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suzannahnatters · 1 year

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all RIGHT:

Why You're Writing Medieval (and Medieval-Coded) Women Wrong: A RANT

(Or, For the Love of God, People, Stop Pretending Victorian Style Gender Roles Applied to All of History)

This is a problem I see alllll over the place - I'll be reading a medieval-coded book and the women will be told they aren't allowed to fight or learn or work, that they are only supposed to get married, keep house and have babies, &c &c.

If I point this out ppl will be like "yes but there was misogyny back then! women were treated terribly!" and OK. Stop right there.

By & large, what we as a culture think of as misogyny & patriarchy is the expression prevalent in Victorian times - not medieval. (And NO, this is not me blaming Victorians for their theme park version of "medieval history". This is me blaming 21st century people for being ignorant & refusing to do their homework).

Yes, there was misogyny in medieval times, but 1) in many ways it was actually markedly less severe than Victorian misogyny, tyvm - and 2) it was of a quite different type. (Disclaimer: I am speaking specifically of Frankish, Western European medieval women rather than those in other parts of the world. This applies to a lesser extent in Byzantium and I am still learning about women in the medieval Islamic world.)

So, here are the 2 vital things to remember about women when writing medieval or medieval-coded societies

FIRST. Where in Victorian times the primary axes of prejudice were gender and race - so that a male labourer had more rights than a female of the higher classes, and a middle class white man would be treated with more respect than an African or Indian dignitary - In medieval times, the primary axis of prejudice was, overwhelmingly, class. Thus, Frankish crusader knights arguably felt more solidarity with their Muslim opponents of knightly status, than they did their own peasants. Faith and age were also medieval axes of prejudice - children and young people were exploited ruthlessly, sent into war or marriage at 15 (boys) or 12 (girls). Gender was less important.

What this meant was that a medieval woman could expect - indeed demand - to be treated more or less the same way the men of her class were. Where no ancient legal obstacle existed, such as Salic law, a king's daughter could and did expect to rule, even after marriage.

Women of the knightly class could & did arm & fight - something that required a MASSIVE outlay of money, which was obviously at their discretion & disposal. See: Sichelgaita, Isabel de Conches, the unnamed women fighting in armour as knights during the Third Crusade, as recorded by Muslim chroniclers.

Tolkien's Eowyn is a great example of this medieval attitude to class trumping race: complaining that she's being told not to fight, she stresses her class: "I am of the house of Eorl & not a serving woman". She claims her rights, not as a woman, but as a member of the warrior class and the ruling family. Similarly in Renaissance Venice a doge protested the practice which saw 80% of noble women locked into convents for life: if these had been men they would have been "born to command & govern the world". Their class ought to have exempted them from discrimination on the basis of sex.

So, tip #1 for writing medieval women: remember that their class always outweighed their gender. They might be subordinate to the men within their own class, but not to those below.

SECOND. Whereas Victorians saw women's highest calling as marriage & children - the "angel in the house" ennobling & improving their men on a spiritual but rarely practical level - Medievals by contrast prized virginity/celibacy above marriage, seeing it as a way for women to transcend their sex. Often as nuns, saints, mystics; sometimes as warriors, queens, & ladies; always as businesswomen & merchants, women could & did forge their own paths in life

When Elizabeth I claimed to have "the heart & stomach of a king" & adopted the persona of the virgin queen, this was the norm she appealed to. Women could do things; they just had to prove they were Not Like Other Girls. By Elizabeth's time things were already changing: it was the Reformation that switched the ideal to marriage, & the Enlightenment that divorced femininity from reason, aggression & public life.

For more on this topic, read Katherine Hager's article "Endowed With Manly Courage: Medieval Perceptions of Women in Combat" on women who transcended gender to occupy a liminal space as warrior/virgin/saint.

So, tip #2: remember that for medieval women, wife and mother wasn't the ideal, virgin saint was the ideal. By proving yourself "not like other girls" you could gain significant autonomy & freedom.

Finally a bonus tip: if writing about medieval women, be sure to read writing on women's issues from the time so as to understand the terms in which these women spoke about & defended their ambitions. Start with Christine de Pisan.

I learned all this doing the reading for WATCHERS OF OUTREMER, my series of historical fantasy novels set in the medieval crusader states, which were dominated by strong medieval women! Book 5, THE HOUSE OF MOURNING (forthcoming 2023) will focus, to a greater extent than any other novel I've ever yet read or written, on the experience of women during the crusades - as warriors, captives, and political leaders. I can't wait to share it with you all!

#watchers of outremer #medieval history #the lady of kingdoms #the house of mourning #writing #writing fantasy #female characters #medieval women #eowyn #the lord of the rings #lotr #history #historical fiction #fantasy #writing tip #writing advice

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i-cant-sing · 22 days

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My OCs pt 2

TIME TRAVELLER AU:

Original idea

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

What if Baldwin gets sick while reader isnt there?

Reader introducing medieval times to soap

Baldwin reacting to reader not wanting to have babies

Baldwin being a green flag (and Salauddin being disgusted)

Baldwin when reader goes into labour

Reader is mad at Baldwin

#yandere baldwin #yandere king baldwin #yandere leper king #yandere baldwin iv #male yandere #bnha headcanon #yandere male #tw yandere #yandere #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 12 days

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Winter's King 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: double chapter day?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The summer sun brings little warmth to the castle of Debray. Those left behind in the shadow of their lord’s march to war, bide their time with baited breaths and unspoken worries. The duchess sinks into her cups, a nectar to her already sharp tongue, as her daughter buries herself in her wardrobe.

Lady Jazlene hands you dress after dress, demanding a stitch here or there, only to snatch it back and have you cut the cloth of another to alter yet a third. And a fourth, fifth, sixth. Strips of fabric and loose buttons litter the drawing room table as you and Merinda put your needles to work.

“Motherrrr,” Jazlene swirls around, swaying her hips back and forth, “it has been a fortnight already.”

“Your father will return soon,” Lady Rezlyn slurs before she empties her goblet. She has no husband to chide her away from excess. “Never fear, dearest.”

“That is not—mother, what am I to do? I have no wedding dress!”

“You have no mind,” Rezlyn snickers, “you will have only rags by the time you decide.”

“Hm,” Jazlene approaches the table with her hands on her hips, “mother, that gown with the gold lace. The one you wore last solstice--”

“My gold lace,” Rezlyn sneers, “no!”

“But mother. I only want the lace. You can have it re-trimmed. It would look much nicer with pearls,” Jazlene whines, “do you not understand? I am to marry a king. I cannot look as some simple countryside daughter.”

Rezlyn clucks and shakes her head, “if it hushes your endless moaning, have the lace.”

Jazlene gives a triumphant grin and turns to you. She grabs your arm and the needle catches in the fabric, slipping from your grasp, “go fetch mother’s dress. It is rosy satin.”

“And wine! Bring more wine,” Rezlyn interjects.

Jazlene rolls her eyes and flicks you away with her fingers. You hastily retreat as Merinda grimaces at her labour. Your fingers hurt from the endless hemming and seaming and you’ve noticed she’s jabbed herself more than once as the noble daughter changes course back and forth.

You flit from the chamber and sweep down to the kitchens. The descent into the cellar is lit by only the candle in your hand, the flame wobbling dangerously before you. You find a bottle of the duchess’ preferred and climb back into the light.

You snuff the tallow and quickly press on you. You climb the stairs again but falter as the wail of a horn breaks the afternoon din. You spin and turn to the window. Several other servants cluster beneath the arched opening as they try to see the horizon. The blast comes again, three in quick succession, followed by a long blare.

The noise of chain and mail comes from the courtyard below. The few men left behind to man the castle walls are quick to action. You can see the flap of banners and nothing more between the other curious bodies.

“Who is it? Enemy soldiers?” Waldon wonders.

“I cannot see, my eyes are dim,” Margite shields her vision from the sun as leans over the sill. Their chatter swirls at the approach.

“It is them! The Lord’s banner!” Stellan exclaims, “I can make out the sun and the sword on the banner. And the Winter King’s white crown.”

“They return! They return!” Another cries out, “are they victorious?”

