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foxsfiction · 2 years

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New IF; Howls of Rebellion.

Howls of Rebellion is a +18 WIP Interactive Fiction about anthro animals navigating a war.

Age rating; +18

I'm fairly certain that this will need some trigger warnings, so I'll add them as I write the scenes. Current triggers would be;

War

Violence

Detailed injuries and gore

(mentioned) Domestic abuse

Death

If you have a hard time reading about anything listed above, then this story isn't for you. Please, put your mental health first!

Demo will go here when it's ready.

Summery & Setting;

You are faceless, nameless in the sea of people yearning for change. The King of Selme, Eris, is heinous; rumors in his nation say that he's had affairs in attempts to secure a heir, that he's ate his children out of a paranoid fear that they'd overthrow him, that he's killed his advisor in cold blood during a particularly nasty disagreement. No one knows what is and isn't true.

Truthfully, you shouldn't be concerned by King Eris; you don't live in Selme. Though there is talk in the streets of Loa that the King will declare war on Seam, a neighboring country. That would drag Loa, and you, into to it; to protect and help Loa's political ally.

Under the threat of war, your childhood friend Clay has decided that it's time to take down King Eris. Ever the loyal friend, you follow along. Clay has been pulling strings in Selme to gain the upper hand, but secrets lay hidden just beneath the surface.

Will you discover them? Will you help lead a rebellion to victory?

Only time will tell.

Features;

Pick your species; are you a feline? Canine? Perhaps a Avian, or even Draconic?

Customize your appearance, personality, interests and hobbies

Define your gender and sexuality; Hetero, gay, bi, pan, aro, ace, demiro or demisexual.

Change history as you know it

Dive deep into Selme's secrets, or be a unwilling participant

Fall in love in the middle of a war; with possible poly options

Play matchmaker a bit

Characters;

Clay Harris (25, Agender, They/them, Not romanceable)

A tall deer with black fur and splotched with purple dots. Their lavender eyes are striking and intense. You've known them your entire life; they're your childhood bestfriend. They always apologize for dragging you into their war. They've always been there to pick you up when you fell; literally and figuratively. They're protective of you; you're really the only family they have. They'd follow off the face of the earth if they could.

Clover (27, Genderfluid, He/they, Semi-romanceable)

A small black cat that somehow always leads trouble to you. His yellow eyes are always moving, searching; for what, you can't tell. They seem to have a personal vendetta against King Eris, which lead them to join Clay and their army. They always tease the people around them, but know where the boundaries lie.

Ezra Kono (24, Gender-selectable, Romanceable)

A huge lion with fawn colored fur. They're a unusual presence in Loa; a healer in a land made for barbarians and warlords. They're very gentle and soft-spoken. When pushed, they can deliver a nasty wound; they've apparently mangled people before. They avoid the topic like the plague, though.

Wil Quille (30, Gender-selectable, Romanceable)

Selme's general; they're not willing to follow their king anymore. They're your mole; collecting inside information. A hippo that towers over everyone they encounter. You've learned the hard way that no part of them is plush fat. They, like Clay, are willing to follow you anywhere. They...aren't shy, to say the least.

Minx (32, Fem, Not-romanceable)

A average height Avian with black feathers. She's a strategist in Clay's army. She loves to share her knowledge; about anything. One of the more cheery people in the ranks, and one of three mages.

Maxim (????, Masc, Not-romanceable)

A short Dragon covered in purple scales that fade to orange, not unlike a pretty sunset. He's been your guardian for as long as you can remember. Another mage, he's been training you and attempting to train Clay...with limited results. He's amicable, but a bit distant. He dismisses folk legends and seems to dislike them overall.

#HowlsofRebellionIF #if wip #Another one #twine wip #Interactive Fiction #Interactive Novel #Anthro #Furry #furry anthro #IF #Twine #twine story #twine if #twine game #lgbtqia #text based game

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flowerprose · 2 years

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💀🌷🏛 NAMESAKE 🏛🌷💀

a hades x persephone retelling

excerpt prompt: friday kiss tag game

the lovely & talented & delightfully encouraging @bebewrites tagged me in this forever ago and i finally had time to tackle it today! not an easy kiss scene to write, by any means, when the recipient is quite literally all teeth, lol. but i liked the challenge!

summary: a hades and persephone myth retelling in which hades is a skeleton, stripped of his godhood and powers, and persephone is a young flower maiden in search of her missing mother.

word count: 1204

“Have you heard of the folk stories from the Germanic barbarians? They whisper about kisses that break curses. Legends say a maiden will wake under any condition.”

Persephone looks away from Chloe, fast asleep at the mouth of the cave, guarded by the human-bodied Cerberus. The undead king pivoted quickly after losing their stale debate over refuge options from this blistering cold.

“A kiss?” she repeats, the word clumsy in her mouth, unplaceable. “Must be otherworldly to undo such magic.”

“I would ask you to consider it. A small mercy,” Hades says.

Persephone studies her husband, amused that nursery rhymes and children’s fables are starting to worm into his head; she has known such desperation, pleaded from the other side of it.

“I am not your true love.” Persephone reminds him this the way her mother once chided her not to overlook her hymns. One day, the mortals will pray to you. She just never thought a God would do so first. “And you’re not a very pretty maiden. Perhaps below you were, but certainly not now.”

The shadows that move around Hades sometimes morph into grim, demonic expressions across his fleshless face, but he remains neutral now, devoid of any anger or hurt she may have provoked.

“I have never kissed you,” Persephone says finally, her voice wavery, a nervous brook in search of a trench to spill into.

“And never have I asked you to. Until now.”

Ah, pleading. To hear it eases some of the biting cold from her fingers. Hades, desperate for her help—help only she can provide him. The spell of his name doesn’t harm her anymore. Her chest doesn’t squeeze, her stomach doesn’t anchor to her knees when it surfaces now, when it’s spoken in her presence.

She decides to humour him. “If I kiss you, will you imprison me back in your realm of rot? It seems that keeping you this helpless thing that you are is much better for me. For my mother.”

She earns his anger, now. He rises to his feet, a tall, withering looking beast powered only by meagre magic. His eyes spawn the very tremors of hell, blackened sockets cursed with the glow of the plaguing fire that floods his corpse-self. “If this curse breaks, it does not fix whatever has happened to your mother. I give you my word—whatever our souls are made of, yours possessed mine the day I saw you. I love my sister—not even a morsel for what my heart stores for you.”

“I prefer you this way,” she needles him. She too rises to her feet, unintimidated by his towering stance. Her nails taps teasingly along the glassy surface of the pomegranate jewel that hovers between his skull and rib cage, frozen mid-air like a chainless pendant. One pluck and he’ll come undone, as delicate as the little flower stems she once wrangled free from the earth as a fussing toddler.

“You hardly know me,” Persephone accuses.

“I beg you to let me.”

She wishes she could search for something more in his face than blank bone.

Hades, once limitless in his patience, appears to have lost all treasury of it now. “This world is rotting. There will be nothing left for your mother if we don’t stop it. I wanted you at my side—not to imprison you in grief. Let me find your mother. Let me bring her home.”

Hades reaches for her, his hands hesitant, moving slowly enough that she can track him, retreat if she pleases. But she stays still, inviting him to step closer, to brush the bone of his thumb over her face. “You’re frozen,” he says. He gently guides her veil, this one made of silvery webs and latticed like lace, carefully to free her face to his gaze.

“You can feel that?” she asks. “The cold, I mean.”

“It’s a strange sensation,” he admits. “Like the air is heavy, something to wade through.”

Hades’ skeletal hands embrace her cheeks, warmed by the hellfire that naturally floods him. She waits for his touch to scorch her, but it’s gentle, a summer breeze, a sunbeam across her face.

“You love your mother. I will never test those bonds again. My error ignoring them the first time will follow me for all the lifetimes that exist beyond us.”

“Is this your apology?”

“Persephone… I am sorry.”

She lets his touch engulf her, warm the cold-bitten flesh. He leans down close, simulating a kiss as his teeth rest against her brow. It wasn’t until she saw his corpse that she learned that even teeth are protruding bone.

“It won’t be a very romantic kiss,” she warns him, having nothing to compare to what a romantic kiss might entail. Something Apollo has sung a thousand ways before her.

Hades chuckles, moltenous and core-warming. Her breath emerges in a wisp of smoke. She kisses where his lips should be, pressing her mouth to the blemished bone of his teeth. Kissing him is like brushing her finger tips against marble, like pressing her lips into unyielding stone. Nothing rancid lurks in the hollow casket he wears as a body, but the kiss feels strange nonetheless, loveless and ordinary.

Whatever curse binds him works stronger than anything her lips try to set free.

Persephone had spent so little time near Hades after they married, she struggled to recall his face even now. The planes of his bones resemble ruins, remnant of a once-fearsome god now vanquished. Only the crumbled vestiges of his former glory remained.

Pity surges in her throat. He couldn’t harm her even if he wished to.

He was nothing now.

She reaches for the near-emptiness of his throat and snatches the rubied pomegranate behind her fist. Immediately his bones topple to the ground, as if summoned back to their Gaian grave. She catches his skull gingerly, amused when the darkened sockets remain alight with searing fury.

