doom. Other times, he felt such a tidal wave of gratitude and love crash into him, he thought he would drown. And many times, he would feel pride, because that was his mate. So strong and broad, with a heart the size of the world, and a light that would never let Ram feel the cold, or solitude ever again.

Ram met his gaze with a fond smile, head still tilted against the wall. Bheem's answering smile felt bright enough to mimic the sun.

"And how are the two halves of my heart doing ?" Bheem asked as he walked over to them.

"You say two halves, yet your eyes are only glued to one of us." Ram teased, pointing out how Bheem had not taken his eyes off of Hathrini since he entered, save the one smile.

Bheem shrugged dismissively, getting on the bed and crawling over to the pair. The gold of his nose ring reflected the oil lamp's light. "Did she behave?"

"She always does. When she isn't trying to copy her father's roaring at the top of her lungs." Ram said wryly.

Bheem's eyes seemed to twinkle as he stopped scant inches from them, instead opting to lean forward to look at their baby. "She's amazing."

Ram took in the profile of this tiger of a man. So much ferocity and protectiveness within him, but looking at him now, he could be confused for a little kid. Ram bit his lip to curb the urge to throw his arms around Bheem. Hathrini would not appreciate the gesture.

"With who her father is, you expected different?"

Bheem's gaze flicked up to him. "Her dame is pretty extraordinary too."

Ram's cheeks reddened as he looked away. Bheem chose the worst times to be suave and charming.

Bheem chuckled, a deep, happy sound that settled into Ram's bones. He reached out one hand to cover Ram's on Hathrini's back. He peeled Ram’s hand away, sliding his own around the baby to carefully lift her. Ram jerked forward, a growl escaping him as Bheem giggled playfully, holding Hathrini close to his face.

"Bheem! I nearly had her down!" Ram complained as Hathrini blinked her eyes open, legs kicking when she realized who was holding her.

"But I haven't played with her in so long Rama!" Bheem replied as he shifted to lie down with his head on Ram's thigh, lifting the baby up as far as his arms would stretch before bringing her back down, and then lifting her again.

Hathrini gurgled happily, fists waving as she reached out for Bheem, only to be lifted into the air before she could grab his beard. Ram's smile twitched, at once adoring the sight of his mate and child playing, as he sighed at all his efforts for bedtime going to waste.

"You played with her two nights ago." Ram pointed out.

"Exactly. So long!" Bheem exclaimed as he brought his daughter close enough to rub his nose against hers in a motion that made her laugh delightedly.

"You're a menace." Ram said as he starting carding his fingers through Bheem's hair, his free hand laying on Bheem's shoulder.

Bheem winked at him as he turned, bringing Hathrini down to also lay her against Ram's thigh. He gave her his index finger which she grasped tightly, immediately bringing it to her mouth to suck on. "Such a strong grip."

Ram hummed, rubbing two knuckles against Hathrini's cheek. "Just like you."

Bheem pulled the fist holding his finger to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. Hathrini gazed up at him wide-eyed, like he was the wonderful thing she had seen. Ram could understand.

"Her eyes are just like yours though. I'm glad." Bheem said as he brushed his thumb against her cheek. Ram’s cheeks flamed.

He tightened his grip on Bheem's hair, and when he looked at his mate, his figure blurred from the tears that had gathered at the corner of his eyes.

Bheem smiled kindly at him. Looking at their child, he cooed. "Looks like I tired her out."

Hathrini was fast asleep, sucking her thumb as she lay sprawled between them. Ram made to get up, but Bheem pressed his hand to his thigh. "I'll do it."

Bheem rolled out of bed, standing to receive the baby from Ram, and turned to place her inside the saree-cradle they had tied next to their bed. He gripped the saree about halfway down, gently shaking it so it started to rock on it's own. Once he were sure Hathrini was not going to wake up, he let go of the saree. He then went to the oil lamp, extinguishing the flame before finding his way back to their bed in the dark.

Ram waited where he was, eyes closed as the world around him fell dark. “Did you have dinner?”

Bheem hummed. “Yes, before we crossed the river. Gayathri Akka had packed some food for us.”

Ram nodded, covering his mouth as he yawned. He went to shift down the bed, only to instead find himself yanked towards Bheem.

“Bheem!” he hissed, but didn’t resist as his mate pulled him onto his lap.

Bheem made a noise of acknowledgement as he smushed his face into the curve of Ram's neck, inhaling deeply as arms wrapped around his waist in an iron grip. "Do you have any idea how good you smell right now?"

Ram sighed, wrapping his own arms around Bheem's shoulders as he buried his nose in Bheem's curls. "I smell like sweat and baby."

Bheem nipped at his jaw, making Ram jump. "You smell like campfire and sweet milk. Like dinner, and Hathrini, and us..."

"Bheema..." Ram whispered as Bheem held him closer.

"I want to roll in your scent, Bangaram. Let’s never be apart for so long again."

Ram squeezed his arms. Bheem’s trip had lasted two days. Missions would come that would keep them apart for longer. They both knew it was an impossible request, but Ram nevertheless wished he could grant it to his mate.

In the dark, Bheem tilted his head upwards, and Ram obliged by running his nose down Bheem's forehead to kiss Bheem's lips, pausing only to nip at the tip of Bheem's nose.

It was a soft exchange of kisses, the heat and desire banked in the background as they just relished in the presence of their mate in their arms after their brief separation. At some point they tipped over, Bheem ending in the space between Ram's legs as he peppered his face with kisses. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. The moon still stood high in the sky.

Desire started to make itself known when Bheem rolled their hips together, Ram bit his lip, eyes squeezing shut as he swallowed a whine. "Bheema..."

Just then, a quiet mewl broke through the lover’s haze. Ram turned towards the cradle.

Bheem's sigh was more felt than heard as he lifted his face to look at Ram. With their eyes adjusted to the dark, Ram reached up to tuck a stray curl back into place. "I'm sorry..."

Bheem leaned down to nip at Ram's lips. "Nothing to be sorry about, Rama.”

Ram rolled out from under Bheem to pull their daughter out of the cradle, trying to quiet her cries. “Hungry so soon, bangaram?”

Hathrini’s cries were hiccuping as she rubbed her face against Ram’s chest. “Yes, yes, hold on.”

Bheem had left the bed to grab the oil lamp. Ram shot him a smile in thanks as he settled back against the wall, shrugging off the shirt before bringing her up his suckle. He frowned as she didn’t latch, even switching sides.

“She’s not hungry?” Bheem asked.

Ram shook his head. Hathrini started to cry again, and Bheem ruffled her hair. That got her to stop enough to look up at them with teary eyes. Bheem blinked before his face split into a wide grin.

“Is that it, amma? You want to sleep with us?”

“What?” Ram asked, confused. Bheem took Hathrini from Ram, instead laying her in the middle of the bed.

“Come on, Rama, she just wants to sleep with her parents.” Bheem said as he laid down, left arm tucked under his head as he patted her tummy with his right.

Sleep with… Ram’s brows straightened. It had been two days since Bheem had spent the night with them. She had missed their combined scents.

Feeling his heart simultaneously beating rapidly and melting in his chest, Ram laid down in a mirror image of Bheem.

Hathrini’s sobs quietened as she noticed both her parents bracketing her. Ram smiled at her. “Was that all, my vajrala moota?” Ram asked her.

Hathrini babbled sleepily at him as her eyes fell shut. Bheem giggled on her other side, winking again at Ram.

“Looks like its bedtime for us all.” Ram shook his head in amusement as he settled more comfortably, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s hair. And after a second, he pressed one to Bheem’s as well.

"Good night Bheema."

"Good night my love."

///

@rambheem-is-real @budugu @bromance-minus-the-b @hissterical-nyaan @obsessedtoafault @hufhkbgg @yehsahihai @rorapostsbl @fangirl-from-discord @fadedscarlets @alikokinav @chaotic-moonlight @rambheemisgoated @rambheemlove @jaganmaya @burningsheepcrown @lovingperfectionwonderland @rosayounan @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @thewinchestergirl1208 @dumdaradumdaradum @ronaldofandom @jjwolfesworld @jrntrtitties @kashpaymentsonly @jeonmahi1864 @stanleykubricks @m3gs1mps4a @tulodiscord @teddybat24 @sally-for-sally @ssabriel @jadebomani @stuckyandlarrystuff @veteran-fanperson @ohfuckoffpls @bheemaxrama @chaidrivenwhore @gifseafins @keyhunter04 @umbrulla

#rrr #rrr fanfic #rambheem #rambheem fanfic #ram x bheem #my fic #my writing

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ge · 6 months

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sumt about chung myung having a (relatively) softer heart than tang bo makes me melt... u can see tang bo doesn't reach out to things that he feels doesn't need it, but chung myung actively takes things into his heart... man i love how they're so diff from how they're presented as. usually the smiley, touchy one would be the self sacrificial one

(idk where this is from but is tang bo actually cold to others when not in front of chung myung...? this is such a popular thing i see in works lol)

yall genuinely have no idea how often im thinking about tangchung character studies theyre so interesting to pick and prod at.. chung myung keeping his softness under so many many layers of rock hard defense and even when u get close enough to him to break those walls down, hes so unused to being unprotected that gentleness feels like something that has to be coerced, gripped, and dragged out of him, affection making his chest feel clogged and cumbersome, and love felt so heavily it feels like it could bring down the sky.. he feels with such an overwhelming excessiveness that displaying it freely in any way other than casual familiarity feels like humiliation, and asking for it in return even more shameful.. he is a empty house hungry to be lived in and yearning for a flame but he would much rather let his terse and concise and seemingly brutish actions speak louder than his softness, no matter how it may end up being interpreted....my long winded way of saying i think chung myung has an extreme hedgehog dilemma and is a tsundere about it

tang bo is a little trickier for me to get a read on maybe bc i hvnt read much about him yet and most of my knowledge of him comes from fics & twt users LOL (which im aware are mostly extremely ooc..it kinda grates on me knowing most or all of my knowledge of him is secondhand and distorted) but i must agree with you.. the tang bo in my head is predominately headcanon ive built up myself so whatever i say about him might be extremely off the mark but idgaf..i like the version of him i have in my head currently..