You shuffle away. You forget about the golden lace and return to the drawing room. You enter and look down at the bottle in your hands. You blink, trying to recall what you were about to do. You set the wine on the table near the duchess as Jazlene seizes your other arm.

“Where is the dress?” She snarls, “ugh, are you so useless--”

“They’ve returned,” you utter cluelessy.

“They...” Jazlene begins.

“The king and your father, my lady,” you explain, “we saw them through the window. I thought to say so before I went to your mother’s wardrobe--”

“Quiet!” She shoves you away, “I need a different dress. The crimson slit with ivory. Yes, yes, now!”

She pushes you again and you stumble to the door.

“And slippers,” she calls after you, “Merinda! Get over here.”

You scurry back out and to Lady Jazlene’s chamber. You enter and sort through the mess of her clothing strewn and heaped about. You find the red and ivory dress and a pair of slippers of a similar hue. You are certain to bring a selection of jewels and pins to assuage any further remonstrance.

In the drawing room, Jazlene has Merinda fixing her hairpins. You approach with your armful and lay it on the table. Outside the walls, you can hear the chaos unfurling. You can hardly keep the noises straight as cogs grind, ropes groan, and the noblewoman carry on their tittering.

You help Jazlene step into the dress, Merinda holding the other side. As you work at the sleeves and skirts, she fidgets around.

“The king? The king is with them for sure?” She breaths.

You nod, “yes, my lady. His banner--”

“Mother! They have won. They must have.”

“Do not be too presumptuous,” the other lady rises and nears the table, snatching up a string of pearls, “come. Put these around my neck.”

There’s banging and knocking and footfalls and voices yelling. The walls cannot keep out the rising fervour. Horse hooves and rusty hinges. They are close, in the castle or more. You pull tight the laces of the dress as Merinda clasps the pearls around the duchess’ thick neck.

There is someone before the door. A shadow darkens below it for just an instant before it opens. No permission is asked as Lord Dustan clatters in. His eyes is swollen near shut.

“Daughter, wife, you must come down to the--”

Heavy, steady steps follow him. You continue to weave the laces through the eyes, going as fast as you can.

“Father, I am not dressed. I am not ready to receive--” Jazlene protests.

Dustan looks behind him and backs away from the doorframe. King Geralt fills it with his large figure, a dark cut along his hairline though he hardly seems bothered by it. Otherwise, he is untouched, unblemished. You knot the laces as you peek over Jazlene’s shoulder and his gold eyes shimmer in the low lantern light.

“Your highness,” Jazlene gasps and drops to a curtsy. You stand, dumbfounded for an instant before you bend your neck and your knee to his status. “We were not warned of your coming. I pray you have tasted victory,” she raises her head slowly, “and we may wed in celebration to ring your reign in the Summer Kingdom.”

He grumbles as his eyes search the space. Dull yet vibrant at the same time. He tilts his head as his jaw squares, “a king’s wife mustn’t fret so much about silks and wine,” he growls as he breaks the threshold. He marches to the rigid high back chair and lowers himself, “victory is mine but that does not mark the end of my efforts. I have no kingdom until all that which has broken is repaired.”

“Certainly, your highness, and I will be by your side to help you amend what has been injured. As your loyal wife and queen,” she wilts as she wobbles just a little, “I am only so happy to see you alive and returned.” She rises as straight as she can and sweeps over to him, pushing out her chest, “but not unharmed. Your highness, you have been wounded.”

She goes to touch the gash along his forehead and he motions her away with a flat palm.

“It is not dire,” he insists, “Lord Dustan, where is your bishop?”

“I sent away for him. He will come,” the duke avows.

“The bishop?” Jazlene looks to her mother.

“For the vows, precious,” Dustan assures.

“The vows? Now? Today? But father--”

“I haven’t time to wait around on paltry feasts and drunken hordes,” the king insists.

“But-- but--” Jazlene stammers, “I am a queen, I should have a wedding.”

“You are still but a duke’s daughter,” the king snaps, “a wedding you will have. Let us swear the words as was arranged. Then we must away.”

“Away? Away?” Jazlene echoes again.

“Take this parrot away from me,” King Geralt barks as he slams his fist into the arm of chair, “I tire of her squawking. When the bishop arrives, fetch me and I shall keep the oath I made.”

The edge in his voice cannot be missed on that single word. He is a man who would not break a promise given, not the like the one cowering by the door. You glance up slowly as you notice Jazlene quaking. You can tell by her fists that she is not so much afraid anymore as she is angered.

“Daughter,” Rezlyn girds and touches her daughter’s arm, “a wife should learn first to obey. Let us go paint your lips and await the bishop.”

“This cannot be...” Jazlene hisses.

“Quiet,” Lord Dustan snaps, “you want to marry, you marry as you are told. Out.”

Lady Rezlyn keeps the duke from grabbing his daughter, instead steering her through the door herself. Merinda follows first and you trail after. The king grumbles, “Debray, leave a maid. She may fetch me that wine.”

“My lord,” Lord Dustan points you back tersely, “the wine.”

“Leave me,” King Geralt demands of his fair-weather lord.

Dustan retreats and shuts the door heavily. You turn and cross to the table where you left the sealed bottle. You put your hand around the neck and lift it. You face the king and cross to him with your head low.

“Your highness, would you like a goblet?” You ask.

“I am not interested in imbibing,” he reaches beneath his mail and pulls free a grey handkerchief, “pour it on this.”

You crack the wax seal of the bottle and grab the bulbous head of the cork. You wiggle it but cannot dislodge it. You struggle with it and he wraps his large hand around the pregnant bottom.

“Little maid,” he slips it from your grasp and puts the kerchief in your hand.

The uncorks it with only his thumb, flicking free the stopper, and he reaches out to you. You press the cloth to rim and he tilts it slightly, wetting the fabric. He pulls it away and reaches to place it on the floor. You look at him curiously. He leans forward and runs his index below the gash in his head. You get his meaning and daintily press the damp cloth to his head.

“The alcohol cleanses,” he says as he leans heavier into your touch.

“It looks rather painful, your highness.”

You wince at your own careless words. You don’t know why you said anything at all. He sits in silence, breathing slowly. At last, he sits back and looks at you. You drop your hand and your chin.

“Might I get you anything else, your highness?” You offer as you fold the cloth into a tight wad.

“Tell me, how do you fare?”

“Your highness?” You peek up at him through your lashes.

“Are you well? Have you rested? Are you fed?” He prompts.

You raise your head, surprised by his questions.

“I am well, your highness. I have a roof above me.”

His cheek ticks, “same as you were. Same as I remember.”

He puts his head back and closes his eyes. He sighs deeply. You waver before him, unsure what to do next.

“I don’t mind the cold. My land is frigid most days but I felt a true shiver out there on that road. Even Roach could not ease it.”

You watch him, awaiting an order, not so well attuned to conversation. More often than not, a response is not warranted, just action. He gives you little direction though he is a man who easily commands.

“My horse. Stinky steed,” he muses as he keeps his eyes closed, “valiant nonetheless.” He lets out another heavy exhale, “will you mind the door? Wake me when the bishop arrives should I doze?”

“As you wish, your highness,” you go to the door, taking your usual stance beside it.

He is still. The amber light of the lantern limns his large figure as he reclines in the stiff chair. He does not move but a man who has ridden to war has slept on worse. You cannot tell if he truly slumbers but you know it is not appropriate to stare.

You remain in silence. It isn’t so bad to the duchess and her daughter. Almost serene if not for the tension of the man’s presence. A king. A wintry figure with his icy hair and colder demeanour. You do not envy Jazlene, he will be a rigid husband. She will not bowl him over as her mother does the duke.

You listen beyond the walls, trying to track the activity beyond. There are softer voices you can’t make out, creaks which could be only the wind, and footfalls which are most certainly only servants about their tasks. The tedium stretches on as the lantern light wobbles.

You stare at the wall opposite. The summer hue breezes in with a hint of pollen between the open curtains. Still the chamber remains dim in stone and mortar.

There is the crank of the gates and you shift. You turn your head to hear better the entry of a new party. A man’s tenor from below assures you of the arrival. You wait until the footfalls reach the stairs. You do not relish waking the king should he have managed to sleep.