“What are you doing?” Hades snarls at her.

“Oh hush,” Persephone says. “That was hardly a kiss. Least of all something that could break a curse.”

She lifts his skull in her hand, enough to cradle it like an infant in the nook of her arm. Winter has eaten away the rotting flesh that clung to him just weeks ago. She closes her eyes, humming as wiry tendrils of moss sprout from her fingertips and encircle his skull. She kisses the edge of his socket, blooming razorous leaves and two full heads of silk-soft peonies that gaze curiously, as iridescent and dark as a raven’s sun-caught wing. Thick vines sprout from his temple, growing into loose curls that mirror the last time she saw his hair. The botanical face of her husband stares back at her, an uncanny replica that feels more familiar than his flesh ever did. She bends toward his disappearing teeth, her lips catching a grain-woven mouth instead. It smells of home when her nose buries into the side of his succulent-leafed nose.

No more decay, no more bone. He is a mesh of every plant that fills her spring-longing thoughts, every gorgeous petal and bladed leaf she can imagine. Beneath her hands, below her mouth, he transforms into something new: something that belongs to her.

#hades x persephone #writeblr #myth retelling #my writing #namesake:writing #friday kiss tag game #writing games #when your husband wants to make out with you but he has no lips 🙄 homegrown is just fine #meant to post this as soon as i got home but i hatched another idea during my commute home hehehe #sometimes my brain conspires in my favour

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mask131 · 8 months

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The oldest French fantasy novel?

In 2005, the French fantasy author Laurent Kloetzer read the masterpiece of the classic 19th century author Flaubert: Salammbô. Upon finishing the book, he decided to post online a mock-review of the novel, treating it as if it was a new publication, a recent fantasy novel of the 2000s. This mock-review gathered some attention, and is one of the reasons many people like to evoke Flaubert’s Salammbô as the “first French fantasy novel”.

Here is a rough translation of the review:

The French fantasy exists, and I discovered it in a collection of general literature! We know the reluctance of some authors to be published in collections with colorful covers, probably fearing to lose a potential audience. It is probably what Gustave Flaubert thought, a new author very promising for the genre. His surprising novel, titled Salammbô after the name of the female protagonist, proves that there is a possibility for my favorite type of literature to be recognized and respected in France.

Carthage and its cruel civilization at the time of Hamilcar Barca are the core and the main subject of this book. The author pretends in an annex that he heavily documented himself and that he has read everything there was to read on the topic, but it was probably to make the literary critics believe he had written a historical novel, a genre that is very trendy nowadays. However, no need to dig deep to understand that it is not a pile of badly-digested erudition, neither a patchwork of references stitched to each other : rather it is a powerful dreaming, a crazy and shimmering imaginary world, a Carthage just as unreal and fantastic as the gods and heroes of Gustave Moreau’s paintings.

Sir Flaubert crushes with his shadow all the French-speaking authors that tried to walk the same path as Tolkien’s. What incredible images! What coherence, what harmony, between the Gods, the palaces, the landscapes, the clothes! The surprising sonorities of the names, of the characters, of the precious stones and of the materials carry us in a far-away otherworld. We are taken into a civilization that can seem alien to us, for it was vanquished and destroyed without leaving much traces behind, and yet in which we will find men whose feelings are too close to our owns.

I haven’t even spoken of the plot, an abundant, complex, remarkable plot! We will find there, without ever being bored, battle scenes, an extraordinary party, politics, magic, the burglary of a sacred temple (worthy of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser!), deadly tricks, human sacrifices… and battles, yet again. It is about the war of an old city against its mercenaries, of the impossible love between a barbarian and a princess lost in her mystical quest. Life is present everywhere. People dit a lot in Salammbô, blood is spilled, but it is to better regenerate the world.

Flaubert’s imagination would be the closest, in terms of Anglo-Saxon authors, to the one of Michael Moorcock, the one used to conceived his Elric series, and even more, his Gloriana. Just like Moorcock, the French authors likes baroque universes, colorful apocalypses, and atmospheres with a strange eroticism… But the reader can rest assured: no never-ending trilogy here! The novel is in one block, dense, balanced, perfectly built, from the introduction scene to the astounding but needed conclusion. Just like with Tolkien, the universe is complete, coherent and mastered, it is the goal and the foundations of the work. The battles are just as epic and bloody as those of Robert Howard, and I already talked about the surprising closeness with Fritz Leiber’s stories.

But unlike all those authors, that I can only read translated, our author is French and his novel is served by a fabulous language that is the true entryway to his imaginary world – a language that brings all the truth to this dream. I only ever felt spirited away by the magic of writing only once, with Stefan Wul’s Nôo.

With Salammbô, Gustave Flaubert gave to the French literature of the imagination a work that cannot be ignored, and that all the lovers of the genre must read. We can only wish him a long and successful career!

#fantasy #fantasy novel #french fantasy #gustave flaubert #review #flaubert #salammbô #tolkien #foreign fantasy #michael moorcock

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weregoingtokillthequeen · 9 months

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We just posted character profiles! Right now we only have images of two of our leads. Hopefully, we'll have the rest soon.

Lamia Ambler Age: 32 Race: Changling Pronouns: She/Her Gender: Female Height: 5'4" Occupation: Thief, Con Artist, and Escaped Convict Class: Rogue Voice Actor: Kat Walker Shea

Lamia doesn’t talk about her childhood. Her best friend, Allie, is the only person who knows what Lamia’s upbringing was like. She also doesn’t talk much about what crimes landed her in prison.

Lamia and Allie, the Dragonborn Barbarian, have recently escaped from prison. Lamia acts as the brains while Allie is the brawn. Lamia’s a con artist and thief, and she considers herself as more intelligent than most people. She’s smug and her ego is often her downfall. She likes to be perceived as tough as nails, but she’s a lot more sensitive than she lets on. It doesn’t take much to hurt her feelings.

Due to her ability to shape shift into any humanoid, Lamia is able to blend into any crowd. She has the skills and brains to take care of herself. It’s just that her bloated sense of self-importance always lands her in hot water.

While on the run from the law, Lamia and Allie accidentally get caught up in a rebel group looking to overthrow the corrupt monarchy.

Abilities Shapeshifting: Lamia can change her appearance and voice to any Medium sized, humanoid creature she has seen before. The biggest downside is that she will still need to find appropriate clothing and equipment if she plans to deceive others with her changed appearance.

As a rogue, she’s good at stealth and sneak attacks. She’s highly skilled at melee combat, but she often can slip right by people without being noticed.

Languages Spoken: Common, Draconic, and Thieves’ Cant

Weapons: Crossbow, Dagger, and Crescent Moon Knife

Favorite Foods: Apples, Cakes, Sweet Apple Tart with a Caramel Drizzle, and Beef Stew with Sourdough

Yngve Omdahl Age: 134 Race: Half-Elf Pronouns: He/Him Gender: Male Height: 5'8" Occupation: Adventurer Class: Bard Voice Actor: Caleb Fietsam

Nobody knows Yngve’s real backstory because he tells everyone something different. He goes with the flow, or he’ll say whatever he needs to in order to get what he wants.

Yngve is a bullshitter. He often tells tall tales about himself at bars and rumors about him spread like wildfire. Whenever a story gets back to him, people have usually added more to it. If questioned about it, he just confirms the new additions are true. He will “yes, and…” anything you throw at him.

While he can hold his own in a fight, he’s not nearly as tough as he paints himself to be. He prefers to talk his way out of situations. His charisma allows him to get away with it… most of the time. He also likes to surround himself with people stronger than him for protection.

Yngve is blind in his right eye. This is due to optic nerve damage after an episode of optic neuritis. The eye functions, it just doesn’t relay information back to his brain. When asked, however, he always tells a different story as to how he lost his eyesight. It takes a long time before he trusts people with the truth about himself and, by then, it’s hard to convince people he is telling the truth.

Lamia and Allie meet him in a bar and he tells them about the underwater city, promising to guide them there for a fee.

He has a debilitating fear of bugs.

Abilities Darkvision: He can see in darkness for at least 60 feet.

Fey Ancestry: He’s less likely to be charmed, and magic can’t put him to sleep.

He is a musician and comedian. His instruments of choice are violin, harp, and lute. He also plays bagpipes and he’ll happily play them to torment people around him. He’s a big fan of terrible jokes, dad puns, and anti-humor.