compared to chung myung, tang bo feels hrmmm..more sociable but impersonal.. im not sure if he can be called cold exactly, but he doesnt seem to show much care or affection to anyone he isnt particularly close with.. he seems to have an almost impassive business type relationship with most people, including his family though it should be mentioned aside from chung myung, he is also friendly towards chung mun and chung jin, having been said to drink w the three of them often.. from what ive seen he seems to treat them like a second family in a sort of way? i attribute tang bos dispassionate demeanor to his family, the way he was raised formed a sort of crust around not, not so much a wall but a poker face..and chung myung was the first person who directly challenged the monotony of his life

smth about the dichotomy of their natures is sooo interesting urhg.. tang bo, a young master of a reputable rich family given everything he could ever want for, taught to be upright and gallant since birth, wearing the seemingly permanent mask of impersonality and tranquility that was hammered into him since young, meeting someone who brought back colour into his dull world for the first time in his life and suddenly that mask starts crumbling and tang bo finds himself happy in a way he was never allowed to be under the watchful eye of his familys strict elders

compared to chung myung whos life was nearly the complete opposite, an orphan taken in and raised in a sect by people who showered him w as much uninhibited familial love as he could want for, taught him to be honourable and respectable, grows up w a penchant for keeping his true emotions hidden deep underneath his surface, not out of malice or obligation but because, unlike tang bo, it was simply how he was..meeting and befriending tang bo made him begin to WANT, for the very first time..to actually show someone how deeply he can care, to peel back the veil and show someone the desperation for intimacy he desires so profoundly that buzzes underneath his skin in a way he couldnt, wouldnt, speak of out of the sheer indignity of it all...yeah so basically what im saying again is that hes tsundere and tang bo saw that and was like i need that gay boy

#........or smth idfk what im talking about*scratching ass*#lost my train of thought around the end im not rereading any of this nonsense brah

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barbwritesstuff · 10 months

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Hey again! I just wanted to write cause I FINALLY had the time to read the actual released version of Blood Moon. It was so nice to experience it fully polished!

Also, reading it all in one go allowed me to really think about it more deeply, and I realized one of my favorite parts of the story is one I've never really seen people talk about... I think it's fascinating how after the Alek's death, for a very "naturally Alpha-oriented MC", the pack seems to instinctively follow them from the get go. Like, it feels incredibly natural, like it's the right order of things. Simply because the MC knows what to do - or at least seems to know - and is willing to actually take things in their hands. I feel like in moments of vulnerability like this one, having someone who can be an "anchor" really helps. And in that moment, if the MC has the heart of an Alpha, they can be that anchor. Strangely enough, that segment is one of my favorite parts of the story despite being so "unassuming" in a way (well, it's an important and painful part of the story, but it's no big epic moment, no romantic moment, no stuff like that), simply because of how strongly we can feel what the pack must feel and the natural power shifts in it.

Another part I REALLY adored and that wasn't in the last WIP I had read was the epilogue. It was such a short segment, but I really think you outdid yourself with it! It felt incredible to read!

That aside, I also had three questions, if you don't mind me making this post even longer than it already is:

When meeting Farro for the first time at the gathering, if the MC shakes his hand and smiles, Farro is momentarily "taken aback" by MC's smile. Is it because he saw the similarities with Jay when he smiles? Or did he simply think MC looks good when they smile?

When all the pack moves in the den after Alek's death, it's said Marco leaves his room so Nikolas and Grace can take it. If Marco is in a relationship with the MC and the MC agrees to that, does he move into the MC's room at least temporarily, or does he pick a different place? It's never specified, and it's hard to get a true answer just from reading the story.

Last one is a bit different... I like to think once shit really dies down after the battle and everything that follows it, my MC will ask if Marco wants to marry him. But there is one thing I've been thinking about - I think one thing my MC would really care about is to make himself a sort of "semi-matching" tattoo before they get married - blue roses. Basically, something to match, but not to be identical. He'd really want to have this tattoo already on him when the marriage actually happens. Assuming that, obviously, this isn't done "to please" or anything like that, and something my MC REALLY wants for himself, what would Marco's thoughts be about that? (and yes, one of my reasons of asking that is me needing to know for when I feel inspired to draw my MC)

Sorry for this way too long ask! Thanks and have a great day!

I'm so glad you got a chance to play the polished version of Blood Moon and that you enjoyed it. Those are some of my favourite moments too. 💙

To answer your questions:

Farro is used to people being nervous around him because of his size (and because he's a shy mountain man that doesn't spend a lot of time around people he doesn't know). If you seem friendly and relaxed, he's surprised by how easy and pleasant this conversation is going.

Marco is only giving up his room for the duration of the siege. Long term, Marco would like to get a job and an apartment near the den. If he's in a relationship with MC, then they can join him there.

Marco would be thrilled and honoured if MC was interested in getting rose tattoos like his. I think he'd think that was really cool.

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straightouttabraincells · 1 month

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Really like FUNGER so I drew my characters in the first game's style of lineup, NOW IN COLOR!

Quick bios on our "Heroes"

Adolf Hainzart: He had once intended to live peacefully as a carpenter, but undead aggression saw his home village in ruin. The last man of his clan, the last tender of Frederick's Grove. He intends to continue the line of tradesmen in his ancestral homeland.

He is xenophobic to the point where even other nations of the Congregatio Fidelium are viewed with suspicion.

Christopher De Rochard: The hidden son of House Rochard, forced into knighthood and bloodied from the wars with heretic men of the north. Christopher holds himself to high standards of honour and nobility. Regretting being associated with peasantry and rabble such as Adolf. He is quite willing to compromise, being the one to forgive filthy Rashtalites if they choose to help the crusade.

Geoffrey Rosenthal: An old and skillful monk. He possesses skills of larceny, acrobatics, and key knowledge of how to truly hurt a human without killing them. He has an extensive education on mathematics, theology and alchemy. Though active and nimble, his puny stature and advanced age make him a fragile and weak combatant.

Afflicted with an overactive sex drive, he must take drugs to suppress it or struggle mentally to contain his urges.

Elizabeth Dorset: Concerned deeply over the state of mortal souls, Elizabeth seeks to gain control over her very own from the Gods. Cursed with knowledge forbidden in even Rashtalite doctrine, morality and ethics are just speedbumps on the path to true freedom.

She disdains most authority, but has an unhealthy love for her former professor...

So here they are, as far present (forward?) in time for this necromancer world as my blog has gotten.

#oc lore #oc #fantasy #necromancerlore #manletmonk #dark fantasy

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blackbelliedwoman · 1 year

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Mama Jiu week fic:

In honour of Mama Jiu week 2020 :)

Emptiness

Summary :

Patching some pieces of the past, to the present.

Shen Jiu went into labour several hours ago. While he’s held hostage by this beautiful but horrific feeling called “nostalgia”, he can’t help but lets his head be filled with messy thoughts.

Extract :

It grew on him like some vivid tints on a bland canvas. Slowly expanding its way from his heart to his brain. Recalculating the whole purpose of his life from every corner of his frame. And this new feeling taking shape tingles every pore on his skin.

For the first time in his entire life, the desire to keep on living submerged his being. Or rather, the desire to keep on trying to sustain this body he never wanted to, in the first place.

Partway between a scream and a groan, Shen Jiu's voice raises as he doubles over. Mere seconds after the last one fell, another contraction hits him, forcing his nails to seep in the hard mattress.

Now that he finally decides to remain among the living, the thing lodging in his belly says the perfect opposite?

Being an entire jerk for eight months straight wasn’t enough as it appears.

From making him spew out everything that even a grain of rice couldn’t pass down his oesophagus, to laying thrice into a pool of blood. Was all that not worth it? Why would this thing, at present, makes him suffer as if he was pierced by thousand arrows in a row?

No time to wonder: it’s Luo Binghe's offspring after all.

Shen Jiu straightens his neck when a little hand rubs his back. The corridors of his individual wing have been quite noisy from dusk to dawn. If it wasn’t for Shen Jiu’s breathy lamentations, it was the servants carrying bowls of white congee, boiled water and heavy quilts to replace the bloodstained ones every so often.

Of all these helpers moving in and out of the room, this tiny hand could belong to only one. The smallest bean of all the servants he knew in the Wolf clan. The youngest child, if he recalls well, of the Rat clan. Six-balls.

“Please, don’t hold your breath Third spouse.” Pleads the kid while passing a trembling damp cloth on his forehead, “Please, keep on breathing.” He adds before his voice rises again, “At least if Third spouse wants to die, this lowly beg Third spouse to die when Young Master is here! ”

“Shut your silly trap.” Orders Shen Jiu, shutting his eyelids tight to condone the pain from taking the entirety of his pallid face.

Six-balls slaps both of his palms on his mouth.

Of course, to Shen Jiu's hugest misfortune, it doesn’t last long. Does Six-balls even go short on saliva? Strangely enough, it’s reminding him of a certain someone. “Third spouse doesn’t want to lie down? Maybe it will appease Third spouse a little.”

After a quick cold glance, Six-balls finally gets it: he should definitely zip it. Or not.

“Does Third spouse need me to fan his face ?”

The kid’s fingers slightly tremors when a weak yelp unsettles itself from Shen Jiu’s lips. The pressure on his pelvic area increased, stretching hurriedly to his back as he finds himself asking Six-balls to put him back to bed. He should have listened to him sooner. Maybe he was true, maybe laying down would ease his pain. Or walking would be better? But he tried to walk right now, and apart from awaking spurts of cramps in his lower parts, it lead to nothing.

The child grasps the big man's arm and then, forcefully draws it to his side. Failure. Shen Jiu is not moving an inch. Another tentative. Tentative which, obviously failed too since Six-balls falls back. Why is he even counting on a seven years old body to help lift not only his body but also a miniature human inside?

“This one will go ask for help!”

Soon after, the sound of footsteps lighted out.

Eyes closed, Shen Jiu tries to slow his breathing. Mimicking the content of the book he read. He starts by inhaling deeply, holding it for a while, and then emptying both lungs as if blowing on a candle. His teeth clench. It. Does. Nothing. Not even easing the sensation of his limbs getting ripped off him and less with making him think about something else.

Does the kid really wish for his death?

It’s true he never wished for this in the first place, however, this type of punishment is too hard on him. And strangely enough, he’s finally happy he’s never done this kind of thing with Yue Qingyuan. This thought swept in a tinge of remembering.