You look to the king in the chair but find him alert. His eyes are centered on you as he sits straight, golden irises blazing. You gulp and shy away.

“I believe the bishop has come, your highness.”

He doesn’t speak or move. He just watches you. His gaze bores until it burns. You fear you might have strayed somehow.

Finally, he slides to the edge of the chair and stands. He does not seem eager as he makes slow progress towards the door. As he crosses the room, he stops, just before the door, right beside you.

“A war for a wife,” he mutters, “a barter, I suppose.” He reaches for the metal loop on the door, “come, little maid, we might need a pillow should the lady faint again.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #winter's king #medieval au

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i-was-today-years-old-when · 8 months

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i learned what is the most bizarre government in world history?

A bit strange that no one speaks of Italian city-states here.

I think they tried just every conceivable form of government. I will tell a bit about my dearest Florentine Republic.

In 13th century, Italian city-states witnessed an intense fight between pro-Emperor and pro-Pope factions. Most nobles were pro-Emperor. Florence was one of the places where they lost the battle, which led to the establishment of democracy.

Of course, this democracy was very different from what we call democracy today. Modern Western countries are representative democracies where people only vote in the elections and countries are governed by professional politicians. A medieval Italian would call such system aristocratic.

Of course, Florentine democracy was also exclusive. Wage labourers, people in debt and women were excluded. But all others could directly participate in government of their country: 5,000–8,000 people out of 25,000–50,000 adult citizens.

Political parties were forbidden (actually, the word party was invented as a slur, something that people do not remember now). Elections were seen as aristocratic mechanism because the rich and the educated would be capable to convince or bribe others to vote for them. So the main mechanism of democracy was casting lots.

Florence was subdivided into four quarters, sixteen neighborhoods and twenty-one corporations (seven major ones representing rich citizens and fourteen minor ones representing poor citizens): every citizen was a member of one of those. Initially, corporations had something to do with profession. Nobles renounced their nobility and joined corporations to be able to participate in the government. For instance, nobleman Dante Alighieri entered the corporation of Doctors and Apothecaries, and the ancestors of Niccolo Machiavelli registered in the corporation of Winemakers.

The main government body was Signoria. It consisted of eight Priors (two representing every quarter, six representing major corporations and two representing minor corporations) and one Gonfalonier of Justice, the chairman. They ruled the city during the period of two months only and then replaced by others. Signoria was the main legislative and executive authority. However, it could take major decisions only in common with other bodies such as Twelve Good Men (three persons from every quarter, mostly rich people) and Sixteen Gonfaloniers (one from every neighbourhood). These three bodies (Signoria, Twelve Good Men and Sixteen Gonfaloniers) were all chosen by lot: notes with their names were chosen from special leather bags preserved in the sacristy of the Santa Croce cathedral.

The laws were approved by the Council of the Commune (192 people, 48 from every quarter, majority rich) and the Council of the People (160 people, 10 from every neighbourhood, majority poor).

There was an enormous quantity of other governing bodies that regulated everything that needed to be regulated in the Republic, from quality checks of the bread to the licensing of the sex workers. In most cases, people served from three to six months. It meant that every full-fledged male citizen of the Florentine Republic could hope to be chosen for one of these positions.

The judicial and military power belonged to the podestà, a foreign citizen with good reputation, legal education and a military company or at least a group of armed servants. Florentines believed that a foreigner would be a more impartial judge in Florentine discussions. A podestà was invited to Florence for six months.

Finally, the Medici family managed to circumvent the system and become rulers of Florence but it took time. The system of checks and balances did work.

However, no one was able to circumvent the government system of Venetian Republic. Do you know why?

For more than five centuries (from 1268 to 1797) the procedure to elect the doge (chief of state) did not change.

Choose 30 members of the Great Council by lot.

These 30 people are reduced by lot to 9.

These 9 people choose 40 other people.

These 40 are reduced by lot to 12.

These 12 people choose 25 other people.

These 25 people are reduced by lot to 9.

These 9 people choose 45 other people.

These 45 people are reduced by lot to 11.

These 11 people choose 41 other people.

These 41 people elect the doge.

Funny that many Americans blame their electoral system for being complicated. You may think what you want about the Venetian system but it guaranteed what was probably the most stable government in the history of mankind.

By the way, despite the fact he was elected for life, the power of the chief of state in Venice was very much limited.

He could not appear in public without other officials present (security from populism). He could not meet foreign diplomats or open foreign dispatches without other officials present (security from collusion with foreign governments). He could not possess any property in a foreign land.

However, he had a nice place to live.

#today i learned #facts #truth #history #government

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thesimline · 8 months

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The simple, clean lines of 1300s male fashion gave way to a more elaborate and square silhouette come the 1400s. Armour used to consist of full body chain mail with a simple tunic over top, but come the Renaissance it had evolved into the plated armour we typically associate with medieval knights, and was worn by both army men and nobility.

You can find more of my historical content here: 1300s ✺ 1400s ✺ 1500s ✺ 1600s

OUTFIT RESOURCES

King: Crown | Hair | Beard (Seasons) | Gown | Ring

Prince: Crown | Hair (TSR) | Outfit | Cloak | Rings (TSR)

Duke: Crown | Hair (direct download - The Chorus Curls by Retro Pixels) | Beard (Base Game) | Armour

Minstrel: Hair (retired CC) | Outfit

Knight: Helmet | Armour (TSR)

Soldier: Coif | Outfit

Patrician: Hat | Hair (TSR) | Beard (Cottage Living) | Outfit

Citizen: Hat | Hair (Seasons) | Beard (Cottage Living) | Outfit

Tradesman: Head Covering | Hair (City Living) | Outfit

Labourer: Hair (High School Years) | Beard | Outfit

With thanks to some amazing creators: @simverses @imvikai @thesensemedieval @scoobysnaxsims @glitterberrysims @albumenplumbob @lilis-palace @hezzasims @igorstory @zx-ta @blvck-life-simz @wiccandove

#ts4 #ts4 cc cas #the sims 4 #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 cc #ts4 historical #ts4 history challenge #sims 4 history challenge #sims 4 historical #ts4 medieval #1400s #15th century #ultimate decades challenge #ts4 lookbook #lookbook #renaissance #medieval #historical lookbook

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 11 months

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Consequences | Prologue

Summary: Only nine and ten, she does not know much about the world and when she acquires a job at the Red Keep as a maidservant, she catches the dark and ominous attention of the One-Eyed Prince. Unsure if she even wants it, she may realise that the realm is not so kind to lowborn women, regardless of the situation they find themselves in | Word Count: 1.4k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Series Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, dub-con, mean Aemond, manipulation, gore, blood, violence, major angst

A/N: This is intended to be a dark one, so please read all the warnings before continuing. Warnings will be highlighted when needed. Aemond’s gonna be pretty mean, self-serving and not at all very nice in this one! Basically a spoilt prince reaping the benefits, so beware. You know me, I love a bit of angst.

She liked being early to rise.

It meant that for a few small moments, she could pretend that the hallways were all her own. However brief they were. It was a small slither of peace for the young maidservant.

That was at least until the Red Keep began to wake. The murmured whispers of the staff to one another, organising the various meals for the royal family, making sure their clothes were ready and prepared, ensuring that their rooms were neat and tidy for their arrival back to their chambers and drawing their baths at their behest.

It was tough work at times, but it was good, honest labour and for her services, she was paid much more than she could have even dreamed of. That said, most of it was sent to her younger siblings where she could spare it, but it was still entirely novel and rewarding to earn her own coin.

It was a fine, clear day like any other. The servant’s quarters were bustling with busy maidservants, rushing around after their allocated jobs. Most of the other maidservants were of a similar age, but their temperaments fierce away from the forced politeness they were obligated to offer the royal family. It could very often get catty. And sometimes it was best to say little at all, where it could be helped. People talked, gossiped and made fun for themselves in the dreary, everyday lull of being at the behest of King and Queen. She did not blame them for making said fun, but perhaps it was naïve of her to believe it could be done without cruelty.

One particular girl, who was not much older than her, assumed a role akin to a elder sister amongst the little band of maidservants. She had chestnut hair that was braided like the other staff, in plaits and pulled behind the head, stuck with pins and out of the way. Her name was Hedi and possibly short for something, but she dare not ask.