Languages Spoken: Common, Elvish, and Abyssal

Weapons: Crossbow, Rapier, Shortsword

Favorite Foods: Cheese and Hot Beet Soup with Fresh Bread

Art by @countslimeula

#audio drama #dnd #podcast #dungeons and dragons #audiodrama #audio fiction #audiodramas #dnd podcast #fiction podcast #we're going to kill the queen #dnd art #dnd character #dnd oc #dnd5e #dnd ocs #half elf #bard #rogue #changeling

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tkworks80 · 1 year

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~The Dragging of the 1st Wife~

You were buying vegetables for the soup Shouto requested from you at one of the stands in the marketplace. When one of the servants noticed you but did not say anything. He followed you home without you even noticing him. He quickly rushed back to the Todoroki estate he had told Enji. Enji quickly rushed to where you reside but, you weren’t there so he waited for you. When you finally arrived he didn’t want to alarm you of his arrival. So he waited for you to enter your house and finally he knocked. You opened the door when “hello my Plum Blossom…aren’t you going to invite your husband inside?” he entered your home. “How, how did you find us?” you stuttered. “You dare run from me? I’m taking you home…where are my children?” he questioned. “Touya! Natsuo! What did you name our third?” he questioned. “Shouto (maiden l/n) is my name, why are you yelling at my mother?” Shouto’s voice came out. He was the spitting image of Enji. Touya and Natsuo immediately ran to their father. “Father,” Touya greeted him. “Father,” Natsuo greeted after. “I see,” Enji looked down on you. “Come we are leaving…as for you my Plum Blossom…you too are coming and will still be my first wife,” Enji stated. “I will not leave with you Enji! I refuse! I didn’t want to marry you then and I refuse to be your first wife again!” you hissed. “You have no choice,” he replied. “First wife you say?...it’s been five years ONI I’m sure you have a fourth” you were interrupted by Enji. “Chiyo,” he replied slyly. You stammered back. “My friend?! You wedded my friend…the only person who loved me,” you sobbed then ran grabbing a small knife. You ran to the yard where the Plum Blossoms started to bud. You ripped your kimono and were about to plunge it into your chest when Enji smacked the knife out of your hands. Reaching for it on the ground you sobbed out “let me die in peace!” you yelled. “Now, now Plum Blossom…none of that…am I that bad?” Enji pulled you into an embrace. Banging your fists against his broad chest “I will NOT go with you…let me go you damned ONI! Let me go! I will not go with you…I would rather die!” you screamed. He threw you to the ground, “Plum Blossom…you're just as ornery as ever,” he chuckled and picked you up once again.

He dragged you back to the Todoroki mansion. Akina, Hanaku, and Chiyo looked in horror at the way Enji had you over his shoulders like a barbarian. “See what he does to me…let me go ONI! Let me go!” you demanded. When all of a sudden you stop at the sight of Chiyo pregnant. Looking at Chiyo in tears “Why Chiyo…why?” you cried out. Chiyo looked down in guilt but she had no choice. Ever since y/m left Enji came looking for her at the Shogun’s home but to no avail so the Shogun mentioned Chiyo to marry to replace y/n. The cruel and heartless world of misogyny. When did he marry her? Why did he marry her? He threw you to the cushion in the sitting room. “SIT NOW!,” he ordered you. “You got up and proceeded to run to the entrance when he grabbed you from your waist and threw you back on the cushion. “You are trying my patience, Plum Blossom,” he warned. You sat up “I wish to be released from this union…I am doing quite well with our sons on my own,” you stated while getting up. “Call your wives…NOW!” you demanded. “You dare demand me after you left our house?!” he roared. “Spoken like a true oni,” you retorted. He slapped you hard. “You have truly lost your mind, wife,” he said. “Go ahead and slap me in front of our sons!” you screamed. Hair disheveled you began to plead with him. “If you had any kind of love for me at any time please, please release me,” you sobbed out. “No. It is why I love you I won’t release you…you are mine,” he retorted. Your sons kneeling on the cushions watching you getting manhandled by their father. Touya was the first to say something. “How dare you lay hands on my mother…it’s no surprise she left you with her two sons while pregnant…you will always be my brute…release her at once,” he demanded. “Touya…son please take your brothers to the gardens…you boys don’t need to see this,” you whispered. As soon as they left you started to kneel and beg. “I am the daughter of the Shogun…first wife of the Daimyo, mother of your heir…I humbly beg you to release me…so that I could live peacefully with our sons…if not I respectfully request from you a knife to plunge in my chest and die your first wife…just let my sons live here,” you sobbingly pleaded. In shock, he called the servant to take you to the locked room so you could calm down. You were dragged screaming kicking in the air.

Enji then called for his sons and they came. “Natsuo, Shouto…from now on you will remain here so, I could teach you the ways of my family…Touya you will be moved to the palace as the prince’s advisor until being called upon by me…your mother will remain here until Shouto becomes a grown man…I will release her as soon as he takes a wife,” he said with a frown. “Where is our mother?” Shouto asked. “She is not well, my sons, she will be treated by a doctor,” Enji answered. “She is well…she just despises you…let her go,” Shouto demanded. “Enough insolence from you Shouto!,” he yelled to him and Shouto kept quiet.

After the commotion was settled Enji proceeded to walk to the locked room where you were sleeping, he unlocked the door to see you peacefully sleeping. The doctor stated that he had administered a calming powder for her and there are dosages that he left Enji to administer to you if you so happened to be hysterical. “Why did you leave me my Plum Blossom? I love you so much,” he whispered while closing behind him. He waited for you to wake up. “Good evening, Plum Blossom…did you sleep well?” he softly asked. Rubbing your eyes you finally awoke. “Enji…please…you have three wives…you don’t need me,” you whispered. “Ah….but you're wrong y/n…I do need you…the moment I first saw you at a viewing party that fateful day…I fell deeply in love with you,” he explained softly to you. “How many children must you have until you are happy?” you asked. “Well, there is Touya, Natsuo, Fuyumi, Shouto, Aiko, and one on the way…” Enji was interrupted. “Enji…I had given you three healthy sons, Akina, had given you a daughter, Hanaku, given you another daughter, and Chiyo…why Chiyo? Enji why her?” you started to cry. “I’m truly sorry, my Plum Blossom…I had no other choice,” he answered briefly. “You married the only person who cared and loved me…I can never forgive you for this...I will play your first wife Enji…but never seek ‘comfort’ from me…do you understand,” you ordered. The look of heartbreak was visibly shown on Enji’s face. After all these years you are still so very beautiful to him so much so that he kept you from the public and even his friends Yagi and Keigo. He could’ve seen the look of lust in Keigo’s eyes the moment he first saw you the day after you moved into his household. You were his prize to be cherished. “Your quarters are now clean and ready for your arrival…would you like to be there now?” he offered his hand to you. You didn’t accept his hand and slowly got up out of the futon and was escorted to your quarters. “Dinner will be served in an hour…please join us,” he asked and you nodded.

That evening you were dressed in your nicest kimono and joined them in the dining room. You saw your sons along with the other children on the other side of the dining room. Everyone went quiet when you entered the dining room. They all got up when you entered the dining room. Enji was behind you too. Enji sat down before you and gestured to sit as well. You were at the right hand of the table while Akina was on the left by Enji, Hanaku sat beside Akina and Chiyo next to you. You looked down the table to your sons. Touya saw the lifeless eyes you have and knew right away that you were withdrawn and accepted the fact that this was your forever position. “You are still stunning as always my Plum Blossom,” Enji complimented you. You smiled but that smile wasn’t in your eyes, you nodded. He clenched his jaw knowing that you're his beautiful wife that will never be touched by him ever again. He thought maybe just maybe if he could drug you and claimed you over and over again without you even noticing it could work but, you are so fertile that you would despise him even more if he did that to you.

During dinner, you spoke softly. “Akina how are you and Fuyumi?” you softly spoke and everyone stopped what they were doing to listen. “We are doing well…how are you y/n?” she asked in return. “I’m fine,” you whispered. She knew you were broken, she knew that you weren’t yourself and it broke her heart. As you were eating Enji cleared his throat. “My Plum Blossom it is Spring and the Plum Blossoms you so lovingly adore are now blooming…I would love to host a viewing party in 3 days…would you care to join me as the first wife to lead the party?” he offered. Looking down on your food, “I would love to join you but, lead I don’t think I am up for that my husband” you explained. “I understand…well maybe we could go for a lovely walk this Spring evening,” he suggested. “I will walk with you,” you said with a monotone that everybody noticed, including Enji. He was truly heartbroken at the broken, but beautiful being before him.

After dinner, he led you to the gardens. The lanterns were lit and it was truly beautiful. “It is so beautiful this evening my Plum Blossom,” he smiled at you. “Yes, yes it is Enji,” you replied. Walking in a serene environment you proceeded to sit on one of the benches and he joined you. He tried to sit close to you but you scooted farther from him. It hurt him to no end. “y/n, please…I beg of you…at least let me hold your hand,” he pleaded to you. You placed your hand on his lap for him to hold. Your heart beats still steady from the calming powder that was administered to you when the doctor was here. “Would you like some tea…it is still chilly,” Enji offered. You smiled and nodded. He led you to the sitting room and put a sleeping powder in your tea and served it to you. You slowly drank it and excused yourself to your sleeping quarters.

Touya, Natsuo, and Shouto had their rooms away from yours and you were apprehensive about that but, you just couldn’t fight anymore. Your maids helped you out of your kimono and into a sleeping yukata where you fell asleep. Deep asleep, Enji went to you. He saw your sleeping form crawling in bed with you. He kissed your neck while untying your yukata tie. Caressing your breasts you didn’t stir. His head slowly went down to your chest licking your plumped nipple, sucking it urgently. He then slowly went down to taste the sweet nectar of the gods. He parted your folds with his tongue and used all five senses to savor you. You finally stirred in your sleep causing Enji to pause at what was doing to you. He knew that that was as far as he could go with you. His cock was so engorged at the sight of your beautiful pussy waiting to be claimed. He slowly crawled back away from you and let you sleep for the remainder of the night. He then crept to Akina’s quarters and made love to her so passionately, imagining you under him.