#archive of our own #ao3 stuff #svsss #mamajiu #shen jiu #luo binghe #svsss fic #mpeg #ok now i sleep #goodnight #pregnant shen jiu #lbhxsj #mamajiufic #writing #creative writing #mxtx fanart #mxtx #fic writing #bingjiu

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jacwags · 2 years

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There is something so important about Hob seeing someone that genuinely loves h and going to them.

We hear in his speech to Rue about how his devotion to the goblin court was truly in a desperate wish to be loved and accepted. The goblin court is definitely one you are truly a part of when you BEHAVE like a goblin is supposed to. Hob never has, it was never who he was. So, to make up for this, he followed the orders of the court he was born into not the court he fit into.

Why else would Blemish and Boil choose him as the one to be engaged in a political marriage? We have seen how the salt goblins needed to be intimidated by Hob to listen to him, in the hart hunt, so they could simply make someone else do it. But Hob, desperate to be accepted and not scorned, would agree simply because he was told to.

Rue's love of him, acceptance of him without what he could do for them is what changes everything for Hob. Here is someone whose love he does not have to earn through following orders and behaving in a way he is not. Rue gave him no reason to feel lesser because he wasn't high born or didn't act like a goblin.

When they compliment him on being honourable and loyal he says "I know I'm working on it"

That is the response of a man that has been told that the way he was born and the most natural way he can act is deeply and consistently wrong.

So it makes sense that, once he found someone that loved him and wanted to be with him without needing to take their every order, he no longer cared about the botched engagement between the courts of Wonder and Goblin.

His worry about the slight was his job, not something personal. He had been doing as he was told, not as he wished, and as such faced Rue's reveal of being the one that ended the engagement as someone acting for his court, not for himself.

His behaviour was always to gain favour for someone that didn't fit in a place they had been born, desperate to keep the positive regard of what was his only option for a place to belong.

Rue fully told him that the Goblin court held no love for him. This was despite all of his work to be seen as a good goblin. Through all his time trying to fit in, his only friend has been his horse, no goblins have seen him as more than a tool, a boss, something to use to entertain themselves. Of course on the realisation that nothing he could do would ever make the court see him as a true, model goblin, would be the thing that turned him away.

And if he hadn't known that Rue returned his feelings, he would have stayed with the court he knew did not care for him. It was only when he knew he had the option of unconditional love that he was willing to leave and him having that option then choosing it is so beautiful.

#ruehob #dimension 20 #acofaf #d20 #spoilers #dnd #acofaf spoilers #battlemaster of ceremonies #captain k.p. hob #d20 acofaf #delloso de la rue

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officialraylynn · 9 months

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In your eyes

(Fire Emblem: PoR/RD; Ike/Soren)

Warnings: Themes of self-doubt/self-worth; themes of arousal, making out against a wall, mildly possessive behaviour, supportive boyfriends, the boyfriend Soren deserves tbh

Also posted on AO3!

Prompt: "Suck Me — my character will suck on any body part of your character."

Summary: In which Ike has reasons for the things he does and Soren has never loved him more.

Soren was accustomed to being stared at.

He had, after all, been dealing with this his entire life. The burning hate-filled stares of beorc and the empty unseeing frosty stares of laguz, both had been part of his life from a tender young age that he had never forgotten. Never truly escaped either; those judgemental eyes forever following him as he grew, though over the years a handful of kind (or a least tolerant) gazes joined in they would never erase the darker ones from his memory.

That was never more true than when he grew more into an adult. When his figure grew more slender than outright stick thin and awkward; when his hair was longer (much better kept, thick and so soft looking) and his face slimmer- he learned quickly how it felt to be stared at with desire (lust, not desire; they were different, desire meant they wanted him whereas lust was purely his body- not that they’d want it once they learned of his cursed blood), and just as quickly he learned to ignore it.

In the beginning, he lashed out. Confronted and threw insults (even a spell on one occasion), though it was not long before he simply grew tired of dealing with it and simply ignored instead. Ignoring had worked for the laguz against himself, why then could he not use it as a weapon of his own? For the most part it worked, there were times when he was approached regardless of his lack of reaction to their gazes, but overall he was left alone- which pleased him, though he did feel slight empathy for the females he presumed they would attempt to ‘woo’ (ha) in place of himself.

Ike’s presence likely played a factor in this as well, to be honest.

He was not called the man’s shadow for nothing, where one was the other was frequently right beside if not shortly behind. Soren grew accustomed to stares over that as well. Reverent gazes directed towards Ike; awe, admiration, want, envy, a fair share of lust as well, and then confused, jealous and even near murderous stares towards him joined his already vast array of how people viewed him. He had long since learned to accept the feel of other’s eyes on himself in such ways, his deeply rooted feelings for Ike made it more difficult to accept the same for those gazes falling on Ike.

It took time, but eventually even Ike began to take notice of the stares- both directed towards himself and to Soren. He did not have the same hardened skin in this circumstance as Soren did, meaning that they tended to bother Ike much more than they did his boyfriend- it was flattering, and it made Soren’s heart swell with furthered affection whenever Ike would step in to defend his honour or otherwise chastise someone for their staring, but he wished that Ike would adjust quickly just as he had. He hated Ike being upset, especially if it was caused by something regarding Soren himself.

It only became worse after the wars were over and all of Tellius worked on rebuilding what was broken (before they left hand in hand to live their lives free of the burdens of reputation and the fear of more war one day); Ike was, of course, the more famous of the two but (to his surprise) Soren’s name was not as obscure through the lands as he had assumed- the strategist, a powerful wind mage, always by the Hero’s side, though the stares had begun shifting with the whispers of himself into more positive than the previous negative, the negatives still lingered and Soren still ignored.

Again, Ike on the other hand, was not quite one to simply ignore- no he tended to deal with the things that bothered him, and when he finally acted it… Truthfully it took Soren by surprise. After all, he had never really envisioned Ike to be possessive (protective, yes), though he wasn’t about to complain. At all. Or, at least not much- there was no denying the pleasure he felt at being the one Ike gave his affections to, the one that Ike cared about in this way, the one whose body his hands touched in such a way. Ike was his, and by the Goddess was he ever Ike’s.

“I-Ike.” If he had any thoughts to spare, Soren might have been concerned that his nails (always kept neat and not overly long but sharp) were digging too harshly into the skin of Ike’s upper arms where it felt as though he were holding himself upright by that grip alone. Soren, however, did not have any thoughts to spare, so he would simply have to kiss the scratches with murmured apologies later.

Much later; after he was no longer caged in Ike’s arms (those strong broad hands gripping wonderfully firm onto his hips), once he could finally breathe again (as he was damn near panting for air currently), once he was no longer dizzy with the arousal throbbing through his entire body, brought on by the very deliberate and surprising actions of his boyfriend. Soren’s face was burning, no doubt a deep crimson from his blushing, his knees were weak and if he outright slipped from Ike’s arms due to them giving out he wouldn’t be surprised.

He wasn’t going to ask Ike to stop, though.

Ike did that all on his own, actually.

Pausing in his (rather thorough) task of sucking marks along Soren’s throat (very thorough; every press of his lips against skin, every scrap of teeth against his pulse, every gentle kiss after a sufficient mark had been made only made Soren all the more desperate to be pinned beneath Ike’s weight as just as thoroughly ravished) so he could chastely (such a stark difference to the determined near hungry actions of just moments prior) press his lips against Soren’s jaw. “Are you asking me to stop?”

Dear Goddess- the way lust roughened Ike’s voice never failed to make Soren’s heart stutter, the cocky knowing tone he had asked in yet Soren himself knowing that Ike would stop if asked made the mage’s breath hitch in his throat. With great effort he uncurled his fingers from Ike’s biceps so he could instead tangle them with wild navy locks of hair (noting very briefly that yes he had left scratch marks on Ike’s arms that he would need to tend to after) before using that firm grip in an attempt to pull Ike even closer against himself.

“D-Don’t you dare stop.” His demand was raspy and laced with a plea but a demand nonetheless, resulting in Soren releasing a soft moan as Ike shifted their positions just slightly- Soren was never disappointed by his partner’s strength, and he loved the ease in which Ike could grasp his thighs and just pull them up to around his waist (this resulting in an even more needy moan that would have embarrassed Soren were he aware of himself to realize he even made such a lewd desperate sound).

If he thought he was dizzy before it was nothing compared to now; with how he could feel Ike’s own arousal pressing against him, how all-enveloping yet comforting it was to be pinned against the wall in this manner (only because it was Ike, the one Soren trusted with the entirety of his very being), how his skin tingled with the anticipation of what was to come. He was wound rather tightly, and he has a suspicion that he was going to be exhausted by the end of this. Happily exhausted.

“I-I am c-curious, however,” the need to fill the air with words is sparked by his need to get himself at least slightly under control (already so needy and desperate, he almost does want to stop just for a moment so he can clear his mind even slightly), “What brought this on? You’re ah,” his eyes flutter shut as Ike nips in just the right spot to make him whimper, “N-Not usually one for leaving so many marks.”

For a second time, Ike pauses.

Soren isn’t concerned, though. He knows Ike well, better than anyone, and he can only assume that Ike needs a moment or two to collect his thoughts. The man was never the best with words, Soren knows and accepts this, and he will give him all the time in the world to compose himself and attempt to think on how best to explain his actions. As he waited he would brush his fingers through Ike’s hair and let himself be calmed by this brief lull in their passion; breathing still heavy but no longer coming out in pants, body still crying out for attention but no longer as desperate.

“I don’t like the way they look at you.”

Finally Ike speaks, words followed by him lifting his attentions from Soren’s neck to press a loving kiss against the brand on Soren’s forehead. “I’ve been noticing them more and more; the ones who look at you as if you’re something to be conquered, as if you can be owned and tamed and theirs. I hate it.” His hands had since returned to Soren’s hips and now they squeeze, thumbs briefly rubbing against his hip bones in a possessive yet comforting way. Please never stop touching him.

“I know you ignore them, you don’t let them bother you but-” a sigh, then another kiss at his brand as Ike’s hands slide up and down along his sides in a soothing motion that has goosebumps flaring over Soren’s sweat-damp skin. “I can’t stand it. Especially the ones who saunter over all cocky like and expect you to fall at their feet as if you owe them everything just for giving you attention.”