“Ah, there you are,” Hedi smiled in a sing-songy way, gesturing for her to come and join them, “You are to go to Prince Aemond’s rooms and take his clothes with you. He will be expecting for his old bedsheets to be taken away,” she instructed, oblivious to the way the little maid servant's eyes widened.

“Hedi, I have never-”

“Better you meet him now and get it over with, child,” she responded, pushing the bundle of clothes into her hands, ignoring the unsure look on her face.

She had heard many things about the One-Eyed Prince. Aemond Targaryen. The second son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent.

Since her employment at the Red Keep only a few moons ago, she had rarely seen any of the royal family with the exception of infrequent refills of their wine decanters at the dinner table. And even then, it was rare she could get a proper look at any of them as the halls were dark and lit only by candles at the table, obscuring some of their faces.

She had only heard stories of them.

Upon employment, Alicent had instructed Hedi that the new staff were not to be around her first son, Prince Aegon, by any means necessary. And though at the time, Hedi was not given any more information, she told the rest of the maidservants that she surmised that some wrongdoings caused the previous staff to leave King’s Landing altogether, moon tea in their bellies and a purse of gold dragons to keep their silence.

This did nothing to calm her nerves though, for she sometimes saw him walking around the Keep. Though she was advised to not spare a glance, she felt the weight of his eyes on her, and the other maidservants said the same.

Princess Helaena was a sort of anomaly. Nobody ever really saw her. Or perhaps she just made less of a fuss compared to her brothers. The few times she had seen the Princess at the table, Helaena had been staring forward at her plate, murmuring things under her breath.

That only left him, the One-Eyed Prince everyone so lovingly called him.

She had seen him only once, to her knowledge, at the aforementioned feast. He had been sitting at one end, his seeing eye downcast, looking anywhere but at the individuals he called family at the table before him. He seemed to not move an inch throughout, as if deep in thought.

She took a deep breath and walked the long, winding path to the main halls of the Red Keep, along the corridor where Prince Aemond’s chambers would be. She whispered to herself that it would be alright, that the other maidservants were just trying to rile her up with fear for the man, for they’d said that he frightened them terribly.

Willing the shake out of her breath, she stared at the door for a while, thinking that perhaps if she waited for a moment it’d be easier. But it just sent her heart racing even more. Her small fist gingerly knocked.

“Prince Aemond,” she called softly.

There was a moment of silence and muffled rustling inside the chambers, presumed to be his bedsheets.

“Enter,” a groggy, male voice called out in return.

Without thinking on it for another moment, she quickly slipped inside and though she did not mean to, her eyes briefly looked upon the Prince in his bed, halfway through sitting up tiredly. But her eyes were quickly drawn away once she had realised that there were no clothes on his person, and so with pinkened cheeks she darted to the chair and placed the clothes atop it, making sure everything was there for him before drawing the curtains. Feeling somewhat flustered and out of sorts, she brushed the wayward curl from her face that had fallen loose from her braids and felt that hot annoyance as it continued to tickle her face.

She ties the curtains together to keep them drawn and her heart quickens when she hears him get out of bed, stretch with a tired groan and pad over to the table near the fireplace. He pours himself a drink of water and is quiet for some time.

“You are not my usual maid,” he says and when it is clear he is speaking to her, she turns around finally, offering a small nod.

He is tall, almost unnaturally so. He wears only his nightclothes on his bottom half and leans against one of the armchairs, regarding her with an indescribable look in his one good eye, the other has a sapphire wedged inside, and she thought it must be uncomfortable to sleep with it. For a moment, she swallows nervously, he is broad and strong looking, but not in a burly way, and on his fair skin of his bare chest she can see several scars, all silver from age and hairline thin.

“No, your grace. I was sent to attend to you today,” she responds, shockingly evenly, clasping her hands in front of her before nervously smoothing her hands over her apron.

She sees the way his tongue pokes at his cheek, seemingly annoyed, “Hm,” he responds as he sips his water, “Will you be attending to me from now on?”

Her tongue wets her lips nervously, “I am not sure, your grace.”

He seems like he wants to say more, but he just stands there, across the room, looking at her and enjoying the way she continues to shrink under his gaze.

She pushes that stray hair behind her ear once more as she moves to strip the bed, working quickly and without looking back towards the quiet prince. She can tell however, how his gaze never seems to leave her, watching her with interest.

“What is your name,” from his lips it almost doesn’t sound like a question, more a demand.

Wound tight with anxiety, she tells him her name, which only makes him turn one side of his lip up in some form of a smile.

Once she has all the sheets folded and ready to take away, she stands with hands clasped, “Is there anything else I can do for you this morning, your grace?”

He taps his finger against the glass he’s holding, as if in thought. And it’s extremely difficult to avert her eyes from the firm planes of his chest, but for the sake of politeness and her position, she forces herself to.

With a soft shake of his head, she gathers the sheets in her arms and makes for the chamber doors and her hand barely brushes the handle before his voice calls out her name.

“Yes, your grace?” she answers, a dusty pink covering her cheekbones with her nerves.

With a genuine, mischievous looking smirk, he strides widely towards her and her eyes never leave his face, feet planted firmly where she stands.

“I want you to attend to me from now on.”

General Aemond Taglist (DM me if you want to be removed)

@risefallrise

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etirabys · 7 months

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did you guys know about courtly love??? because I didn't

My introduction to courtly love was reading a Diana Wynne Jones novella that made no sense unless you know what courtly love is. After crawling confusedly through ancient Livejournal reviews to piece together what the story had been about, I took away that it was a weird medieval knight thing where you talk a lot of guff to a (married) woman without ever expecting it to turn into more than what it is.

The first chapter of CS Lewis's The Allegory of Love explains the concept much more thoroughly. His account is pleasantly bonkers. I now relay it to you. (Note: not only am I skeptical of parts of his account, I read it while sleep deprived, so salt liberally.)

First, a sketch of the relationship:

The lover is always abject. Obedience to his lady’s lightest wish, however whimsical, and silent acquiescence in her rebukes, however unjust, are the only virtues he dares to claim. There is a service of love closely modelled on the service which a feudal vassal owes to his lord. The lover is the lady’s ‘man’. He addresses her as midons, which etymologically represents not ‘my lady’ but ‘my lord’. The whole attitude has been rightly described as ‘a feudalisation of love’. This solemn amatory ritual is felt to be part and parcel of the courtly life.

This seems to have been both literary trope and a real-life interaction pattern (of which the former came first). A specific example in Arthuriana:

It is only later that [Lancelot] learns the cause of all this cruelty. The Queen has heard of his momentary hesitation in stepping on to the tumbril[, a humiliating cart he rode into the city where she was held captive, to rescue her], and this lukewarmness in the service of love has been held by her sufficient to annihilate all the merit of his subsequent labours and humiliations. Even when he is forgiven, his trials are not yet at an end. The tournament at the close of the poem gives Guinevere another opportunity of exercising her power. When he has already entered the lists, in disguise, and all, as usual, is going down before him, she sends him a message ordering him to do his poorest. Lancelot obediently lets himself be unhorsed by the next knight that comes against him, and then takes to his heels, feigning terror of every combatant that passes near him. The herald mocks him for a coward and the whole field takes up the laugh against him: the Queen looks on delighted. Next morning the same command is repeated, and he answers, ‘My thanks to her, if she will so’. This time, however, the restriction is withdrawn before the fighting actually begins.

So, huh. How did this cultural script come to be?

Courtly love as a literary trope began in 11th century Provence. Here's Lewis's sketch of that time and place:

We must picture a castle which is a little island of comparative leisure and luxury, and therefore at least of possible refinement, in a barbarous country-side. There are many men in it, and very few women—the lady, and her damsels. Around these throng the whole male meiny [i.e. attendants], the inferior nobles, the landless knights, the squires, and the pages—haughty creatures enough in relation to the peasantry beyond the walls, but feudally inferior to the lady as to her lord—her ‘men’ as feudal language had it. Whatever ‘courtesy’ is in the place flows from her: all female charm from her and her damsels. There is no question of marriage for most of the court. All these circumstances together come very near to being a ‘cause’; but they do not explain why very similar conditions elsewhere had to wait for Provençal example before they produced like results. Some part of the mystery remains inviolate.