That morning you woke up from a beautiful slumber. You called for the servants to help you dress and went to the dining room. Your sons were sitting at the table and you sat next to them. “Mother, I don’t think father would appreciate that you are sitting with us,” Touya stated. “I miss you boys…can a mother eat breakfast with her sons?” you question. Everyone went silent when Enji entered the room. He proceeded to sit at the head and looked at the empty seat to his right and looked at you at the end of the table. “Plum Blossom…please join me at the right hand,” he asked. “I would like it if I could sit with our sons this morning,” you timidly asked Enji. He cleared his throat “I insist my dear wife,” he replied. You looked down and acquiesced to his request and slowly got up and joined Enji at the right hand and he smiled. “Good morning my Plum Blossom…did you sleep well?’ he softly asked you. “Yes, I did, husband,” you smiled. Looking down you felt like something was wrong with Enji. He was blushing profusely. “Is there something the matter husband, are you not feeling well?” you asked. “I’m well I didn’t get much sleep last night at all,” he replied. Akina was blushing and you noticed. “I see,” you answered. Looking back down you silently ate your breakfast and then excused yourself to the gardens. Touya, Natsuo, and Shouto followed after.

“Mother…I am leaving for the palace after the viewing party,” Touya said to you. Taken aback “why?” you asked. “Father has a position waiting for me there, I will be the prince’s advisor,” he answered. Your stomach tightened and you smiled, “that is nice Touya. I heard the prince is very kind,” you said to your eldest son. He’s taking my son away from me…how could he? You thought to yourself. “Mother I will be practicing sword art from father and so is Shouto…maybe if you have time you can watch us,” Natsuo excitedly asked. “Of course my dear boys,” you smiled softly. You were having a pleasant conversation with your sons when you spotted Enji entering the gardens. You quickly excused yourself telling them that you must rest before dinner and they all nodded. Enji noticed that you left the gardens to avoid him. You quickly went to your quarters to rest telling the servants that you wish not to be disturbed and yes that applies to Enji as well. You were resting wondering about your dream last night. You never had that dream before. It was so indulgent that you got wet by thinking about it. But, you will never have that kind of sex ever again especially when you ordered Enji never to touch you again.

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dmclemblems · 2 years

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Claude calling the people of the Kingdom and Empire monsters and rallying people under the promise of their deaths and only giving half of a shit for his own people, on top of being willing to worsen foreign relations and refuel fighting on the border wrt Sreng for the same reasons. Hm wow that sure sound like someone who sees outsiders as less than human and only as threats to his own people (who are the only ones deserving of peace and safety). You know, that mindset that Claude fundamentally hates and literally came to Fodlan to wipe out so that people can live in harmony with each other?

Fuck this game and the absolutely horrific treatment it gave to Claude's entire character. Literally nothing anyone says can possibly explain why such a core aspect of Claude's character is not just not present, but actively replaced with its perfect opposite - and this game doesn't even bother to give a HALF-HEARTED explanation, he Just Is like this now. This game can actually suck my ass.

I like the game generally speaking (and AG was written really well), but I'm definitely not fond of how Claude was handled.

Like you said, and one of the biggest things that bothers me that I mentioned in another post is how he basically tells people to surrender or die, yet he says he wants to minimize casualties. It doesn't even make sense that he wants that but attacked the Kingdom without so much as a letter being sent to speak to Dimitri personally talk to to him about the Church and whatnot. Plus, if he did, he might have been made aware that all his perceptions of the Church were wrong.

The whole Sreng thing bugs me because they informed Sreng about the war and whatnot so that they'd invade, but later Claude tries to... not get them involved? He used them when it was convenient and then suddenly didn't want to after that.

One of my biggest gripes is that Claude has no consistency. You know how in CF they kept doing this back and forth trying to be like Edelgard is a bad person who started the war, oh wait no she's just a good person with strong views, etc etc? They really did that with Claude here except at least Edelgard was always consistent with her character. Claude's writing here is just like... they're trying to make him the anti-war person he is in Houses but they wrote him to be the exact opposite. When it starts going too far they pull him back again and have him keep iterating this nonsense about not wanting the war to keep going because people are dying.

Also, Nader saying he couldn't wait to rampage in the Kingdom REALLY bothered me (and he says this at camp so it's missable if he wasn't spoken to). After all the shit they said about Almyrans not being barbarians and whatnot, he's planning to go nuts with attacking the Kingdom? All that would do is make the Kingdom more unwilling to make any kind of relationship with Almyra.

There was definitely a lot of "we're doing this for Leicester" and not... any bit of care for any other land. I've been goofing about it a lot and trying to be mellow about it but just in general I find the things Claude does and the things he says to be absolutely abhorrent in this game. The way he manipulates people with the politely worded "surrender or die" is seriously awful and isn't much better than Edelgard's behavior.

I really doubt there would be any true harmony after this war. Even if the Kingdom lost and ceased to exist (and became just Adrestia and Leicester), I can guarantee there would be civil wars and uprisings all over the place. The people in the Kingdom would never, ever settle for that. Honestly, I could see Sylvain rallying troops and launching an attack on Leicester. I feel like even though he acts mostly calm during the story, he still has that in him because of the way Dimitri didn't want his emotions to get the better of him in battle. It's pretty clear to me that Sylvain despises Claude and the Alliance in GW.

Literally the whole thing with the Kingdom just sits so wrong with me. They were just minding their own business and suddenly everyone is trying to invade. In fact, they're trying to do good things within their borders and fix their society, but they can't because everyone around them just wants to go to war. Even the Church kind of forced them to get involved by asking for their aid. I'd put the least blame on them honestly because they really don't do anything bad at all here/in this game, but the war forced Dimitri's hand in so many ways when all he wanted to do was make a better society for the Kingdom.

By the end of the game I'd say Claude is really just... marginally better than Shahid, and that is not a high bar. It just served to keep the theme going that Almyrans just want war and fighting. Claude had other options and he chose invasion and killing. He chose to do what Shahid did to Leicester.

I honestly feel really bad for the Kingdom. Nobody will leave them alone and the worst part is that they're all so loyal to each other and so tight knit that like... once you've fucked with one of them you've fucked with all of them. They're not just gonna let it go and be like oh yeah okay we'll just stop the Kingdom from existing and give up on it. Dimitri also just wants to keep his people safe and Claude abuses that fact to make Dimitri let him get past him to get to Rhea. Basically, Claude is saying either I kill your people or let you me pass by and kill Rhea. Seeing as Rhea has always supported Dimitri and has never tried to obstruct any part of his rule, it's really shitty to be like oh hey you know this person who has done right by you and has been super chill with you? Let us kill her or I'm gonna kill your people and make you feel like shit about it. He uses people's emotions to make them stop fighting, and what he said to Ashe really bugged me.

There's a lot of stuff at the camp in GW that I saw (I'll end up posting some of it later, it's just that my posts are totally out of order for when I actually post them compared to when I'm playing so that I don't end up posting tons of stuff all at once, flood people's dashboards and then just have nothing to post lol) that really highlight how awful all of this is. Several characters are unhappy with all of it, and then you have the dumbass types who don't give a fuck like Raphael and Leonie (which is BEYOND me, especially with Raphael. He's supposed to be the gentle, kindhearted one and he's like 150% okay and happy with invading and fighting people and just knocking them flat. He gets excited for it. Hopes Raphael just ain't the one for me lol), and they only care about a good fight no matter who they have to kill.

Only a few people regularly question the morality of Claude's army, like Yuri, Hapi, Lorenz and Ashe. Most of them just... do not care. They'd kill good people for a good fight or because they just happen to like Claude so they'll ruin other people's lives.

I know it's just a video game, but... I just hate everything about the second half of GW lol. I love the early Almyran lore and it helps a lot for the missing pieces in Houses, but the story is just... disgusting. I've always hated Edelgard's actions in Houses and I'm not gonna justify Claude's behavior and actions in Hopes just because I like him in Houses. Just like her, he's a huge warmonger in this game. I guess it's because I just... don't like war and I have a very strong mindset on people who do things like that, especially when they attack people who are just living their lives and doing their own thing. Even though I've always been a Kingdom girl, I don't think my feelings would change on any of this if I was more bias toward Leicester. I don't think I'd be comfortable seeing the Kingdom being trampled for literally no reason whatsoever. We can't even blame Cornelia or other TWS members in this game for a lot of what happens to them. It's Edelgard and Claude doing a lot of it.

There's just... a lot of really awful things happening in this game and Claude spearheads a whole ass lot of it.

Claude von Deserved A Lot Fucking Better.