“They don’t know you; they don’t respect you and I just-” this time a huff, Soren can tell Ike is flustered by this and it warms his heart how much Ike cares. “I thought, maybe if there was something to make them not want you, they’d leave you alone. Maybe something they’d notice at first glance, besides the fact you almost always sit so close to me you might as well just sit in my lap.” A kiss his pressed to his cheek and Soren adores the feel of Ike’s grin against his skin.

“So I decided to leave my mark on you; maybe seeing them might keep people from trying to bother you, might make them realize that you don’t want to give them any of your time and keep them from approaching you.” By the time he is done speaking Ike has their foreheads pressed together and his hands are cupping Soren’s cheeks in his palms. The protective gleam in his eye has Soren’s heart doing flips while melting at the same time, he’s incredibly touched that Ike is so protective of him and he adores that he values his boundaries so much. He wouldn’t have minded if Ike had made the marks just to show the world that Soren was his, but this?

This was admittedly a much sweeter and cherished reasoning

“They’ll know that I’m not interested when I tell them they’re not worth my time.” His fingers had paused in their stroking of Ike’s hair, though now they continue after giving a gentle little tug. “But I appreciate your sentiment, Ike love.” A soft smile tilts his lips, turning his head slightly enables him to gently kiss Ike’s palm before nuzzling his cheek against it. “Always my protector aren’t you? I can’t say I mind, I’ll wear any marks from you with pride, after all.” Ike may not be quite as possessive as Soren was, but the mage didn’t mind; he meant what he said, anything to show that he was Ike’s and in return the Hero of Tellius was his.

“I know you would.” A kiss is pressed to his cheek before Ike begins dotting them along his jaw, then moving back down to his throat (his hands having drifted down to once more grasp Soren’s hips). “But I don’t want to do anything you wouldn’t like, and I know you’d be willing to suffer discomfort just to make me happy or keep from bothering me.”

“I’m glad you were so enthusiastic about it all.” The lips at his neck curl into a smirk before Ike nips. ”I was rather enjoying myself as well. So what do you say,” a slow and rough grinding of their hips together makes Soren give a soft startled gasp of pleasure; all at once the heat and need from before setting his body aflame once more, “We move this to our bed, and I finally stop teasing you hmm?”

“I say,” Soren’s fingers curl more tightly around Ike’s hair before pulling (the soft hiss his actions caused making Soren smirk slightly, knowing that it was going to wind Ike even further), “There’s a perfectly good wall right here, and I demand to be ravished oh Hero of mine~” The tightening of Ike’s hands at his hips and the low near growl of arousal that came from the man told Soren that he was going to get exactly as he desired, and as Ike drew him into a rough needy kiss, Soren found himself in the depths of his mind noting that he would care even less about the stares now…

After all, he had Ike to help him show just how little those others meant to him, and he would forever be thankful that Ike had chosen him above all others.

#My writing #Prompt fill #Fire Emblem #FE: PoR/RD #Ike #Soren #IkeSoren #Suggestive themes #Self worth #Self doubt #Light grinding #Making out #Hurt/Comfort #Possessiveness #Protectiveness #Your honour I love them

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ruffledfeathers89 · 1 year

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𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 "𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄" "𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇"

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬: Height at 6'4", dark brown hair that's long for a male, muscular and thin.

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲: Sam is a very comforting soul, when he has his soul. He is someone that is easy to talk to, easy to approach. He is kind hearted and will do his best to provide any comfort. But, Sam does have anger issues and when pressed or letting it build, he will explode. He is one to seek out vengeance. And when consuming blood, he will become increasingly more violent.

𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲: Sam's mother Mary died when he was only six months old. His father, John, was mostly absent, hunting and trying to track down the demon Azazel that had k/ lled his wife, leaving only his older brother, Dean to watch over him and raise him. Sam is very close to his brother and would do anything for him.

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: Married to Calista (Castiel's Sister/OC) @grumpylumberjacksworld

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝: Sam's mother was m/ reded when he was a baby, by the demon Azazel. The demon gave him demon blood, creating Sam into a monster without his family's nor his knowledge. John, his father raised both Dean and him to learn hunting and how to protect themselves, but failed in the aspect of being a father. He (and I see it this way for my muse) was highly abusive towards Dean and Sam, neglecting them and being a very stern figure in their lives. Sam and Dean found more comfort in Bobby, a close family friend and fellow hunter that they felt took up the role of their father better than John Winchester himself. Sam was a very smart kid, studying constantly, regardless of how many schools he and Dean had to move to through the various hunts. Sam graduated with high honours and the second he did, he left John and Dean to go to school, in doing so, cutting ties from them. No matter how much it hurt leaving Dean behind, Sam didn't want to be in the hunting life. He wanted a normal one. He would attend Stanford University, studying law. There he met a girl whom he fell deeply in love with, Jess. A girl whom he intended to marry one day. However, Dean came to him telling him of their father's disappearance and Sam found himself tugged back into the hunting world with the supernatural. Only on their return from the first hunt, Sam lost Jess in the same manner as his mother. She d/ ied and Sam took up revenge, wanting to find their father alongside Dean and back to being a hunter, leaving law behind. Sam would discover these demonic powers he had, causing nightmares of people dying to come true, alongside other abilities such as Telekinesis and more. Later, you'll find that him consuming demon blood (which does become an addiction for him) that turns him into a monster, one that could reign hell and exorcise demons without touching them, without reciting the exorcism itself. Much of hell would learn to fear him due to Azazel's outlined purpose for Sam to lead an army of hell. Sam Winchester is the vessel of Lucifer, the devil himself. He has a constant battle with the archangel when manipulated in releasing him. The devil does torture him, torment him, and constantly tries to get Sam to say yes to being his vessel. He succeeded once and Sam then was able to take control and send them to hell together. He would return to Earth soulless by the hands of the angel Castiel, Sam becoming cold and uncaring and using torture methods and things he normally wouldn't do with a soul. His stamina is very high when without a soul. Sam would get his soul back, but in doing so, many memories of his past torture in hell by Lucifer himself floods in. (There's much more to add on, but I haven't the patience right now).

𝐌𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐦: The man is traumatized and has quite the guilt, blaming himself for everything and nothing. He feels like he is a screw up and he won't ever be good enough for anyone. He feels he is bad, a freak, a problem. One that shouldn't exist in the world. He and Dean have a viscous cycle of saving one another, whether it creates an apocalypse or not. They will do anything for one another. Sam's quite the avid hunter and he fights with his addiction to demon blood and angel/archangel blood(my unique twist). Later...he decides to go and be a cop, still perusing law to legitimize his hunting and no longer have to lie about being a fed or an agent; rather he can show an actual badge and sort cases from being humans or the supernatural. He manages both, being a hunter and a cop/ranger.

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morocosmos · 2 years

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FFxivWrite Day 7: Pawn

Though Lord Emmanellain had insisted this was a small gathering by Ishgardian standards, citing the “bygone tea party and soiree-filled days of his youth” (which even Tataru had found it difficult not to snort over), barely two bells had passed before Moro’a almost found himself overwhelmed by an endless parade of greeting, bowing, and other such courtesies as he was faced with noble after noble. Though there were only a handful of representatives from the other three High Houses, the names of several other Houses had come up – lords and ladies who had a lesser involvement on the front lines of the Dragonsong War, and thus more time to spend attending banquets, he supposed.

However, even the minor nobility were not to be trifled with. Word travelled fast, and rumours all the quicker, and House Fortemps needed to maintain a sufficient degree of respectability amongst the upper echelons of society to carry out its duties. Moro’a had picked up as much on the Scions’ first day in Ishgard, and again when Count Edmont had subtly impressed upon him that his attendance was paramount to the evening’s success. The House’s reputation had already suffered a blow from their decision to take them in as wards, and his cooperation in allaying the nobles’ worst assumptions would help the Scions as much as it would benefit House Fortemps.

For weal or woe, their guests seemed morbidly curious about the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, particularly him. Even as he stood next to Tataru and Alphinaud, both of whom had naturally taken to the evening’s conversations, every other question would be directed towards the infamous, already-storied Warrior of Light – what was this dreadful business about riots in Ul’dah, what was it like for an outsider to combat dragons? And if it was indeed true that he had defeated the XIVth Legion, just how had he accomplished such a feat? They knew just enough to know the juiciest topics to strike for, and yet too little to engage with meaningfully – an odd position that left Moro’a increasingly frustrated, until he had at last retreated to a corner of the room to hide behind a glass of champagne and a spoon of tuna tartare, lest he accidentally slight a noble with a poorly-chosen phrase or expression. He wasn’t built for the prim, delicate needle-threading of politicking.

From across the room, he saw Haurchefant turn to face him and flash a small, apologetic smile, before a pair of Elezen women in lavishly-frilled gowns demanded his attention. The nobility were likely bombarding his friend with questions too, and Moro’a hoped they weren’t being too forward or scathing in their opinions. It was Haurchefant, after all, who had convinced his father to grant them passage into the city, whether they knew it or not.

It was growing warm in the dining room; Moro’a shifted in his new raiments. They were fussier than anything he’d ever worn, but he’d not been in a position to refuse them for the occasion. He was debating on trying some of the more unfamiliar morsels of food when he saw a young gentleman walking towards him, no doubt with the intention of speaking to him. Steeling himself, he put on a polite smile as he stood up to greet the man.

“Master Kihshimo. An honour and a pleasure to meet you at last; I am Lord Eaudent de Rougecarpe.” The lord bowed deeply, far more than it seemed necessary to.

“A pleasure to meet you in turn, milord.” Moro’a bowed back. The lord had a pleasant enough air about him, he reasoned – it would be wise not to act cautious right off the bat.

“If I might skip the usual pleasantries – I chanced to hear in passing of your feats as an adventurer,” Lord Eaudent continued. “I could not help but conclude that you might just be the answer to my House’s predicament. ‘Tis a situation that requires a capable man, one possessed with a ready aptitude for the, ah, outdoors.”

Moro’a was tempted to raise an eyebrow, though he managed to refrain. The lord was extremely bold to make a request of him this way, given he was not only the ward of a High House, but one who still had a questionable reputation. This man was either foolish, desperate, or possessed of great cunning, and Moro’a needed to ascertain which one he was.

“Myself and the other Scions are currently assisting the Count de Fortemps in a matter of House Fortemps, as things would have it.” Moro’a replied carefully.