So that's the material background – a lopsided gender balance. But more fascinating is the cultural background where the passion and devotion of romantic love – a passion/devotion Lewis claims simply did not exist as a mode for men to treat women in Europe before courtly love was invented – could not be channeled into marriage because such a stance is incompatible with the social role of a husband:

The same woman who was the lady and ‘the dearest dread’ of her vassals was often little better than a piece of property to her husband. He was master in his own house. So far from being a natural channel for the new kind of love, marriage was rather the drab background against which that love stood out in all the contrast of its new tenderness and delicacy. The situation is indeed a very simple one, and not peculiar to the Middle Ages. Any idealization of sexual love, in a society where marriage is purely utilitarian, must begin by being an idealization of adultery.

In fact, courtly love's rightful predecessor is not heterosexual love but the love of a vassal for his lord. (I am quite skeptical of this as a claim about reality, but less skeptical of it as a claim about literature.) Reiterating a sentence from the first quote in this post:

The whole attitude [of a knight in courtly love with his lady] has been rightly described as ‘a feudalisation of love’.

CS Lewis on that feudal relationship:

We shall never understand [the affection between vassal and lord], if we think of it in the light of our own moderated and impersonal loyalties. We must not think of officers drinking the king’s health: we must think rather of a small boy’s feeling for some hero in the sixth form. There is no harm in the analogy, for the good vassal is to the good citizen very much as a boy is to a man. ... He loves and reverences only what he can touch and see; but he loves it with an intensity which our tradition is loath to allow except to sexual love.

So it's that relationship that courtly love remixes into heterosexual romance. Courtly love ennobles the lover – there's a religious parallel here for sure. And it is necessarily adulterous because marriage is not a matter of personal passion, because distance is conducive to recreational idealization, because the lack of potential sexual consummation is pleasantly purity-coded in a Christian society, and because a wife, being a knight's inferior, cannot ennoble him. So, finally, Lewis says bluntly:

The love which is to be the source of all that is beautiful in life and manners must be the reward freely given by the lady, and only our superiors can reward. But a wife is not a superior.

Coming back briefly to Diana Wynne Jones's The True State of Affairs: I understand much better now the behavior of the protagonist's love interest. He's a bored would-be king in captivity who decides to make the other visible prisoner his midons. He expects her to understand the convention he's following. Why shouldn't he take her on as a concept like this? She, also bored and deprived, benefits from his gifts and minor heroics. He wants an ennobling influence. And besides, isn't idealizing a beautiful woman you never intend to make a move on fun?

#rambl #courtly love #eti reads the allegory of love #the true state of affairs #dwj

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apas-95 · 1 year

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dan olson is generally a good video essayist, but has a consistent and specific problem of idealism. as with other breadtubers, this is usually not a problem when sticking to analysing art, but becomes fairly egregious when trying to discuss real life.

the issue of public schooling existing, under industrial capitalism, to provide business-owners with tax-funded workforce training, is presented as one 'driving idea' that exists in conflict with an equally-influential 'driving idea', of an abstract philosophical good served by education. the fact that one of these 'views' on education has direct material benefit to the ruling class, and thus is directed resources, and the other does not, isn't mentioned, simply that it has been 'winning the ideological battle'. similarly, the issue of low-quality food being provided in public schools is not linked to any actual real-world mechanisms, no conflicting interests, but instead to 'classism', specifically the existence of a 'negative perception' of public schools and poor people.

fundamentally, this is a limitation of liberalism. without a clear class analysis, one where ideas are understood to come from really-existing material differences in positions and interests, there can only be a conception of the ideas themselves being in conflict. without an understanding of the fact that, say, the president of the USA has genuinely different interests than the workers of the same country, the actions that harm said workers can only be understood as being due to either incompetence, or Wrong Ideas. if benefits are underfunded, it's due to the idea that poor people are lazy; if homeless people are harassed at a greater cost to the state than housing them, it's due to a blinding bigotry against them, not the economic need for a reserve of labour. the fact is that the terrain these ideas can affect is defined entirely by the strictly material conflicts they arise out of. you cannot simply Educate the ruling class's bigoted philosophy away, because the philosophy was created to justify the oppression that already existed. the oppression itself must be fought, and for that its basis must be fought - the conflict between different political-economic groups with different material interests.

olson describes the 'ideological battle' between the two 'views' on schooling as one that necessarily must be 'eternal', must continue on forever. the conclusion of the real-world, material conflict that generates these ideas isn't considered. society will stay generally the same, just its ideas will change. it's a position as fundamentally myopic as a declaration by a medieval scribe that there will be an 'eternal debate' over the role of feudal lords in commerce. history has not ended.

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theresattrpgforthat · 1 year

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Second, do you have any good fantasy RPGs set in a non-european focused or at least not medieval-European world? It can be based off of a real-world culture or something brand new

THEME: Non-Western Fantasy

Hello friend! For this recommendation, I wanted to highlight games made about non-western fantasy by authors who hail from the cultures that inspire the games. For that purpose I really want to shout-out to rpgsea and rpglatam, two community/movements that have made it much easier for creators from Southeast Asian and Latin American cultures to advertise and publish their games. Not all of my recommendations come from these communities, but they’re a great jumping-off point to find more games with unique settings, fresh ideas, and beautiful, beautiful art.

Nahual, by Miguel Angel Espinoza.

Nahual is a tabletop roleplaying game about brjos nahuales, humans of mestizo and indigenous ancestry that have the power to shapeshifter into an animal form. These nahuales hunt angels to make a living, running a changarro - a business - together to sell the products they make from the bodies of the angels they have killed. These are stories about underdogs, struggling to find their place in a Mexican world of fantastical and overwhelming forces.

Miguel Ángel Espinoza is a Mexican layout artist and game designer, and the head of Smoking Mirror Games. His ttrpg Nahual really picked up steam on Kickstarter, unlocking stretch goal after stretch goal. At its core, this game is PbtA game about underdogs going up against celestial parasites. Angel Dust is a potent drug, and angels are used by corporations, politicians, and the Church to lure in worshipers and make money. You play the labourers at the bottom of this pyramid, aching for freedom but trapped inside a concrete jungle. Your biggest asset? The special gifts you’ve inherited from your ancestors, watered down as you’ve lost your cultural memories.

This game is more urban fantasy than anything else on this list, but if you want to explore a game about reclaiming something that you’ve almost lost, you should definitely check out Nahual.

ARC, by momatoes.

Ready Yourself. For Tonight, we save the world.

The RPG to slay the apocalypse. Capture your imagination with near-inescapable dooms that threaten infinite worlds. Be a hero or be the guide to facilitate a heart-racing story to remember.

ARC enables people wishing to run a game with limited experience. The Doom and its Omens help create tension and manage the story’s pacing. The rules are approachable so you can focus on helping make the best story for the table. Additionally, the last chapter of the full book is filled with tips for building a good experience for you and your friends.

The creator, Momatoes (aka Bianca Canoza), is from the Philippines, and is the custodian of RPGSEA, as well as a Winner of the Diana Jones Emerging Designer Award. Her game, ARC doesn’t have a lot of setting decided for you - instead, you decide elements of the setting yourself. There's even a license for creators who want to publish their own content! The biggest selling point of ARC is the Doom, a terrible event that the Heroes want to prevent at any cost. The GM will set up Omens, which are pieces of the story that advance the Doom - pieces the characters will need to investigate and interact with in order to resolve. Finally, the Doomsday clock is a tool that can be used to keep the sessions tight and focused: every moment on the Doomsday clock has the GM roll 1d6 per unresolved moment - the higher the roll, the closer you tick towards catastrophe! If you want a beginner-friendly game that allows maximum creativity, you should definitely check out ARC.

Arunika, by Anonymocha.

Darkness and gloom threaten to shroud the entirety of this world you call home. Or perhaps, it already had. However, there's hope.

You are a Light Bearer. This beacon of light you hold is the key to reviving the world's gleam and hope, through your own. You are bestowed with the pursuit of rekindling the world, forging bonds with its inhabitants along the path, and freeing it from the murk with what you can offer.