#Three Hopes Spoilers #I'm torn for my next Houses run bc I AM technically in the middle of a GW run #but I miss AM. but also I am not ready to have to see Rodrigue and Miklan die again lol #I mean Miklan technically seems to survive in GW and... I guess in SB? I don't remember well on that one but #at least in AG he died having gotten better and being a commander!#but also I just miss the good writing LOL I miss AM and wanna play it but #my data/progression would end up being split off into two playthroughs and that just bugs me #I am sad and miss Dimi's accidental flirting!!! I miss the pure lil cutie who got to be at least #a lil happy at the Academy and WAS ACTUALLY FRIENDS WITH CLAUDE #this game gave me many good things... all of which were isolated to AG lmao #I got a lot of things I rly wanted in this game but LIKE. AT WHAT COST #DCB Reply

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heirbane · 1 year

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The voice that rang out to the Warrior of Light in the Praetorium - and prior to - was not Gaius's own. It never truly was, when he was under his helmet: more machine and steel than man, the costume ensured that those who encountered him saw not a breakable man but an indomitable coat of arms. He viewed his attire much the same as those who piloted magitek reapers: not himself, but an extension of who he was.

The voice modulator in his helmet was not unique. Legati and even those below the van status used them, allowing a sort of disconnect between person and commander, human and machine. Some - namely, Nero - scoffed at the concept, as the man was far too prideful (and, to Gaius, much too immature in his own ways.) Nero used his own voice, booming and curling with ill-contained amusement, a coeurl circling his pray. His voice was his voice: Iron Nero was but himself, one in the same.

Nero found no use in distinguishing between man and monster, but Gaius did. He had to. He had been in the military far too long to allow himself to be himself, to wear his armor and truly be himself. If he hadn't a way to distinguish between the man who disemboweled barbarians and planned attacks, how would anyone else?

(How would the children, fearful of the armor that promised death and suffering, ever see him as just a man? He wore his suit much like paladins wore their glittering circlets and shields: a front. A defense. An attempt at staving the nightmares off, compartmentalizing what he had done away from the man who laid in his bedroll at night. Gaius and van Baelsar were not the same.)

But much like the dark knights of Ishgard struggled to separate man from the abyssal call of conscious and the Reapers of old struggled to turn a deaf ear to their avatars, Gaius was not simply able to be two people. His armor was a defense, but it was a cracked window: cold air seeped in, blood dripping between the pieces of metal he wore, staining his skin and settling into his weak places.

Maybe at one time he had been able to remove his armor and his guilt in one fell swoop. Maybe, at seventeen or twenty summers, he was able to do so with ease, not fully adult and not fully cognizant of the deaths that followed his actions. But it had not been so in many, many years: Gaius could as easily remove himself from his title as he could strip himself of his scars or his third eye, and the guilt and images of what he had done stayed with him.

His legacy was nothing but bloodied ghosts of barbarians, and they whispered at him as he laid in bed at night, blood gurgling in their throats, mothers screaming after dead children in a way only they could: feral, subconscious, primal.

His voice modulator was the last bastion of being someone else he had. The words he spoke came from his mouth but not in his voice: he was able to disassociate the mechanical bass from his own, tear tendon from bone, pretend that the words spoken were his but not him.

(And it, too, gave way: the modulator cracked and sputtered in his fall, giving the adventurer - and himself - one true look at who he had always been, dead and dying and weak, a man and a monster.)

#ⅩⅣ tertius oculus ( hcs. )#gore tw #death tw #body horror tw

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autumnslance · 2 years

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How much do your characters go into a 'combat frenzy?' Like, are any of them a straight-up cackling menace on the battlefield, while out-of-combat being well-spoken and well-adjusted?

Not specifically; I'll describe the quartet better individually below (Aeryn almost has shades of this), but for most of my characters, combat is a grim reality that must be done. If any of them do act in such ways, it’s usually a calculated action based on the situation and enemy.

I haven't really done much with that "cackling madman who loves to fight" trope. Closest were the various World of Darkness werewolves and vampires I've played, as violence and frenzies are part of their nature and actual gameplay, so I guess I've never seen a "need" to apply it to others. I don't play many barbarians in D&D either, and it's rarely "fit" the personalities or archetypes I tend to gravitate toward in characters.

There's an early scene from Oath of Gold, the final novel in the original The Deed of Paksenarrion trilogy by Elizabeth Moon, where the eponymous character, trying to get over her trauma and curses from the second novel, talks to the druid helping her about how she wishes to feel joy in her war craft again:

"Sir, I have had enough experience to know what comes of fighting for the joy of it alone. It is not that. But I still wish I could feel the joy when it's needed. Or perhaps I should not say needed, since I can do without it, but--I heard a woodworker, sir, say how much he liked the feel of his plane slipping along the grain of the wood, and the smell of the shavings. My father liked being out with his sheep--I can remember him standing on the moor, drawing in great breaths of that wind and smiling. Isn't that natural, in a craftsman, to enjoy his work as well? And I wish for that, to enjoy it sometimes. To pick up a sword with pleasure in its balance, not always overcoming fear of it."

Paks's story is quite formative for how I view fantasy heroes (particularly my old WoW paladin) and shades of it color my characters' development.

(Also if you want a good traditional fantasy series that's not in the grimdark vein though terrible things do happen, written by a former marine with science degrees and is a horse person who understands those animals, writing a story about military life, growing into a true hero, beating back the "lawful stupid" rep of old school D&D paladins, intricate world building and politics between the action, featuring an explicitly AroAce woman lead who has close and meaningful friendships while other characters get their own romances, written initially as a short story gift for a young friend and now grown into a couple series and stories in a rich fantasy world, I will always recommend the Deed and its followup series, Paladin's Legacy)

Iyna shuts down into more of a cold robotic mode after decades in the Imperial system. Procedural, efficient. She doesn't tend to remember many, if any, details later.

Dark handles things with her usual outward practical calm, in some ways engaging similar concepts as her hunting; quick, efficient, clean as possible. Just get it done. She sticks to her songs when with allies. She might be screaming terrified inside, even all these years and the intense treatments and care post-Carteneau.

C'oretta varies between attempting to maintain her cheerful joker facade to buckling down into seriousness, depending on the situation and the stakes. They're more ways of coping with her own fears and concerns.

Aeryn may occasionally throw a snarky quip, but she's usually silent except for her spellcasting and songs. There IS a bit of gremlin to Aeryn; she won't be a frenzied cackler in battle, but her healers and tanks might call her a "menace" given the risks she takes and her impetuous, impatient nature, while seeming so refined and collected to many people (who don't know her well) out of combat.

Speaking of, it's Sunday and time to frazzle my FC healers and tanks in Eureka by having Aeryn wander off and pull all the things...

#Final Fantasy XIV #Aeryn Prompts #Iyna Prompts #Dark Prompts #Punchy Prompts #The Deed of Paksenarrion

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jonathankatwhatever · 9 months

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It’s 10 August 2023, and every day is a new year’s day except in a leap year, which I haven’t thought through and am avoiding doing because I had an interesting walk.

The idea came over me that memory is an example of the 1-0-1//0-1-0 conception, and particularly the way we get that compression of the 0 in the orthogonal intangible gs so the tangible gs flow with the necessary continuity. That means I was able to connect to certain past memories, and that included a key series of conversations I had with Jesus. In the memory, I knew we talked about what happened, and that he told me I needed to figure it out, that there was enough to do it, and that doing this would lead me to understanding. Like a teacher. Highly motivating.

I spent years trying to understand how Romans thought, including 7 years of Latin taught not as a spoken thing but as a book language (which is not natural to me). I realized, for example, that the method we see of delaying what the actual story is about, which has taken off on social media because it’s a tease and people stay for a strip tease whether physical or mental or emotional, is a stretched out version of a Latin sentence. That allows me to see how their language form embodies exactly what I always thought, that it was contextual and that the fun in conversation would be to come up with a clever subject verb at the end, thus either confirming or frustrating expectations.

Then I placed Romans in Judaea or Palestine. They were used to complicated situations, but most of those were created by them. As in, Rome was cosmpolitan but it was Rome to begin with and remained Roman. When Rome made cities, people came. Jerusalem and that area was complicated when the Romans arrived.

So they put in a transition or buffer in the Herodian kings: not fully part of the people, not fully Roman. I’ve taken that as an intended benign act, as an act which reached politically from Rome to this place. It was interpreted by the locals as hostile in the extreme.

And the problem was the ones who apparently were the actual Zealots, meaning the political squabbles within the place were on the side of purity obsession. First, why would the Sanhedrin care about Jesus preaching stuff that included get along with the Romans? If anything, that would help. And why would the Romans want to stop someone from preaching beliefs that said you should cooperate with Rome. To take the gospel, to render unto Caesar.

Let’s say Rome executed Jesus for sedition. Why would they think that? The answer came to me as the Romans were smart, and cultured, not brutes wearing armor. They were the civilized ones. And that led me to perhaps the most famous poor joke in history, Cicero’s joking but deadly serious line about Octavian, what shall we do about the boy? He then says we should raise him up, which Romans knew meant honor and meant kill him to elevate him to heaven. Learned Romans knew that story. And that story reflects the Roman way of thinking, that words have double meanings.

And a learned Roman would know the story of the betrayal by the German Arminius. So they mistrusted those who pretended to be Roman only to remain barbarian at heart.

To a Roman ear, phrases like render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, render unto God what is God’s means pretend to go along, organize in secret, then show your true allegiance and give them what is Caesar’s, which is death. That is my answer. Jesus died because some Roman official, probably someone in the middle ranks of the administration learned about someone preaching cooperation, who wasn’t absolutist. And that Roman thought: this person could be dangerous. If he unites the lunatics, then they’ll pretend to cooperate with us while planning a much more serious rebellion. The Roman solution was always direct: execution.