Lord Eaudent smiled, his mouth just an ilm too wide. “Of course, of course. I would not be so uncouth as to borrow the Count’s ward without his blessing.” The lord turned away slightly, gazing just past Moro’a towards the window. “Forgive my forwardness. The winds of uncertainty do blow fiercely these days, and with the precarious balance on which my House lies, I must seek any solution I can…” He let that sentence hang in the air, as though to prompt a further response from Moro’a.

Godsdammit. Moro’a searched for the best way to indicate an open mind without implying any form of agreement. He could not outright reject the lord, not when an opportunity to perform a service for another House might just win them much-needed favour. “I know not if I will find myself with the time to spare once it has been settled, however…”

“Lord Eaudent! Is that you, old boy?” Lord Emmanellain had materialised from thin air to unceremoniously insert himself between the two of them. Moro’a had never been so glad to see him. “Why, I was just looking for your esteemed countenance, as you see….” The lordling’s voice faded as he spirited Eaudent de Rougecarpe away with little effort, leaving Moro’a blinking in surprise. Lord Artoirel appeared at his side a moment later.

“I thought it prudent to make use of my brother’s talents. They do prove useful on occasion,” Lord Artoirel stated quietly, in that matter-of-fact way of his. “My father asked that you acquaint yourself with the other nobles, and with good reason. But I would warn you to keep a polite distance from Lord Eaudent.”

And just like that, the older Fortemps brother left, likely to attend to some other guests. There’d been no explanation of why he needed to avoid the Rougecarpe lord – Moro’a would have to ask Lord Artoitel later, or find out on his own.

Turning to the window, he exhaled with a muted sigh, as much as he could within earshot of the nobility. How easily he might have been roped into another web of schemes had the Fortemps not intervened on his behalf. The Pillars was a battlefield of its own, and he needed to be more careful if he didn’t want to be manipulated for yet another powerful figure’s ulterior motives.

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #kae scribbles #tried adjusting moro'a's miqo'te grip (tm) on the glass lol this was the best i could achieve

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aike-pandas · 2 years

Text

Unpleasant view

×Event!×

*Friendly reminder this is with their Minecraft personas! I don't write about CCs.

Note: No pronouns used. GN reader. Curse words. A huge mention of Quackity, but not as a ship. You're besties ✨

Request: C!Skeppy with 17? <3

[C/N; Hating myself rn because I fucked up and accidentally posted the request without it being finished- so I lost the request but it was something like that ↑. I remember the heart thingy, so that's something.]

[C/N²; As a "sorry" for that accident, this one is larger than the others, enjoy ♥]

Angst story

Your relationship with Skeppy was truly confusing for everyone that met you. Specially for the both of you. Sometimes you both would act like you hated each others' guts, and other you would act like you were soulmates. It was... Special. To put it a title somehow.

You knew you loved him, deeply. But the long hours he would left you on read or not even do something to tell you that he was even alive, weren't for you. Heck, you were sure he answered Bad more than he did to you. You always saw him with Bad, that you couldn't help but feel jealous and upset about it.

At this point, in the short times you both speak, you know more about Bad than about Skeppy, who was your boyfriend by all meanings. Needless to say; you were done with his shit already.

So that night you decided to go out and let yourself enjoy whatever had to happen. You were tired of being his last option, of being treated more like a friend than his partner. And you were absolutely going to let him know that.

You dressed yourself to impress whoever decided to look at you. And since you were going to visit Quackity's Casino Royal; what is better than dress yourself in a Casino/Mafia aesthetic?

“Our gorgeous jewel! Welcome to the party!” as soon as you entered, you were welcomed by Quackity himself, who besides of being in his normal-flirty attitude, you could tell he was nervous a bit. Although he couldn't tell if his own nervousness was of how you were dressed or the situation he had witnessed a couple minutes ago. “Hello Big Q, it's a nice party the one you made” you smiled at him. He tried to fight a smirk, but the way you praised his party made him feel pride.

“Thank you darling, I'm very honoured you decided to come here this wonderful night” he winked at you. “How could I not? This place is amusing Q”.

Your conversation got interrupted by a lot of people cheering and whistling. Both, Q and you looked at eachother, what was happening now?You both walked towards the cause of the people's cherish. Quackity never felt worse for another person than that exact moment.

In the center of the crowd, you saw Bad and your boyfriend. You were pretty sure than best friends didn't kiss eachother on the mouth. You felt upset, angry. And your eyes wanted to cry. You heart wanted to cry.

“Jewel...” the sweet voice of Quackity got into your ears, he was worried about you, and he only made it more clear once he took your hand and took you away from that scene. “I'm truly sorry you had to witness that, darling”. His hands rubbed yours, in an intent of calming you down, of comfort. “...I don't know what to do anymore Q...” your voice broke the moment you started to speak, it was hard for you to make a complete sentence now.

“I know, sweets, I know...”

————

The day after you witnessed all of that, you felt confident on yourself. Like it or not, you were going to break up with Skeppy. Plus, you were sure he wouldn't mind a free way to date his true lover.

You gazed at your left, Quackity was still asleep on his chair. You were glad the man had made you company the whole night, both of you in his office or anywhere else in the Casino Royal, afar from the two lovers. He knew the pain you were going to and he comforted you the whole night. Not letting you think in that diamond boy, that had been tricking you since XD knows when.

You yawned, still tired from crying and feel your heart hurt. You gazed at the duck man at your side and let your head rest on his shoulder. He had already told you he wouldn't mind, so you decided to sleep there. Feeling a little bit better, and a little bit safer than before.

Good thing tho, you didn't have to go search for Skeppy; he came right into Quackity's office once Tubbo told him you stayed the night with him in his office.

“What the fuck!?” the yelling coming from Quackity waked you up. In front of the two of you was standing Skeppy, visibly mad. “Man, why the fuck did you just open the doors so aggressive?”, “Why the fuck did you to with my partner!?”.

You looked at Skeppy. “Why are you here?” you questioned him. “No, what the fuck are you doing here!?”. You looked back at Quackity, who didn't seem to catch up what was Skeppy's problem and then back at Skeppy. You weren't going to leave it so easy for the cheating diamond. “I can't tell you.”

“What do you mean "I can't tell you"!? I just found you with that man!” Skeppy looked so pissed at the situation, that you found it hilarious. “Yeah, so did I last night. Bad looked cute in the red suit don't you think?”. Skeppy remained speechless.

“Didn't thought that I would find out, Skep?, Well guess what honey, I did.” you stood up, facing him. “If you wanted to break up, you could of have told me, instead making me find your relationship with Bad FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE LAST TIME WE TALKED.”

Quackity's eyes went wide and decided that it was better to look to other side. Skeppy, however, seemed hurt by your words. “Little Diamond I-”, “Shut it, Skep. I'm not in the right state to hear your excuses. We're done, that's it.”

It was the first time in history you ever saw a diamond break.

*Hallo! Feel free to request or form part of the event!

#dreamsmp #skeppy x reader #skeppy #Bunny's Event

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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Anonymous asked: I enjoyed reading your posts about Napoleon’s death and it’s quite timely given its the 200th anniversary of his death this year in May. I was wondering, because you know a lot about military history (your served right? That’s cool to fly combat helicopters) and you live in France but aren’t French, what your take was on Napoleon and how do the French view him? Do they hail him as a hero or do they like others see him like a Hitler or a Stalin? Do you see him as a hero or a villain of history?

5 May 1821 was a memorable date because Napoleon, one of the most iconic figures in world history, died while in bitter exile on a remote island in the South Atlantic Ocean. Napoleon Bonaparte, as you know rose from obscure soldier to a kind of new Caesar, and yet he remains a uniquely controversial figure to this day especially in France. You raise interesting questions about Napoleon and his legacy. If I may reframe your questions in another way. Should we think of him as a flawed but essentially heroic visionary who changed Europe for the better? Or was he simply a military dictator, whose cult of personality and lust for power set a template for the likes of Hitler?

However one chooses to answer this question can we just - to get this out of the way - simply and definitively say that Napoleon was not Hitler. Not even close. No offence intended to you but this is just dumb ahistorical thinking and it’s a lazy lie. This comparison was made by some in the horrid aftermath of the Second World War but only held little currency for only a short time thereafter. Obviously that view didn’t exist before Hitler in the 19th Century and these days I don’t know any serious historian who takes that comparison seriously.

I confess I don’t have a definitive answer if he was a hero or a villain one way or the other because Napoleon has really left a very complicated legacy. It really depends on where you’re coming from.

As a staunch Brit I do take pride in Britain’s victorious war against Napoleonic France - and in a good natured way rubbing it in the noses of French friends at every opportunity I get because it’s in our cultural DNA and it’s bloody good fun (why else would we make Waterloo train station the London terminus of the Eurostar international rail service from its opening in 1994? Or why hang a huge gilded portrait of the Duke of Wellington as the first thing that greets any visitor to the residence of the British ambassador at the British Embassy?). On a personal level I take special pride in knowing my family ancestors did their bit on the battlefield to fight against Napoleon during those tumultuous times. However, as an ex-combat veteran who studied Napoleonic warfare with fan girl enthusiasm, I have huge respect for Napoleon as a brilliant military commander. And to makes things more weird, as a Francophile resident of who loves living and working in France (and my partner is French) I have a grudging but growing regard for Napoleon’s political and cultural legacy, especially when I consider the current dross of political mediocrity on both the political left and the right. So for me it’s a complicated issue how I feel about Napoleon, the man, the soldier, and the political leader.

If it’s not so straightforward for me to answer the for/against Napoleon question then it It’s especially true for the French, who even after 200 years, still have fiercely divided opinions about Napoleon and his legacy - but intriguingly, not always in clear cut ways.

I only have to think about my French neighbours in my apartment building to see how divisive Napoleon the man and his legacy is. Over the past year or so of the Covid lockdown we’ve all gotten to know each other better and we help each other. Over the Covid year we’ve gathered in the inner courtyard for a buffet and just lifted each other spirits up.