Arunika is a TTRPG of maintaining hope, sharing it with the world, and most importantly, caring for yourself while you're at it.

The rulebook reflects a world's journey towards revival from the characters who escalate it. It is made with the vision of a game that has a non-violent, narrative-first, and feelings-focused system which can be interpreted in many optimistic, creative, whimsical, melancholic, or introspective ways.

Mocha, the creator, is an Indonesian artist with a beautiful and unique art style, visible in the projects they create and contribute to. One person plays the Light Bearer, a character who holds the Light, a beacon that needs to be used to rekindle the world. Other players can play the Companions, friends and old foes that accompany the Light Bearer on their journey. This game can be run with just a GM and one player, with all of the Companions as NPCs. The stats of your character will fill or deplete depending on the events of the game, so Heart will increase when the party has a positive interaction, while Hurt will increase from suffering harm, or decrease when your character is comforted. If you want a game that is easy on the eyes, gives you the basic premise and lets you build your own world, you should check out Arunika.

Hearts of Wulin, by Lowell Francis and Agatha Cheng.

Hearts of Wulin is a game of wuxia melodrama, Powered by the Apocalypse. Players take the role of skilled martial artists in a world of rival clans, conspiracies, and obligations. The game emulates films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Chinese wuxia TV series like The Smiling Proud Wanderer and Fox Volant of the Snowy Mountain, and Chinese martial arts novels from the second half of the twentieth century. In these tales, romance is as dangerous as a blade. Everyone has ties to factions, loves they can’t quite express, and secrets which will shake them to their core. As in the source material, stories in Hearts of Wulin are driven by the characters’ duties, romantic desires, and entanglements with other characters.

You get everything you need to play the game in three different styles: Core, Courtly, and Fantastic. The core game is as described above: a game of wuxia melodrama featuring wandering wulin warriors. The courtly style of play sets the game in a world of politics and factional scheming. The fantastic game adds strong elements of the superrnatural to the story. Each style of play has its own playbooks and moves—it's like having three games in one!

Agatha Cheng is a cultural consultant and a podcast host, on top of being a co-author of this wuxia-inspired game, in a genre she’s loved since childhood. Hearts of Wulin is an homage to melodramatic stories about protagonists, torn between equally treasured relationships. You may be in love with your teacher’s greatest rival, or perhaps your master and your father despise each-other. The PbtA system that Hearts is built on prioritizes emotional conflict and failure that moves the story forward, while slimming down the mechanics to simple 2d6 dice rolls. If what you’re looking for is story beats that rip your heart up and make you feel all of the feelings, you should check out this game.

Gubat Banwa, by makapatag.

Gubat Banwa is a game of rapid kinetic martial arts, violent sorcery, heartrending convictions and bouts of will. Warriors that channel gods face sorcerers that master black arts, martial artists who have unlocked a new form of cultivation clash swords with those that perfect the night alchemies.

Gubat Banwa is a Southeast Asian fantasy martial arts Role-Playing Game, inspired by the refulgent cultures of Southeast Asia. Raise your spears, KADUNGGANAN, you elite warrior-braves and asura-knights who travel The Sword Isles to prove their conviction and dictate the fate of the world. Revel in larger-than-life war drama like in Asian Dramas, ballistic tactical martial arts grid gameplay in the vein of Lancer or Final Fantasy Tactics, and find glory beyond heaven. Wield the Thunderbolt of Liberation! Rejoice! In the Glory of Combat!

Makapatag, or Waks, is a Filipino creature who loves creating tactical ttrpgs. All of their games have strong Southeast Asian inspiration, but Gubat Banwa is what you’re looking for if you want good old fantasy. Rules-wise, the author credits Lancer, Pathfinder 2e, ICON, Ryuutama, Apocalypse World, and so many more iconic, well-loved games for their inspiration. This game is made to specifically centre Southeast Asian cultures, and the setting is not solely based in a specific historical setting, but is rather inspired by many cultures and stories of these cultures. I strongly recommend you read the Note On Intended Audience on page 4 if you get this book.

And what a book it is. 400 pages, with maps, roll-tables, an extensive dive into the lore and terms created for this book, and pages and pages of gorgeous gorgeous art. Character creation is heavily involved, incorporating the culture you hail from, the ideal you’re fighting for, major life events and debts, as well as different Disciplines, combat arts that each have their own styles, weapons, and techniques. Fighting in this game is not just a matter of survival - it is a science. If you want a game that gives you in-depth characters and hours and hours of material in a world in which every piece of lore has been carefully thought out, I heavily recommend Gubat Banwa.

Mangayaw, by goobernuts.

Mangayaw is an RPG for one facilitator (the Mangaawit) and at least one other player. Players act as Binmanwa, adventurers and survivors in an archipelago of bloodshed and goldlust. This game is inspired by Philippine legend, folklore, culture and history. The game and its setting is still a work-in-progress. Based on and inspired by Cairn, Into the Odd, Mausritter and numerous other games.

Benj, the creator, is a member of RPGsea, and draws heavily from Philippine folklore and history for this game. This is absolutely for OSR fans, with delay fast combat, class-less and level-less characters, and a ton of equipment and magic items inspired by Philippines folklore.

Whereas many OSR games present the rules with the assumption that the GM knows what they’re doing, Mangayaw contains a page of principles for the Mangaawit, outlining narrative focus, the purpose of danger and treasure, and advice on how to present the characters with choices, NPC motivations, and the benefits of random generation. It also contains principles for the players, and principles of the World, providing guidance for folks who may be unfamiliar with the culture that inspires this setting. There’s suggestions for names, descriptions of unique items, and tables for magic and sorcery. If you love roll tables, you’ll love Mangayaw.

Brave Zenith, by Roll 4 Tarrasque.

Brave Zenith is a post-fantasy tabletop RPG, set in a world inspired by Brazilian culture and long summer nights playing JRPGs on a pirated PS1. With a set of simple interpretative rules, that focus on player creativity and imagination, explore the ruined world of pastpresent, meet colourful (and deadly) creatures, see the sights of the Second City, partake in delicious Monkey Oil and become an adventurer.

Roll 4 Tarrasque is a team of Latinx creators whose efforts won Game of the Year for 2022 at the Indie Groundbreaker Awards with this game. Brave Zenith is a game about fantasy odd-jobs, rather than epic quests - your characters are cleaning up houses, hunting ghosts, stealing from the rich, etc. The people and creatures of the world are unique and enchanting, from the friendly Jelly shopkeeper to the slippery butter construct, to little porcini goblins.

Characters have 3 stats, gain abilities based off of their occupations. There are three suggested origins to help you determine what your character looks like, but you’re also welcome to create your own! There are typical hallmarks of dungeon delving here, such as loot tables, monsters to fight, and spells to cast. For the GMs, there’s a chapter full of advice on how to prepare for a session, quick NPC generation, and tables to help you write an adventure on the fly. Finally, the rulebook itself is bright, colourful, and fun - perfect for communicating the kinds of games it’s designed to run!

Lutong Banwa by Sinta Posadas (Diwata ng Manila).

We, the Tamawo, we have no concept of hunger, food, or of a nuclear family. We wandered aimlessly for a long time. Then, we met a Giant Grab. She took us in like her own children. Clothed and sheltered us like we were her kind. We call her Mama Kasag. She showed us more about the people that came before us. The ones she calls “Humans”.

Lutong Banwa is a cooking game, where you set out to adventure and find ingredients from Spirits and recipes from old civilizations. Embark on this anti-canon storygame adventure with its own custom system and play to find out just what sort of zany adventures you can get up to in this weird, wild world. Do whatever you want.

Sin is a Filipino game designer who loves designing games that incorporate magic realism. Lutong Banwa is no different. You play Tamawo, who have bodies that appear similar to humans, but live in an age in which humans are long gone. Humans are strange beings of a past age, with unfamiliar customs, such as cooking. You’ve picked up cooking as something to explore, and thus go out on errands to find new ingredients for Mama Kasag. This game is charming and small, quick to learn and easy to play. It even includes recipes to get you in the cooking mood! If you like cozy games with low stakes and a charming setting, you should absolutely check out this game.