The reason this fits as an answer is that it separates the message, the Word which has come to us, from the circumstances. That is, the Word survived Jesus and grew popular because it contained the essentials of what Jesus was saying and what he then represented affixed to the Trinity conception naturally because it was the Word. When I say Word, I obviously do not mean the literal gospels and associated stuff. I mean the Word itself.

So, Jesus, you were right: the journey did have a point, and the answer isn’t just the answer but it connects to the other main idea which came to me, the realization that we can map Ends as islands of countable infinity in the uncountable sea.

I need a break. Must cook. Oh, I would teach Latin conversation so it becomes a game to be witty and entertaining. I mean you do that kind of phrasing in English so you can see how it works, and then translate that into Latin, so you can learn the way of thinking in your native way of thinking.

Again, just when I get afraid I’m out of creative energy, it goes boom.

—————

Continuing in the same theme, still 10 August 2023, I heard something interesting, meaning in my mind, not in my ears: the Quran was shaped by Aisha, and would be even more male-dominant if not for her influence. I’ve had that thought before, but never with such clarity.

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championofapollo · 1 year

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I'm just starting to think that my family are just a bunch of DnD characters irl. We all have Tragic Backstories TM and an absurd amount of feats/skills

My mom is an Elf Ranger who went to cosmetology school, had her own radio show in Uni, graduated with an English degree, yet now has a job as an Engineer?? Plus, she used to speak 3 languages, but she hasn't spoken French or Spanish in a while, so she's forgotten vocab (I vividly remember her holding full conversations in Spanish when I was little). She's the reason we live out in the middle of nowhere, beside a pond, with many horses.

My dad is a Human Paladin (I guess). He's been GMing since High School, used to play precussion, and is now part-time Engineer part-time Writer. Don't ask me how, but in 24 hours, he can give you detailed records of just about any city. Original maps, who lived there, and pretty much general information about the town history n some fun facts. Also, when he dies, he insists that he wants to be thrown in a volcano that's about to errupt so that his ashes will travel the globe. Oh! And he throws axes.

Idrk what my older sister would be? She's certainly an elf like my mom, but I can't decide if she would be a caster or barbarian... Eh, multiclass! She grew up in my household, so obviously, she's a witch. She knows at least 20 ways to kill a person and can summon storms with her emotions. When she was younger, she decided she was going to learn Swahili, so ta da! She wanted to go to school for architecture but then picked up streaming, and now she has an internship for coding ._.

Iiii am somehow a Fae Rogue? All my life, I've vibrated at an odd frequency, so I'm never clear in photos. I don't know how many knives I have anymore, I'm an op pick-pocket, then give me 30 seconds so I can hide in plain sight (true story, they were looking for half an hour). I speak 5 languages (none fluently), play 3 instruments, draw, know how to make pottery on the lil wheel thingy, do embroidery, and am working on my sewing. I also write and am descent at photography. But I'm going to Uni for Marine Science!

Last but not least, my younger twin brother. He has to be at least part elf because of how extra he is, but he's not quite a half elf. 1/4 Elf Fighter! This is my goofy sibling that insists on having a sword collection, has an armoire full of legos, used to think he was a Monster Truck, and works part time as a Fencing Instructor. He was the one that got dad into throwing axes. His life goal is to own a castle somewhere in France to be a safehaven for gays, as well as to direct his own movies.

How did we end up like this-??

#jamie rambles #dnd

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flowerprose · 1 year

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I posted 2,065 times in 2022

That's 2,002 more posts than 2021!

197 posts created (10%)

1,868 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@flowerprose

@bebewrites

@pinespittinink

@jacqueattack

@lady-redshield-writes

I tagged 2,063 of my posts in 2022

#text - 314 posts

#writeblr lit - 278 posts

#sometimes i dream a sentence and queue it down - 240 posts

#i will touch a hundred flowers and not queue one - 124 posts

#boost - 111 posts

#q - 105 posts

#words - 98 posts

#she speaks - 96 posts

#poetry - 94 posts

#namesake - 88 posts

Longest Tag: 141 characters

#i… have made the mistake of sharing work with people i deeply loved and admired and hoped might lend their approval only to receive ‘😐 cool’

My Top Posts in 2022:

💀🌷🏛 NAMESAKE 🏛🌷💀

a hades x persephone retelling

excerpt prompt: friday kiss tag game

summary: a hades and persephone myth retelling in which hades is a skeleton, stripped of his godhood and powers, and persephone is a young flower maiden in search of her missing mother.

word count: 1204

“Have you heard of the folk stories from the Germanic barbarians? They whisper about kisses that break curses. Legends say a maiden will wake under any condition.”

“A kiss?” she repeats, the word clumsy in her mouth, unplaceable. “Must be otherworldly to undo such magic.”

“I would ask you to consider it. A small mercy,” Hades says.

Persephone studies her husband, amused that nursery rhymes and children’s fables are starting to worm into his head; she has known such desperation, pleaded from the other side of it.

The shadows that move around Hades sometimes morph into grim, demonic expressions across his fleshless face, but he remains neutral now, devoid of any anger or hurt she may have provoked.

“I have never kissed you,” Persephone says finally, her voice wavery, a nervous brook in search of a trench to spill into.

“And never have I asked you to. Until now.”

She decides to humour him. “If I kiss you, will you imprison me back in your realm of rot? It seems that keeping you this helpless thing that you are is much better for me. For my mother.”

“You hardly know me,” Persephone accuses.

“I beg you to let me.”

She wishes she could search for something more in his face than blank bone.

“You can feel that?” she asks. “The cold, I mean.”

“It’s a strange sensation,” he admits. “Like the air is heavy, something to wade through.”

Hades’ skeletal hands embrace her cheeks, warmed by the hellfire that naturally floods him. She waits for his touch to scorch her, but it’s gentle, a summer breeze, a sunbeam across her face.

“You love your mother. I will never test those bonds again. My error ignoring them the first time will follow me for all the lifetimes that exist beyond us.”

“Is this your apology?”

“Persephone… I am sorry.”

See the full post

72 notes - Posted August 19, 2022

Whenever I read one of Victoria’s vignettes, I always feel so dumb because I can hardly understand them at all. And then I blame myself. I think, Kira, this must be just too brilliant for you to grasp. Surely you must have missed something. Even though there’s always been this small voice inside of me that says, Um, what the fuck is this, please? This makes no sense. This is coy and this is willfully obscure and no one but Victoria will ever get this. I would in fact need to live inside Victoria’s spoiled, fragmented, lazy, pretentious little mind to get it. And who apart from us, apart from me, is going to be willing to do that? To work all night with a Victoria Decoder? Who would even care to? And then I feel like screaming JUST SAY IT. TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED. TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK THIS MEANS AND WHAT YOU DID WITH HIM EXACTLY.

this book is hurting my feelings now

73 notes - Posted April 6, 2022

DEMETER

mother earth, goddess of the harvest & earth fertility

Summary: from namesake, a hades and persephone myth retelling in which hades is a skeleton, stripped of his godhood and powers, and persephone is a young flower maiden in search of her missing mother.

Role: POV character

Character Snippet: below the cut

“Are you lonely?” Zeus asks her, bracing against the arch of her doorway. She turns away at his grin, twisted in mischief and impunity. He needn’t speak to send her away; just his presence causes a rising torrent in her chest.

Demeter moves into her room, setting the keepsake box of pearls on a side table overgrown with dried sunflowers and maize ears. “Too busy to notice,” she answers. “Crops must grow, fields must harvest. It’s tireless work, and last night didn’t help matters.”

She tries to picture rest, the way Dionysus could slip into a slumber of drink and sex, and still the vineyards wouldn’t spoil. If Demeter’s efforts lessened even slightly, people starved. Her name whispered amongst mortals like uttering a curse. Offerings came in mad desperation, ‘please, take our dearest lamb, our fertile bull, anything but starve us.’

Zeus was either oblivious or uncaring that she didn’t seek his company. She wants to ask how Hera is, just to see him scurry, but her Queen-sister occupies conversation in every hall of this palace. Demeter will give her no passage in her room.

“You must be lonely,” she says instead, “to slink all the way here with trinkets. Cautious of your chambers tonight?”

“Trinkets? Siren-caught. Just for you.” Zeus’s eyes gleam like gold medallions, the candlelight winking in the dark pools of his eyes. “Would you think less of me if I aired a complaint?”

“A little,” Demeter says. Then waves her hand toward twin chairs. “Come in then. Tell me what troubles you.”

For someone who came after her, Zeus carries all of the conceit of a chosen heir. Their father, Kronus, dispelled him at the cautious warning of a prophecy, but Zeus’s might deceived even the prophets. He slew their father through the belly, freed his sisters and brothers, wedded the most beautiful and claimed the throne of Olympus. Gifted Poseidon the seas, the lands to herself, and sweet Hestia the hearth. Hades he cast to the Underworld, to mind after the dead, the decay of their Earth.

Demeter tries never to think of Hades, skulking in his skull-throne, building a mantle Zeus never afforded him on their mountain peak.