One of my neighbours, a crusty old ex-general in the army who has an enviable collection of military history books that I steal, liberate, borrow, often discuss military figures in history like Napoleon over our regular games of chess and a glass of wine. He is from very old aristocracy of the ancien regime and whose family suffered at the hands of ‘madame guillotine’ during the French Revolution. They lost everything. He has mixed emotions about Napoleon himself as an old fashioned monarchist. As a military man he naturally admires the man and the military genius but he despises the secularisation that the French Revolution ushered in as well as the rise of the haute bourgeois as middle managers and bureaucrats by the displacement of the aristocracy.

Another retired widowed neighbour I am close to, and with whom I cook with often and discuss art, is an active arts patron and ex-art gallery owner from a very wealthy family that came from the new Napoleonic aristocracy - ie the aristocracy of the Napoleonic era that Napoleon put in place - but she is dismissive of such titles and baubles. She’s a staunch Republican but is happy to concede she is grateful for Napoleon in bringing order out of chaos. She recognises her own ambivalence when she says she dislikes him for reintroducing slavery in the French colonies but also praises him for firmly supporting Paris’s famed Comédie-Française of which she was a past patron.

Another French neighbour, a senior civil servant in the Elysée, is quite dismissive of Napoleon as a war monger but is grudgingly grateful for civil institutions and schools that Napoleon established and which remain in place today.

My other neighbours - whether they be French families or foreign expats like myself - have similarly divisive and complicated attitudes towards Napoleon.

In 2010 an opinion poll in France asked who was the most important man in French history. Napoleon came second, behind General Charles de Gaulle, who led France from exile during the German occupation in World War II and served as a postwar president.

The split in French opinion is closely mirrored in political circles. The divide is generally down political party lines. On the left, there's the 'black legend' of Bonaparte as an ogre. On the right, there is the 'golden legend' of a strong leader who created durable institutions.

Jacques-Olivier Boudon, a history professor at Paris-Sorbonne University and president of the Napoléon Institute, once explained at a talk I attended that French public opinion has always remained deeply divided over Napoleon, with, on the one hand, those who admire the great man, the conqueror, the military leader and, on the other, those who see him as a bloodthirsty tyrant, the gravedigger of the revolution. Politicians in France, Boudon observed, rarely refer to Napoleon for fear of being accused of authoritarian temptations, or not being good Republicans.

On the left-wing of French politics, former prime minister Lionel Jospin penned a controversial best selling book entitled “the Napoleonic Evil” in which he accused the emperor of “perverting the ideas of the Revolution” and imposing “a form of extreme domination”, “despotism” and “a police state” on the French people. He wrote Napoleon was "an obvious failure" - bad for France and the rest of Europe. When he was booted out into final exile, France was isolated, beaten, occupied, dominated, hated and smaller than before. What's more, Napoleon smothered the forces of emancipation awakened by the French and American revolutions and enabled the survival and restoration of monarchies. Some of the legacies with which Napoleon is credited, including the Civil Code, the comprehensive legal system replacing a hodgepodge of feudal laws, were proposed during the revolution, Jospin argued, though he acknowledges that Napoleon actually delivered them, but up to a point, "He guaranteed some principles of the revolution and, at the same time, changed its course, finished it and betrayed it," For instance, Napoleon reintroduced slavery in French colonies, revived a system that allowed the rich to dodge conscription in the military and did nothing to advance gender equality.

At the other end of the spectrum have been former right-wing prime minister Dominique de Villepin, an aristocrat who was once fancied as a future President, a passionate collector of Napoleonic memorabilia, and author of several works on the subject. As a Napoleonic enthusiast he tells a different story. Napoleon was a saviour of France. If there had been no Napoleon, the Republic would not have survived. Advocates like de Villepin point to Napoleon’s undoubted achievements: the Civil Code, the Council of State, the Bank of France, the National Audit office, a centralised and coherent administrative system, lycées, universities, centres of advanced learning known as école normale, chambers of commerce, the metric system, and an honours system based on merit (which France has to this day). He restored the Catholic faith as the state faith but allowed for the freedom of religion for other faiths including Protestantism and Judaism. These were ambitions unachieved during the chaos of the revolution. As it is, these Napoleonic institutions continue to function and underpin French society. Indeed, many were copied in countries conquered by Napoleon, such as Italy, Germany and Poland, and laid the foundations for the modern state.

Back in 2014, French politicians and institutions in particular were nervous in marking the 200th anniversary of Napoleon's exile. My neighbours and other French friends remember that the commemorations centred around the Chateau de Fontainebleau, the traditional home of the kings of France and was the scene where Napoleon said farewell to the Old Guard in the "White Horse Courtyard" (la cour du Cheval Blanc) at the Palace of Fontainebleau. (The courtyard has since been renamed the "Courtyard of Goodbyes".) By all accounts the occasion was very moving. The 1814 Treaty of Fontainebleau stripped Napoleon of his powers (but not his title as Emperor of the French) and sent him into exile on Elba. The cost of the Fontainebleau "farewell" and scores of related events over those three weekends was shouldered not by the central government in Paris but by the local château, a historic monument and UNESCO World Heritage site, and the town of Fontainebleau.

While the 200th anniversary of the French Revolution that toppled the monarchy and delivered thousands to death by guillotine was officially celebrated in 1989, Napoleonic anniversaries are neither officially marked nor celebrated. For example, over a decade ago, the president and prime minister - at the time, Jacques Chirac and Dominque de Villepin - boycotted a ceremony marking the 200th anniversary of the battle of Austerlitz, Napoleon's greatest military victory. Both men were known admirers of Napoleon and yet political calculation and optics (as media spin doctors say) stopped them from fully honouring Napoleon’s crowning military glory.

Optics is everything. The division of opinion in France is perhaps best reflected in the fact that, in a city not shy of naming squares and streets after historical figures, there is not a single “Boulevard Napoleon” or “Place Napoleon” in Paris. On the streets of Paris, there are just two statues of Napoleon. One stands beneath the clock tower at Les Invalides (a military hospital), the other atop a column in the Place Vendôme. Napoleon's red marble tomb, in a crypt under the Invalides dome, is magnificent, perhaps because his remains were interred there during France's Second Empire, when his nephew, Napoleon III, was on the throne.

There are no squares, nor places, nor boulevards named for Napoleon but as far as I know there is one narrow street, the rue Bonaparte, running from the Luxembourg Gardens to the River Seine in the old Latin Quarter. And, that, too, is thanks to Napoleon III. For many, and I include myself, it’s a poor return by the city to the man who commissioned some of its most famous monuments, including the Arc de Triomphe and the Pont des Arts over the River Seine.

It's almost as if Napoleon Bonaparte is not part of the national story.

How Napoleon fits into that national story is something historians, French and non-French, have been grappling with ever since Napoleon died. The plain fact is Napoleon divides historians, what precisely he represents is deeply ambiguous and his political character is the subject of heated controversy. It’s hard for historians to sift through archival documents to make informed judgements and still struggle to separate the man from the myth.

One proof of this myth is in his immortality. After Hitler’s death, there was mostly an embarrassed silence; after Stalin’s, little but denunciation. But when Napoleon died on St Helena in 1821, much of Europe and the Americas could not help thinking of itself as a post-Napoleonic generation. His presence haunts the pages of Stendhal and Alfred de Vigny. In a striking and prescient phrase, Chateaubriand prophesied the “despotism of his memory”, a despotism of the fantastical that in many ways made Romanticism possible and that continues to this day.

The raw material for the future Napoleon myth was provided by one of his St Helena confidants, the Comte de las Cases, whose account of conversations with the great man came out shortly after his death and ran in repeated editions throughout the century. De las Cases somehow metamorphosed the erstwhile dictator into a herald of liberty, the emperor into a slayer of dynasties rather than the founder of his own. To the “great man” school of history Napoleon was grist to their mill, and his meteoric rise redefined the meaning of heroism in the modern world.

The Marxists, for all their dislike of great men, grappled endlessly with the meaning of the 18th Brumaire; indeed one of France’s most eminent Marxist historians, George Lefebvre, wrote what arguably remains the finest of all biographies of him.

It was on this already vast Napoleon literature, a rich terrain for the scholar of ideas, that the great Dutch historian Pieter Geyl was lecturing in 1940 when he was arrested and sent to Buchenwald. There he composed what became one of the classics of historiography, a seminal book entitled Napoleon: For and Against, which charted how generations of intellectuals had happily served up one Napoleon after another. Like those poor souls who crowded the lunatic asylums of mid-19th century France convinced that they were Napoleon, generations of historians and novelists simply could not get him out of their head.

The debate runs on today no less intensely than in the past. Post-Second World War Marxists would argue that he was not, in fact, revolutionary at all. Eric Hobsbawm, a notable British Marxist historian, argued that ‘Most-perhaps all- of his ideas were anticipated by the Revolution’ and that Napoleon’s sole legacy was to twist the ideals of the French Revolution, and make them ‘more conservative, hierarchical and authoritarian’.

This contrasts deeply with the view William Doyle holds of Napoleon. Doyle described Bonaparte as ‘the Revolution incarnate’ and saw Bonaparte’s humbling of Europe’s other powers, the ‘Ancien Regimes’, as a necessary precondition for the birth of the modern world. Whatever one thinks of Napoleon’s character, his sharp intellect is difficult to deny. Even Paul Schroeder, one of Napoleon’s most scathing critics, who condemned his conduct of foreign policy as a ‘criminal enterprise’ never denied Napoleon’s intellect. Schroder concluded that Bonaparte ‘had an extraordinary capacity for planning, decision making, memory, work, mastery of detail and leadership’. The question of whether Napoleon used his genius for the betterment or the detriment of the world, is the heart of the debate which surrounds him.

France's foremost Napoleonic scholar, Jean Tulard, put forward the thesis that Bonaparte was the architect of modern France. "And I would say also pâtissier [a cake and pastry maker] because of the administrative millefeuille that we inherited." Oddly enough, in North America the multilayered mille-feuille cake is called ‘a napoleon.’ Tulard’s works are essential reading of how French historians have come to tackle the question of Napoleon’s legacy. He takes the view that if Napoleon had not crushed a Royalist rebellion and seized power in 1799, the French monarchy and feudalism would have returned, Tulard has written. "Like Cincinnatus in ancient Rome, Napoleon wanted a dictatorship of public salvation. He gets all the power, and, when the project is finished, he returns to his plough." In the event, the old order was never restored in France. When Louis XVIII became emperor in 1814, he served as a constitutional monarch.