A Thousand Thousand Islands.

This is not a game, but rather, a collection of system-agnostic zines for use in fantasy tabletop games. This collection is designed by a trio of Malaysian designers, and contains places such as Mr-Kr-Gr, a river kingdom ruled by crocodiles, Korvu, a maritime nation of tenant mercenaries, and Ngelalangka, a market inspired by Southeast Asian bazaars. If you have a game system that you’re already comfortable with and you want to explore fantastical places within that system, I heavily encourage you to check out these zines.

#dnd #tabletop games #game recommendations #asks #this was one of the most satisfying posts I've put together in a long time #fantasy #indie ttrpgs

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mrskokushibo · 10 months

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Lead us not into temptation

Kokushibo x Nun!reader

I NSFW I 18+ I MDNI I

A/N: Another highly anticipated request from Anon: Link here.

Plot: A young nun struggles with her carnal desires and in the midst of that gets corrupted by a hot demon. To us, who indulge in sin, let us hope we will all need an exorcist by the end of this smut : ) : )

Warnings: SMUT. Oral. Masturbation. Vaginal penetration. Dirty talk. Creampie. Fingering. Wet dreams. Mild Dom!Kokushibo. Dirty thoughts. AU. Slightly sacrilegious-but hey, this is only fiction.

Word count: 3502

Masterlist

…And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and, the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen. (Matthew 6:11-13; King James Version (KJV) of the Bible).

This was the fifth consecutive night that you were kneeling alone at night in the convent’s empty chapel, saying the Lord’s Prayer repeatedly. Your thoughts were, to say the least, impure, and this was the penance that the friendly old priest administered you in the daily confession. With autumn at the threshold and the harvest over and done with, there was much less physical work for the nuns. Autumn and winter were the time for prayer and withdrawal. A time to give the tired physical body rest after the intense labour of spring and summer. The convent’s gardens and orchard were breaming with fruit and vegetables, the bee hives full of honey and the poultry barns overrun with chickens, geese, and ducks. Everything was now harvested, prepared, and stored for winter. Enough food to provide for both the convent’s needs as well as to help the impoverished families in the nearby settlement.

But your body was as fertile and ripe as the gardens in summer and rest was not what it seemed to crave… You often wondered what would it be like to belong to a man. Your family could not afford the dowry and there were only two choices for you: the brothel or the convent. When the latter was chosen, you knew you would never experience a man’s love. The former option, however, would have only given you a corrupted and twisted mockery of such love.

When you first stepped over the worn-out stone threshold of the large, grey medieval building, you felt apprehensive, to say the least. One look at the large crucifix, the only thing adorning the spacious vestibule, and the worry of a lonely and cold life were gripping you as tight as a vice. With time, you learned how wrong you were about life here. The nuns were warm and kind and since this was not one of the strictest orders, you were allowed to venture out to the village bringing food and medical aid to the inhabitants, who in turn treated you all as if you were angels. This was not a bad life. You enjoyed the gardens and your favourite chore was tending to the animals.

At last, you finished your fiftieth Lord’s Prayer and slowly stood up, straightening your black nun’s habit, and readied yourself to walk back to your cell. The shortest way was to walk through the glorious sacred garden in the courtyard adjacent to the chapel. The cells were situated in the cloister, the open gallery walk that wrapped around the courtyard. The garden was magnificent in autumn, with leaves turning all shades of fire and sun.

As you stepped on the gravel pathway, you stopped in your tracks. There, in the corner near the large acacia was a tall figure, judging by the broad shoulders, a male. You realised this could have not been any of the priests as they did not stay at the convent at night, but also, none of them was this tall… Apprehensive at first, you cautiously decided to approach him, your natural curiosity was always stronger than fear. As you were getting close, suddenly three pairs of eyes stared at you. They were red with golden pupils. Was this a dream? Who was this?

‘Who are yo…?’ you spoke with a slightly hitched voice, but before you managed to finish your sentence, he was gone.

You stood for a while as petrified but then hurried to your cell. It was a sparse room, big enough for a simple bed, a closet for your habits, and any other garments you needed. There was also a desk, a chair, and several candlelights, which you requested especially since you were an avid reader and writer and the convent’s library had a wealth of approved literature.

After finishing your bedtime routine and saying your prayers, you crawled into bed, the last thought occupying your mind being the strange sight you encountered in the garden.

Without the candles being lit, your room was pitch black. You could barely make out the contours of your furniture. Suddenly, you heard a quiet rustle next to the foot of your bed…and then six burning eyes appeared out of the dark. A large hand started caressing your thigh and moving up toward your groin, a sudden light kiss on your lips, and a hand stroking your cheek and neck. You almost flew up, but the same strong, large hand pinned you down in place.

‘Shhhh, someone will hear you.’

A deep, masculine voice came from the direction of the eyes. You were speechless, this was surely a dream and well…you were curious as to what would happen next… A hand was now massaging you between your legs, not moving in under the cloth of your undergarment yet, but this was enough for your juices to slowly overflow. You moaned quietly and this was encouragement enough for the male to slide his fingers under the cloth. As he was spreading your slick-covered folds, your pleasure was slowly taking over you. He was rubbing you up and down between your labia, not even yet touching your clitoris, a long finger slowly tracing circles around your opening and another prying its way inside you…

You touched yourself so many times before, but this was so entirely different. The anticipation of where his touch was to land next was the difference between a deliberate move of your own fingers. This was indescribable. You were trying not to moan too loud, but staying quiet was not an easy feat. When his touch finally reached your erect little bud, you were close to bursting. It did not take him long to push you to your orgasm and as you climaxed you released your juices all over his hand. The next moment you woke up, still riding out your orgasm. You were completely soaked between your legs from all the cum you squirted out. Sunlight was peering into the room through the narrow window, it was most obviously morning. You were in bliss, but also shaking your head at the dream that left you in this state. Because… this surely must have been a dream… This would be an interesting confession…

‘Father, forgive me for I have sinned.’

The old, kind priest sighed as you uttered the routine phrase.

‘Is it the same… as usual, dear child?’

‘Yes, father, but this time it felt like someone … did things to me. I was not touching myself at all. Well, it was a dream, actually. But it evoked an indecent response from me… The thing that did trouble me, was that even though that someone was human, at the same time, he did not seem to be. He had six eyes and had a demonic aura about him.’

The priest sighed again and shook his head.

‘Look, dear child, what you are experiencing is normal for someone young. Believe me, we all had such thoughts in our youth. Just try and work on changing the focus of them. As for the form of your assailant, well, do not dwell on that too much. I am sure it is not possession or anything unholy like that. The human brain is blessed with the capacity to imagine, so do not dwell.’

He paused and smiled a little to himself.

‘You know, you are a good kid, the villagers adore you for your kindness and help. I am sure the Lord will overlook your recent troubles with yourself.’

With that, he drew the sign of the cross in the air in front of him and said the prayer of absolution:

‘(…) I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.’

The week that followed was a blur. For every day that went, your focus on daily chores and routines was diminishing as the wet dreams were increasing in length and intensity. Your thoughts were preoccupied with…him. The six eyes were etched in your mind like an unholy vision. Every night spent in the chapel on your penance prayers was wearing you out and making you more and more susceptible to daydreaming of being ravaged by the male. You were imagining what he looked like, what his manhood would feel inside you…Every time you were dismissing these thoughts in a futile attempt to regain some sanity, they were hitting you twice as hard as soon as you lost your slightest focus. It was all a dream you were telling yourself…

It was a particularly dark night when you ventured back into the empty chapel after the Sunday evening mass. A part of the penance was to tidy up and blow out the candles, leaving you with only a couple lit at the altar near the main nave, where you usually knelt to say your prayers. At this point, you started to feel like maybe an exorcist would be your best option.

Your obsession with carnal pleasure and that demon or whoever that was that invaded your thoughts, was becoming unbearable. No matter how many wet dreams, how much you touched yourself, and how much you repented and tried to push these thoughts away, your senses seemed to not even come close to being satiated. You knelt in resignation, the burning sensation between your thighs as intense as ever, wetness pooling between your legs at the only thought that was occupying your mind.