“What troubles me, what troubles me,” Zeus mutters under his breath, as if she challenged him with a riddle. He ignores her chairs to take seat at the end of her bed. “Hestia pledges herself to her duties. Poseidon means to wed Amphitrite. Hades has his shades and serpents.”

Demeter snorts.

“But you… you seem immune to such obligation. I worry you wall your heart just so you can deny all of life’s pleasures.”

“I mean to deny no such thing.”

“Then tell me why you have yet to find a husband.”

“I haven’t a need for one.”

“What of a child?”

“I haven’t considered one.”

82 notes - Posted September 20, 2022

PERSEPHONE

flower maiden & queen of the underworld

from namesake, a hades and persephone myth retelling in which hades is a skeleton, stripped of his godhood and powers, and persephone is a young flower maiden in search of her missing mother.

Role: Protagonist and POV character

Character Snippet: below the cut

ask to be added or removed from the tag list!

He wants her to call him husband, yet she cannot even think his name, like planting it will seed into something sinister and root into a permanent, festering shame. He knows little of her, except from what he spied in the shadows. Beautiful girl, he whispered from his hell-brambled chariot.

Beautiful girl, she was.

A girl once petaled in love, ruler only of rosariums and a nursery of deer. Obscured from men and war and glooming darkness, until even the earth sundered to their will, and plunged her down to the boneyard palace.

Kore, they marvelled, a God-grown wonder.

She studies her glove-cloaked hands, adorned with opalescent pearls. A gift from her captor; a token to appease her anguished heart. She has known only to obey; yes mother, no uncle, of course, certainly! When her captor displayed the seed-heavy fruit and gutted it with a knife, she sucked back the seeds with fervour—thank you for taking care of me.

A once-girl now thorned by womanhood, made anew when her hymen tore and a veil of silvery webs, latticed with bone, crowned her pink mane.

Persephone, they sentenced her as queen.

Marriage isn’t a love-woven contract; she knew that much from her days in the sun-washed meadow. Her captor ruled a plain; he was a queen-maker, like her father, like the sea-faring Poseidon. When he sits upon the bone-stitched mantle of his throne, she tries to meet his gaze. Sorrow is the same as mirth to him, so all he can manage is the flex of a waning smirk. His eyes eat away the dull glow of the candlelight, drowning them as shadows do.

“You can make hell a darling place,” her now-King offers. “Fix it to your liking.”

Grow an eden over bone and rot and carrion flowers. Garden the dead. Tame them as her mother weaved grain, commanded the crops to prosper, noosed the reigns of life around her delicate wrists.

She could feel her mother’s despair even now; like how twins could sense the other’s sorrow, tethered by fate’s thread. It mirrored the dread storming in her lungs. Every breath eclipsed by barbaric sadness, hinged on a bone-sunk sob. Kore was dead: and whatever corpse she left behind knew little about how to live on.

tag list:

@mr-writes, @afoolandathief, @sapphic-story, @megarywrites, @loveimogen, @blushroomx, @ozzie-scribe, @asher-orion-writes, @theskeletonprior, @muddshadow, @thepixiediaries, @nikkywrites, @bebewrites, @jhellfiregirls

89 notes - Posted July 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

N A M E S A K E

He takes her in his arms. He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you but he thinks this is a lie, so he says in the end you’re dead, nothing can hurt you which seems to him a more promising beginning, more true. - Louise Gluck

a hades and persephone myth retelling in which hades is a skeleton, stripped of his godhood and powers, and persephone is a young flower maiden in search of her missing mother.

POV: third person, present tense

Status: Third rewrite

Genre: Fantasy

Projected word count: 85,000

read my writing here.

CHARACTERS

persephone

a maiden stolen from her mother and forced to marry a man at the blessing of a father who neither knew who her nor cared. a young bride tricked into the throne of a queen, lost in a world of frost when she returns to the living and her mother’s despair has plunged the planet into everlasting mourning.

hades

a deity who loses his agency and godhood, and learns to survive without all the power and might his birthright afforded him. misanthropic goth king forfeits the body to bed a wife, but finds a heart to love one.

demeter

a mother who grieves a world without her beloved daughter. her disappearance creates a chain of events in which the dead spill into the land of the living while an unrelenting winter threatens to end all life.

about

ultimately, namesake is a story about agency, how families overcome tragedy and come to heal. i didn’t want to write a typical hades and persephone story in which persephone is a consenting adult who chose her fate as queen of the underworld. i wanted to explore the repercussions of the men who ultimately dismantled her life and made those choices for her. i’ve been writing this project since 2014, evolving it as i studied classics and writing in university. this project means everything to me. tag list under the cut.

tag list:

@mr-writes, @afoolandathief, @sapphic-story, @megarywrites, @loveimogen, @blushroomx, @ozzie-scribe

187 notes - Posted June 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #long post #wow #this is more accurate than my spotify wrapped

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e-idp · 1 year

Text

Italy Driving Guide As A Foreign Tourist

Driving in Italy is not so different to driving in other countries, as long as you have an International Driving Permit and an understanding of the basic rules. international driving permit Italy.

If you’re planning to make this dream trip come true, you need to know some important things before booking that ticket. This guide is packed with information you need to know about Italy, from driving do’s and don’ts and driving situations to rental cars and top destinations. Reading this guide is essential to ensure you live the best time of your life while in the country. international driving permit italy

General Information

Located in the south-central of Europe, Italy is the home of fascinating architecture and tasty dishes. Because of its vibrant culture and turbulent past, the country attracts millions of tourists all over the world. Before you dream of enjoying a slice of Neapolitan pizza and Italian spaghetti, you need to know the travel restrictions and safety measures observed in the country.

Geographic Location

Italy is a country at the south central of Europe bordering Spain, France, Austria, Romania, and Greece. This boot-shaped country is just a bit protruding into the Mediterranean Sea, comprising the Po Valley, islands like Sicily, and the southern side of the Alps. Italy is known for its scenic landscapes, where you’ll find rugged mountains and pristine lakes in different regions of the country. international driving License Italy

With only a few roads connecting each region in this rugged landscape, each town in the country is unique, with varying cuisine and dialect. The country has general temperate climate because of the mountainous landscape. However, as you go to the southern part of Italy, you’ll find beautiful coastal areas. Indeed, the country has a varied landscape that caters to all kinds of tourists.

Languages Spoken

Standard Italian is the primary language in the country. You may notice that there are varying dialects in each region in the country, but not all of these dialects have legal protection and recognition. Because of this, people had to learn the Standard Italian to communicate with others. Aside from Italian, the people also speak French, Catalan, Slovene, German and Sardinian in other regions. international driving permit italy

Land Area

History

Italy has a rich yet turbulent history that inspired hundreds of movies. The country was first inhabited by the Etruscans, who founded a civilization between the Arno and Tiber rivers. In the 3rd century BCE, the Romans took hold of the entire Mediterranean, extending its power from India to Scotland. However, barbarian invasions seized power from the Romans in the 5th century CE, ending the reign of the Roman empire.

During the Renaissance era, Italy flourished because of artistic, technological, and intellectual endeavors. However, the loyalty of the city-states was divided between the pope and the Holy Roman Empire, waging a savage war between the states. Italy has suffered immensely during the two world wars under the rule of the fascist Benito Mussolini. international driving permit italy

Government

Italy has a bicameral parliament, which primary function is legislation, comprised of the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate. The members of the Chamber of Deputies, or the lower house, are elected by the proportional representation system. Most senate members are also elected in this kind of system. But some of them are appointed by the president and ex-officio presidents.

The country is headed by the president, elected by the parliament, and three representatives of every region. As the head of the state, the president can dissolve the parliament on his own initiative or at the request of the government. The government comprises the president of the Council of Ministers and other ministers of particular departments. The government is responsible for administrative policy.

Tourism

Tourists love to visit the major cities in the country in which the all-time favorite city is Rome. With beautiful monuments, scenic landscape, and majestic architecture. It’s no wonder that Italy is a top country destination in the world.

International Driver’s Permit in Italy

Driving in Italy to explore cities and towns can be one of your unforgettable memories. Assuming you comply with all the requirements and follow the driving rules. One of the requirements for driving in Italy is an international driver’s permit (IDP). An IDP is a travel document that allows you to drive in a foreign country. international driving permit italy

Is a Local Driver’s License Valid in Italy?

A local driver’s license is valid in Italy for up to six months if you have a visa on your passport. All licenses issued in the European Union are valid in Italy, even without an international driver’s permit for Italy. However, if you’re from a non-EU country, you have to have an international driver’s license in Italy. An international driving permit is necessary in Italy, especially for driving permits that are not in Italian or English.

Do You Need an International Driver’s Permit in Italy?

Foreigners need an international’s driver’s permit to drive in Italy for up to six months. When renting a car, you have to present an international driver’s license in Italy along with your local driving license. An international driver’s permit can help you avoid negative situations with the authorities. If you’re driving in Italy with a US license, you still need to present an IDP to the authorities.international driving permit italy

IMTA

www.e-idp.co.uk

#international driving permit Italy

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pantheon-god-of-war · 2 years

Text

The age of Atreus

Recently I have spoken with Riot Scathlocke who is a Narrative Editorial Director for Riot Games. He has always been a pleasure to converse with over lore questions and with the Call giving Pantheon some much-deserved spotlight the question of his age came up.