In England, until recently the views on Napoleon have traditionally less charitable and more cynical. Professor Christopher Clark, the notable Cambridge University European historian, has written. "Napoleon was not a French patriot - he was first a Corsican and later an imperial figure, a journey in which he bypassed any deep affiliation with the French nation," Clark believed Napoleon’s relationship with the French Revolution is deeply ambivalent.

Did he stabilise the revolutionary state or shut it down mercilessly? Clark believes Napoleon seems to have done both. Napoleon rejected democracy, he suffocated the representative dimension of politics, and he created a culture of courtly display. A month before crowning himself emperor, Napoleon sought approval for establishing an empire from the French in a plebiscite; 3,572,329 voted in favour, 2,567 against. If that landslide resembles an election in North Korea, well, this was no secret ballot. Each ‘yes’ or ‘no’ was recorded, along with the name and address of the voter. Evidently, an overwhelming majority knew which side their baguette was buttered on.

His extravagant coronation in Notre Dame in December 1804 cost 8.5 million francs (€6.5 million or $8.5 million in today's money). He made his brothers, sisters and stepchildren kings, queens, princes and princesses and created a Napoleonic aristocracy numbering 3,500. By any measure, it was a bizarre progression for someone often described as ‘a child of the Revolution.’ By crowning himself emperor, the genuine European kings who surrounded him were not convinced. Always a warrior first, he tried to represent himself as a Caesar, and he wears a Roman toga on the bas-reliefs in his tomb. His coronation crown, a laurel wreath made of gold, sent the same message. His icon, the eagle, was also borrowed from Rome. But Caesar's legitimacy depended on military victories. Ultimately, Napoleon suffered too many defeats.

These days Napoleon the man and his times remain very much in fashion and we are living through something of a new golden age of Napoleonic literature. Those historians who over the past decade or so have had fun denouncing him as the first totalitarian dictator seem to have it all wrong: no angel, to be sure, he ended up doing far more at far less cost than any modern despot. In his widely praised 2014 biography, Napoleon the Great, Andrew Roberts writes: “The ideas that underpin our modern world - meritocracy, equality before the law, property rights, religious toleration, modern secular education, sound finances, and so on - were championed, consolidated, codified and geographically extended by Napoleon. To them he added a rational and efficient local administration, an end to rural banditry, the encouragement of science and the arts, the abolition of feudalism and the greatest codification of laws since the fall of the Roman empire.”

Roberts partly bases his historical judgement on newly released historical documents about Napoleon that were only available in the past decade and has proved to be a boon for all Napoleonic scholars. Newly released 33,000 letters Napoleon wrote that still survive are now used extensively to illustrate the astonishing capacity that Napoleon had for compartmentalising his mind - he laid down the rules for a girls’ boarding school on the eve of the battle of Borodino, for example, and the regulations for Paris’s Comédie-Française while camped in the Kremlin. They also show Napoleon’s extraordinary capacity for micromanaging his empire: he would write to the prefect of Genoa telling him not to allow his mistress into his box at the theatre, and to a corporal of the 13th Line regiment warning him not to drink so much.

For me to have my own perspective on Napoleon is tough. The problem is that nothing with Napoleon is simple, and almost every aspect of his personality is a maddening paradox. He was a military genius who led disastrous campaigns. He was a liberal progressive who reinstated slavery in the French colonies. And take the French Revolution, which came just before Napoleon’s rise to power, his relationship with the French Revolution is deeply ambivalent. Did he stabilise it or shut it down? I agree with those British and French historians who now believe Napoleon seems to have done both.

On the one hand, Napoleon did bring order to a nation that had been drenched in blood in the years after the Revolution. The French people had endured the crackdown known as the 'Reign of Terror', which saw so many marched to the guillotine, as well as political instability, corruption, riots and general violence. Napoleon’s iron will managed to calm the chaos. But he also rubbished some of the core principles of the Revolution. A nation which had boldly brought down the monarchy had to watch as Napoleon crowned himself Emperor, with more power and pageantry than Louis XVI ever had. He also installed his relatives as royals across Europe, creating a new aristocracy. In the words of French politician and author Lionel Jospin, 'He guaranteed some principles of the Revolution and at the same time, changed its course, finished it and betrayed it.'

He also had a feared henchman in the form of Joseph Fouché, who ran a secret police network which instilled dread in the population. Napoleon’s spies were everywhere, stifling political opposition. Dozens of newspapers were suppressed or shut down. Books had to be submitted for approval to the Commission of Revision, which sounds like something straight out of George Orwell. Some would argue Hitler and Stalin followed this playbook perfectly. But here come the contradictions. Napoleon also championed education for all, founding a network of schools. He championed the rights of the Jews. In the territories conquered by Napoleon, laws which kept Jews cooped up in ghettos were abolished. 'I will never accept any proposals that will obligate the Jewish people to leave France,' he once said, 'because to me the Jews are the same as any other citizen in our country.'

He also, crucially, developed the Napoleonic Code, a set of laws which replaced the messy, outdated feudal laws that had been used before. The Napoleonic Code clearly laid out civil laws and due processes, establishing a society based on merit and hard work, rather than privilege. It was rolled out far beyond France, and indisputably helped to modernise Europe. While it certainly had its flaws – women were ignored by its reforms, and were essentially regarded as the property of men – the Napoleonic Code is often brandished as the key evidence for Napoleon’s progressive credentials. In the words of historian Andrew Roberts, author of Napoleon the Great, 'the ideas that underpin our modern world… were championed by Napoleon'.

What about Napoleon’s battlefield exploits? If anything earns comparisons with Hitler, it’s Bonaparte’s apparent appetite for conquest. His forces tore down republics across Europe, and plundered works of art, much like the Nazis would later do. A rampant imperialist, Napoleon gleefully grabbed some of the greatest masterpieces of the Renaissance, and allegedly boasted, 'the whole of Rome is in Paris.'

Napoleon has long enjoyed a stellar reputation as a field commander – his capacities as a military strategist, his ability to read a battle, the painstaking detail with which he made sure that he cold muster a larger force than his adversary or took maximum advantage of the lie of the land – these are stuff of the military legend that has built up around him. It is not without its critics, of course, especially among those who have worked intensively on the later imperial campaigns, in the Peninsula, in Russia, or in the final days of the Empire at Waterloo.

Doubts about his judgment, and allegations of rashness, have been raised in the context of some of his victories, too, most notably, perhaps, at Marengo. But overall his reputation remains largely intact, and his military campaigns have been taught in the curricula of military academies from Saint-Cyr to Sandhurst, alongside such great tacticians as Alexander the Great and Hannibal.

Historians may query his own immodest opinion that his presence on the battlefield was worth an extra forty thousand men to his cause, but it is clear that when he was not present (as he was not for most of the campaign in Spain) the French were wont to struggle. Napoleon understood the value of speed and surprise, but also of structures and loyalties. He reformed the army by introducing the corps system, and he understood military aspirations, rewarding his men with medals and honours; all of which helped ensure that he commanded exceptional levels of personal loyalty from his troops.

Yet, I do find it hard to side with the more staunch defenders of Napoleon who say his reputation as a war monger is to some extent due to British propaganda at the time. They will point out that the Napoleonic Wars, far from being Napoleon’s fault, were just a continuation of previous conflicts that arose thanks to the French Revolution. Napoleon, according to this analysis, inherited a messy situation, and his only real crime was to be very good at defeating enemies on the battlefield. I think that is really pushing things too far. I mean deciding to invade Spain and then Russia were his decisions to invade and conquer.

He was, by any measure, a genius of war. Even his nemesis the Duke of Wellington, when asked who the greatest general of his time was, replied: 'In this age, in past ages, in any age, Napoleon.'

I will qualify all this and agree that Napoleon’s Russian campaign has been rightly held up as a fatal folly which killed so many of his men, but this blunder – epic as it was – should not be compared to Hitler’s wars of evil aggression. Most historians will agree that comparing the two men is horribly flattering to Hitler - a man fuelled by visceral, genocidal hate - and demeaning to Napoleon, who was a product of Enlightenment thinking and left a legacy that in many ways improved Europe.

Napoleon was, of course, no libertarian, and no pluralist. He would tolerate no opposition to his rule, and though it was politicians and civilians who imposed his reforms, the army was never far behind. But comparisons with twentieth-century dictators are well wide of the mark. While he insisted on obedience from those he administered, his ideology was based not on division or hatred, but on administrative efficiency and submission to the law. And the state he believed in remained stubbornly secular.

In Catholic southern Europe, of course, that was not an approach with which it was easy to acquiesce; and disorder, insurgency and partisan attacks can all be counted among the results. But these were principles on which the Emperor would not and could not give ground. If he had beliefs they were not religious or spiritual beliefs, but the secular creed of a man who never forgot that he owed both his military career and his meteoric political rise to the French Revolution, and who never quite abandoned, amidst the monarchical symbolism and the court pomp of the Empire, the republican dreams of his youth. When he claimed, somewhat ambiguously, after the coup of 18 Brumaire that `the Revolution was over’, he almost certainly meant that the principles of 1789 had at last been consummated, and that the continuous cycle of violence of the 1790s could therefore come to an end.

When the Empire was declared in 1804, the wording, again, might seem curious, the French being informed that the `Republic would henceforth be ruled by an Emperor’. Napoleon might be a dictator, but a part at least of him remained a son of the Enlightenment.

The arguments over Napoleon’s status will continue - and that in itself is a testament to the power of one of the most complex figures ever to straddle the world’s stage.

Will the fascination with Napoleon continue for another 200 years?

In France, at least, enthusiasm looks set to diminish. Napoleon and his exploits are scarcely mentioned in French schools anymore. Stéphane Guégan, curator of the Musée d'Orsay in Paris, which, among other First Empire artworks, houses a plaster model of Napoleon dressed as a Roman emperor astride a horse, has described France's fascination with him as ‘a national illness.’ He believes that the people who met him were fascinated by his charm. And today, even the most hostile to Napoleon also face this charm. So there is a difficulty to apprehend the duality of this character. As he wrote, “He was born from the revolution, he extended and finished it, and after 1804 he turns into a despot, a dictator.”

In France, Guégan aptly observes, there is a kind of nostalgia, not for dictatorship but for strong leaders. "Our age is suffering a lack of imagination and political utopia,"

Here I think Guégan is onto something. Napoleon’s stock has always risen or fallen according to the vicissitudes of world events and fortunes of France itself.