‘… and lead us not into temptation…’

but the temptation was only getting stronger. At that moment, you sensed a presence behind you. The already dark, somber space suddenly grew darker. You turned around only to see the six ferocious eyes staring down at you. But this time you finally got a chance to see their owner. You gasped at the sight. The demonic eyes and strange red marks on his face and neck aside, he had a fully human form. A tall, solid-built male with a huge mane of thick red-black hair. He wore an outfit whose origin you did not recognise, but it did do his figure justice. Apparently, he was a warrior of some kind as there was a foreign-looking sword at his side.

‘Greetings, holy woman’ his polite words were laced with scorn.

‘Greetings’ you managed to stammer in reply.

He was foreign-looking, how could he speak your language? He could apparently read your thoughts as he indulged your curiosity:

‘I am an ancient demon and human language is a mere trifle to me.’

A demon, so your fears were confirmed… How did this happen? Did you somehow manage to summon him?

‘You did not summon me, you foolish girl. I roam this earth and when I stumble upon something that appeals to me, I merely claim it as mine.’

His self-indulgent speech was making you nervous, but also weak at the knees from anticipation.

‘The dreams when I touched you were not dreams at all, I was there with you, and I already savoured your sweet juices. I could have ravaged you many times over, but you humans are a special kind. Playing hard-to-get and pretending to be pious and oh so holy. But deep inside of you all dwells a beast so ferocious that it makes us demons seem like angels at times. But now, it is time you give in to me and to the beast inside you. I will fuck you right here, for your Lord to see. And he will watch while you begin to serve a new Master.’

His deep, melodic voice was sending shivers down your spine. It resounded perfectly in the solemn space of the empty chapel. His lewd words gave this medieval temple more justice than any sermon you ever heard…

You stood up in the last and futile act of defiance, but in that instant, you were pushed by the large male toward the nearest wall. His large frame dominated you and pressed you into the hard stone of the wall behind you, making you almost breathless.

‘Look at you, so beautiful and innocent. A flower ready for picking’ he was talking in a hushed, slow tone.

‘I bet you will not be as innocent once I show you what real pleasure feels like.’

His handsome face was now adorned by a smile, a vicious one at that, as the thought of corrupting this holy servant of a God so many worshipped, was making him crazy with lust. It was his work as a demon, to kill, enslave, turn people into demons, and corrupt women into the deepest abyss of carnal yearning. He enjoyed this, the power of it, as centuries went by and his strength grew, so did his desire for more conquers.

His hands were slowly starting to take possession of your body, gently, but deliberately caressing your face, neck, bottom, and breasts. He lowered his head and kissed your lips with the lightness of a falling rose petal. He kept on kissing like this down your neck and then back up to your lips again. This time the kiss claimed more of your lips and his tongue slowly snaked its way into your mouth.

Your mouth welcomed him greedily and soon you were intertwined in a passionate kiss. He held your head in his large hands while kissing you and when he let go, he helped you remove your clothes and went down on his knees before you. He cupped one of your breasts with one large hand and started spreading your swollen, slick-covered folds with the long, calloused fingers of the other. You were now so familiar with this from all the wet dreams, that were not dreams at all. The coil in your belly was tightening slowly and you were starting to edge when he moved to rubbing circles around and on your blood-filled clitoris.

He then leaned into your sex, blowing soft kisses on the outside of your pussy. His tongue started darting over your clit, flicking it lightly, eliciting even more moans from you. The warmth in your belly was turning into burning heat. You felt like soon you would be losing all control over yourself but before that happened, there was something you wanted to know. Without asking him directly about his identity you posed a more indirect question.

‘Don’t you want to know my name?’ you moaned.

‘I already do, y/n. And my name is Kokushibo, remember it well, because after tonight it will be the only name you will need to repeat in your prayers.’

With that, he stood up again and you automatically wrapped your legs around his strong hips. He was now carrying you in the direction of the altar and soon enough, you were shamelessly splayed on top of it. Not lifting his burning gaze from your naked form, he started removing his own clothes, leaving you to admire what was slowly being unveiled to your vision.

If it wasn’t for the scars that covered his entire torso and arms, he might just as well have been a statue that came to life. His body was as if carved of stone, with skin deliciously stretched over the defined muscles. As he removed the last clothes covering his body, a black, skirt-like garment tied with ridiculously long belts, you could now admire his manhood in its full glory. It was already erect, huge, straight, and veiny with a bright red tip.

At this point there was not a clear thought in your head, your lust fogging up whatever reason and decency that was left. All you wanted was him inside you. The tingling in your belly was increasing as if a swarm of butterflies was attempting to find a way out of your insides. Your craving was that of a beast, your inner muscles spasming and clenching on air, slick pooling out of your cunt, all in expectation of him finally granting you the fullness you so much lusted for.

And you did not have to wait very long because as if in response to your body’s call, he grabbed you by the hips and slid you closer to his rough ones. His cock was now perfectly aligned with your entrance and he slowly started pushing into your clenching walls. The sensation of being filled up like this was making you delirious with pleasure. Every inch he gained was adding more and more to your already peaking arousal. At last, he bottomed out, but before starting to move, he stretched out his arm and grabbed your chin with his large hand, tilting your head so that you could look at the crucifix above the altar. His lips were contorted in a frown, he was baring his fangs.

‘He is looking at you. And now, I want you to tell him who is your new Master. Say it.’

With that, he started slowly thrusting into you. You were moaning, but his grip on your chin did not lessen.

‘Say it!’

‘Lord Kokushibo is my new Master, my only Lord.’

You moaned out, your breath getting heavy. Satisfied, he let go and increased the force and pace of his thrusts. It was as if time has stopped and there was only now, you and him, in this sacred space, performing this unholy sacrament. Your juices mixed, your bodies intertwined. Every spot inside you was stimulated, you could feel the veiny texture of his dick rubbing back and forth on your plush and swollen walls. If this was a sin then you for sure belonged in hell. Because this was something you no longer could live without. And when your body finally reached the limits of what it could take before being plunged over the edge and into the eruption of your orgasm, you knew that this demon would be your bane. You were indeed possessed.

As you were riding out your climax, he kept on pumping into you with unchanged force. It was now his turn to grant himself a release. He pulled you closer to him, changing the angle slightly, so that his rough hips were even closer to you. The sound of flesh smacking flesh, the wet squelching of his cock pumping in and out of your pussy, and your lewd moans echoed through the sacred building. His eyes were closed and his head thrown back, a glorious fallen angel with a halo of black hair with red tips that in the dim light of candles made it look as if he was emerging out of the fires of hell. His thrusts were not losing any of their strength or speed as you started to feel another orgasm approaching.

‘Kokushibo, my Lord, I am…. going… to come again’ you managed to moan out in your hazy state.

He opened his eyes and looked straight at you with a dark, lust-filled gaze.

‘Then I want you to say my name when you do and tell your old God who your new one is.’

He said with a vicious smirk while increasing the pace and strength of his actions. Every thrust was sending you closer to your climax and when it was time for you to come again, you moaned out loudly

‘My Lord Kokushibo… you are… the only God… for me now’

And with that you climaxed and your consciousness started to blur.

He leaned over you now, small droplets of sweat running down his chest, making his skin glisten in the dull, warm light. His breath was very heavy and his thrusts were getting sloppy. ‘I am close now’ he hissed through gritted teeth ‘I will fill you up with my demon seed and from now on you will forever be parched for it.’ With a final powerful thrust, he climaxed and emptied himself inside you, riding out his high with a few slower thrusts at the end. You were so overfilled, that his semen was pouring out of you around his cock and onto the altar. This was sacrilege, a sin beyond repentance. Yet, you knew, that this was just the beginning of your journey to hell and that you would not allow anyone to exorcise this demon out of your life.

You were still lying flat on top of the altar, breathless and blissed out, looking up at the crucifix and then at your demon lover’s face, when he finally pulled out, resulting in the remaining semen flowing out of you shamelessly onto the sacred stone. He smiled at the sight and lifted you up toward his chest, landing one last deep, hard kiss on your lips. He moved the hair out of your face and caressed your back, you reciprocating the action, barely able to reach around his large torso.

‘Will you be back?’ you asked in a weak voice.

‘If you pray to me, I will.’

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