In the past, history was the study of great men and women. Today the focus of teaching is on trends, issues and movements. France in 1800 is no longer about Louis XVI and Napoleon Bonaparte. It's about the industrial revolution. Man does not make history. History makes men. Or does it? The study of history makes a mug out of those with such simple ideological driven conceits.

For two hundred years on, the French still cannot agree on whether Napoleon was a hero or a villain as he has swung like a pendulum according to the gravitational pull of historical events and forces.

The question I keep asking of myself and also to French friends with whom I discuss such things is what kind of Napoleon does our generation need?

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #napoleon #french #french history #history #military history #bonaparte #france #historiography #republic #historians #personal

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magnetic-rose · 3 years

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Why Spones is a top-tier ship

AKA “the inherent homoeroticism of annoying the shit out of your co-worker.”

Spock and McCoy have a complicated relationship. A lot of their bickering and ideological differences lead fans to believe that they hate each other, but that’s an over-simplification of the truth. The reality is that Spock and McCoy are extremely close friends who care about each other deeply. Though sometimes their bickering turns serious during stressful situations, for the most time they seem to enjoy the banter. A common mischaracterization of their relationship seems to put McCoy as the bully and Spock as the victim. In truth, there are many times where Spock will say something specifically to get a rise out of McCoy. They fight. That’s how they show affection, not disdain. In fact, one could argue that some of their bantering have a flirtatious tone to it.

Kirk: Mister Spock, regaining eyesight would be an emotional experience for most. You, I assume, felt nothing.

Spock: On the contrary Captain. I had a very strong reaction. My first sight was the face of Doctor McCoy bending over me.

McCoy: ‘Tis a pity brief blindness didn’t increase your appreciation for beauty, Spock. (Operation -- Annihilate!)

Spock is a half-Vulcan, half-Human who has mostly chosen to follow his Vulcan heritage. As such, he is a being of almost pure logic. The truth about Vulcans are that they are secretly beings who feel things very deeply and intensely, and they feel the need to keep a tight lid on their emotions as to not succumb to them. McCoy, on the other hand, is a regular human. He’s a deeply emotional man who cares about others. One could argue that McCoy is almost too empathetic, as he lets his emotions rule him. Spock and McCoy are polar opposites; the brain and the heart, the logic and the emotion, the super-ego and the id.

Despite these differences, the two men are similar in a lot of ways. They’re both men of science, men of peace, and they both care very deeply for their Captain. They’re both self-sacrificing morons, to the chagrin of the other. Spock will prioritize McCoy’s life even when both of them know it’s not the logical choice to do so. Likewise, McCoy will take a hit for Spock even when they both know the Vulcan is stronger and better equipped to deal with pain than the doctor.

Spock: (In the middle of a blizzard) In this severe cold, we cannot survive much longer.

McCoy: Leave me here, Spock.

Spock: We go together or not at all.

McCoy: Don’t be a fool. My hands and face are frostbitten. I can’t feel my feet. Alone, you have a chance. Now do what I say. Go try to find Jim.

Spock: We go together! (All of Yesterdays)

In the episode, “The Empath,” Kirk, Spock and McCoy have to choose someone to be offered as sacrifice to be tortured by a group of aliens. Kirk obviously volunteers, but gets put to sleep by McCoy with a tranquilizer. Spock then states that he’ll offer himself up, as he has the higher chance of surviving the torture. McCoy then proceeds to sedate Spock as well, and sacrifices himself to be tortured by the aliens.

Spock: While the captain is asleep, I am in command. When the Vians return, I shall go with them.

McCoy: You mean, if I hadn't given him that shot

Spock: Precisely. The choice would have been the captain's. Now it is mine.

(McCoy turns away. Spock sits to carry on working. Gem puts her hand on Spock's shoulder, and smiles. McCoy comes up behind him and gives him an injection.)

Spock: Your action is highly unethical. My decision stands. (Spock falls asleep next to Kirk.)

McCoy: Not this time, Spock.

Underneath all the fighting and disagreements, there is a deep caring between Spock and McCoy that manifests itself into protectiveness towards each other. In “All of Yesterdays,” Spock is constantly showing concern for McCoy after he almost died of hypothermia. In aftermath of McCoy’s torture in “The Empath,” Spock is seen hovering over his body and caressing his face, worry written into his features. On the other hand, while McCoy constantly makes fun of Spock for his lack of emotions, he’s also highly aware of the Vulcan’s mental state and protective of it when others threaten to shatter his resilience.

McCoy: He's a Vulcan. You can't force emotion out of him.

Philana: You must be joking, Doctor.

McCoy: You'll destroy him.

Parmen: We can't let him die laughing, can we?

McCoy: (Watching as Spock starts to cry) I beg you! (Plato’s Stepchildren)

The episode “Amok Time” also demonstrates McCoy’s perceptiveness of Spock and Spock’s true feelings of friendship towards McCoy. McCoy is in fact the first person to notice that something is wrong with Spock:

McCoy: Oh, captain. Got a minute? It's Spock. Have you noticed anything strange about him?

Kirk: No, nothing in particular. Why ?

McCoy: Well, it's nothing I can pinpoint without an examination, but he's become increasingly restive. If he were not a Vulcan, I'd almost say nervous. And for another thing, he's avoiding food. I checked and he hasn't eaten at all in three days.

Kirk: That just sounds like Mister Spock in one of his contemplative phases.

Kirk doesn’t notice anything wrong with Spock, and initially dismisses McCoy’s concern, but McCoy immediately picked up on Spock’s mental turmoil. Despite his cantankerousness, McCoy not only cares about Spock but goes out of his way to look out for his mental state. Part of it might be because he’s his doctor, but how many doctors go so far as to monitor someone’s eating habits because they notice that person’s suddenly being fidgety? On Spock’s end, when it comes time for him to beam down to Vulcan to complete his marriage ceremony, he specifically asks for McCoy to be there:

Spock: By tradition, the male is accompanied by his closest friends.

Kirk: Thank you, Mister Spock.

Spock: I also request McCoy accompany me.

McCoy: I shall be honoured, sir.

One episode I find extremely fascinating in terms of McCoy/Spock moments is “Mirror, Mirror.” In this famous episode, half of the Enterprise crew get transported into an alternate universe dubbed The Mirror Verse, in which evil versions of the characters exist and terrorize space as a fearsome military force. McCoy is part of the team that gets transported in the Mirror Verse, while Spock stays in their regular universe. Mirror Spock immediately realizes that half of the crew, including Kirk and McCoy, are acting strangely. When he corners Kirk to question him, he does so by threatening McCoy: “I shall not waste time with you. You’re too inflexible, too disciplined, once you’ve made up your mind. But Doctor McCoy has a plenitude of human weaknesses, sentimental, soft. You may not tell me what I want to know, but he will.” This Spock seems to have a intimate knowledge of McCoy’s mind. When the party decides to attack Mirror Spock, he fights all of them except for Uhura and McCoy, who he simply pushes out of harm’s way.

When Mirror Spock gets hurt as the crew is trying to escape back to their own universe, McCoy is suddenly unable to leave his side. Kirk allows him to stay to nurse Spock back to health, and McCoy risks almost staying in the Mirror Verse forever for him. When Mirror Spock awakes, he backs McCoy into a wall and initiates a forced mind meld onto the doctor. The next scene has Mirror Spock holding a disoriented McCoy up and bringing him back to his crew; he now understands what is happening and he wants his regular crew back, and thus he allows Kirk and company to make the switch back to their own universe.

Other Star Trek properties have gone more in depth on how a forced mind meld can be extremely traumatizing on the person receiving it. Star Trek: Enterprise has an entire story arc dedicated to the Vulcan T’Pol trying to heal from a forced mind meld. Unfortunately, because the nature of TOS episodes were episodic, we never got the chance to explore the emotional fallout of McCoy’s forced mind meld and how that might have affected his relationship with Spock. The franchise also never went in depth on Mirror McCoy outside of what Mirror Spock speaks of him, since Mirror McCoy died of xenopolycythemia in 2269.

Closing the list of evidence of Spock and McCoy’s affections towards each other are the Star Trek movies “The Wrath of Khan” and “The Search for Spock.” Towards the end of Wrath of Khan, Spock sacrifices himself to save The Enterprise in one of the franchises most heart-wrenching scenes. Moments before his sacrifice, he knocks McCoy unconscious, touches his face and whispers “remember.” What happened in this scene was that Spock, knowing he was about to die, transferred his Katra to McCoy. The katra being the Vulcan equivalent of a soul. This speaks to the amount of trust that Spock has in McCoy. For someone who keeps most of his emotions under a tight lid, it’s a huge gesture to entrust another with the essence of their entire being. The next movie, The Search for Spock, is a journey as the Enterprise crew fight to return to Vulcan so they can reunite Spock with his body. When they finally arrive, the Vulcans warn McCoy that the process is extremely dangerous and could even result in his death. McCoy calmly replies that he “chooses the danger.” He cannot fathom living his life without Spock.

McCoy: (Speaking to Spock) I'm going to tell you something that I... I never thought I'd hear myself say...But it seems I've missed you. I don't know if I could stand to lose you again.

So in conclusion, Spock and McCoy have a rich and complex relationship that is much more than simply just “they dislike each other because they bicker a lot.” Their bickering is more akin to that of an old married couple. There are plenty of examples not even included in this post of how deeply they care for each other. Despite their ideological differences, they balance each other out quite nicely. McCoy is finely attuned to Spock’s emotions, arguably better than anyone else on the ship. Spock in turn is protective and gentle with McCoy. Once you stop looking at their interactions solely on the surface level, you’ll be able to see the tenderness and years of love and friendship between them. This is why I think Spock/McCoy is one of the most underrated and misunderstood relationships of TOS. Don’t let the constant arguing fool you into believing these two dummies don’t adore each other.

Shout-out to Tempest for their extremely lengthy ship manifesto on Spones called “Spiced Peaches,” which goes even more in depth on why Spones is a great couple. Using their manifesto as a reference was key to remembering Spock/McCoy moments. Also shout-out to the site chakoteya for having full transcripts of TOS episodes, so I could easily find quotes for this. If you’ve come this far, thanks for reading!

#star trek #tos #leonard mccoy #spock #spones #this was... a lot

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