Now my initial thought was that when Atreus was young he traveled to the Solari, in order to request their aid against the first barbarian assault that caught his patrol off guard, wounding him and Pylas.

In the old lore of Pantheon we learn that Leona was the newly appointed leader of the Solari and preached a different form of protection.

In this old lore Leona was still a Rakkor, we know this to be retconned since she now was born in the Solari order. But even in the new lore Atreus seeks out the Solari and is denied once more by the sun's chosen. Riot Scathlocke notes here that the change from Leona to sun-chosen was deliberate.

Since it could have been a previous incarnation of the sun aspect that turns Atreus request down. He also confirms that Atreus does not age like other aspects, even if he does not retain all of Pantheon's powers. With Riot Scathlockes thought provoking replies I began to wonder if maybe there was another sun's chosen some time ago, we know the famous mural of the Solari chosen vs the Lunari chosen. It is said that an Aspect appears roundabout once a century. This would imply that Atreus is older than a century if he truly had known this other Sun aspect.

However, this theory falls apart for me on several occasions. First and foremost is that Leona knows Atreus, and even addresses him as YOUNG Atreus when she faces the Warrior aka the true Pantheon.

Flirty Leona voice line aside, this would mean she knows that the host of Pantheon is called Atreus. I doubt Pantheon would disclose the name of Atreus since he hardly cares about the guy, to him Atreus is just a flesh puppet, a tool to use for his own agenda. So if Leona knows his name, she must have known him from before Pantheon took over Atreus body.

I see further indication of that in Pantheon's own in-game quotes towards her. Leona (if we can assume the aspect of the sun in question was Leona) refused to aid Atreus and send the Ra'Horak out to combat the Barbarian threat. In response or maybe in reference to this event he has the following quote against her in-game.

While I know it has been said a few times that in-game interactions don't mean 100% canon, they do give us an idea of champion alignment and this seems very specific towards Leona. She hides behind the Solari instead of going out to fight and help the people of Targon like the defender she claims to be.

Riot Scathlocke also mentioned that they recently discussed Pantheons age:

We learn from him that Atreus climbed about 40 years ago. If we follow the story of Pylas and Atreus we know that Pylas marries Iula and that they had to complete their Warrior rites that in the old lore were called the Rite of Kor as it would elevate the young ones to the state of true RakKOR. Seeing as the Rakkor once were called the Stanpar (an anagram for Spartan) we can loosely take some inspiration from the agoge the Spartan rite of passage.

"The agōgē was divided into three age categories: the paides (about ages 7–14), paidiskoi (ages 15–19), and the hēbōntes (ages 20–29)."

From these three subcategories, the paidiskoi is the one where boys are considered to enter manhood. So using the age of 15 to 19 is a good idea for the time of completion of Pylas and Atreus rite of Kor. After that, they continued training to prepare for the climb.

In this time Atreus and Pylas joined the Solari. I remember that they did in previous lore but currently can not find any literature on that. It was part of my own headcanons for the longest time because I read it somewhere. Checking league wiki there is also reference to the fact that he was once part of the Solari order.

It would also explain the iconic tattoos on his head that resemble Leona's crest since that is strong Solari imagery.

Now if they completed their Rite of Kor at about 18 and then joined the Solari for training for two years they would be ready to climb at the age of 20. I know Atreus resented the Solari, but the Ra'Horak are the finest warriors of the mountain, for his personal gain I could see him swallow his pride and work with them to become the best warrior he possibly can.

In that time Pylas would also have met Iula, and they would have married somewhere after his Kor and before the climb. Pylas would then die upon the peak of mount Targon, while Pantheon would subjugate Atreus and infuse his body with celestial might to ready his mortal vessel.

With the climb happening 40 years ago from the current timeline my personal assessment would be that Pantheon was in control for about 35 years, his wars against the darkin sent him through all the world, hunting and killing them before Aatrox lured him back to mount Targon where they engage in combat.

Atreus would then have 5 years as Pantheon reborn after he heals from Aatrox wounds at Iulas farm. This would make Pantheon 60 years of age while retaining a biological age of 28 to 32 (the prime age, since aspects do not age) Kayle and Morgana are incredibly old and predate Demacia while being the children of an Aspect, so naturally Atreus also does not age.

This theory falls apart however when we look at Iula. Atreus recruits her and fights with her against the demon Camphor. We learn this from Legends of Runeterra.

Here she is depicted as a strong, young, and beautiful woman. Maybe in her early thirties but I have an issue believing that she is 60, which she should be if the previous statement about 40 years since the ascent is correct.

So this equation does not quite add up. Iula is mortal, fully mortal she would age like anyone else unlike Pantheon and Leona and she still seems very young (comparably).

Now I know Riot Scathlocke and other Rioters have a ton on their plate and more than just two champions to deal with. This is in no way shape or form an attack at their narrative capabilities. I have great respect and admiration and only want to help and point out things about two champions I am very fond of.

So since Iula seems to be a limiting factor here Atreus can not be too old. Which in this case means that the aspect of the sun DOES have to be Leona because before Leona the Solari was ruled by a council of elders that Diana later on exterminated. Had it been another sun aspect Leona would have known her, or we would have read about her somewhere.

So if Iula married Pylas after his Kor at the age of around 18 and is now 35 (assuming an age here based on her looks in LoR. She could be younger but not likely much older) that means we have a good 17 years between Pylas marrying her and the current year.

It is safe to assume that the love between Pylas and Iula was strong because even in the current day she remembers, honors, and loves him. This is important because it would likely mean that they would marry as soon as they finished their Kor. Since one likely has to pass into adulthood to marry.

If we go by that information the last 17 years should have looked something like this:

- Iula and Pylas married 17 years ago, after their Kor at age 18.

- Pylas and Atreus climbed 15 years ago due to the two years of training for the climb after they passed into adulthood. Pylas dies upon the peak of mount Targon at age 20 and Atreus is enslaved by Pantheon at the same age.

- Pantheon goes on a one man army hunt all over the world for the Darkin for about 10 - 12 years

- Aatrox goads Pantheon to battle, defeating him.

- Atreus regains control and heals at Iulas farm at anywhere from age 30 to 32.

- He then has anywhere from 5 to 3 years as the unbreakable spear. In this time he faces Xerath, gets ruined by Viego, and then fights Leona as seen in the latest Riot cinematic the Call.

This would mean Atreus is currently about 35 years old.

We are currently in the year 997 and Leona was born around 966 AN - 971 AN which would mean that at oldest she would be 31. But that can't be if she has quotes and lore interactions with Pantheon.

Either Leona and Diana are older than they look, which is quite valid since aspects do not age as mortals do, and since they are both aspects it does not matter if they are 31 years old, 60, or 600. Now granted they can not be too old and should remain no older than a century. But if we assume that Atreus was around 15 to maybe 16 when he was being trained by the Rakkor elders who then were attacked by the barbarians which led him to Leona and the Solari asking for help, and he is 35 years old then that was about 20 years ago. If Leona were 31 that means she would be 11 and leader of the Solari, which I highly doubt. however, put 10 more years on it and Leona is 21 a ripe young age for being the new champion and divine leader of the Solari. So if we clock Leona in at around 41 years that would solve the continuity error.

- Leona and Atreus could have met when he was young and she was an aspect already.

- Iulas age would fit her design.

These are my estimates, and some of these numbers can be pushed or pulled into certain directions, but having found no age indicators of Leona other than her birthdate to tie key events like her climb and ascension to the current estimate is quite a good one.

Personally, for my own rp purposes, I will have Atreus be 35, Leona 41, and Iula at 35 as discussed.

I do not possess the hubris to tell Riot what to do with their champions, this is a well-meaning age study for Pantheon and Leona, that seeks to highlight some potential issues with the current timeline.

I hope we will learn more about Atreus and Leona's relationship and see it evolve in the future. There is so much untapped potential with both of them and I hate to see it all squandered and wasted.

Thank you for your time.

#Pantheon #Leona #Iula #Solar Phalanx

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fresh-prince-of-denmark · 3 years

Text

Analysis of the Devil Ending: Who Died and Left Aristotle In Charge of Ethics? (Pt 5)

Hello and welcome back to me over-analyzing everything in Cyberpunk. If you haven’t read my other posts, please read those first! (V’s Mikoshi Poem, Johnny’s Mikoshi Poem, The Sun, New Dawn Fades).

This part took me a lot longer to complete. Not because it was particularly long…it was just painful. Jesus Christ. I hated every second of this ending. That shit hurted.

There were a few shards located at Arasaka’s estate that I chose to skip, as I did not find ant that were unique to the location. The three the game seemed to want to draw your attention to were actually not scattered as shards, they were spoken-word. The only shard I was able to find was a portion of The Odyssey. The other two pieces of literature are In Kyoto, which is quoted to V by the guard to takes her to the hospital room, and (what I believe to be) a reference to Plato’s The Allegory of the Cave. This section is going to be super theoretical. Like, more theoretical than the rest. So bare with me please.

Let’s start easy. This is the poem that the guard quotes at V as he leads her out of the operating room:

In Kyoto,

hearing the cuckoo,

I long for Kyoto

(By: Basho, translated by Jane Hirshfield)

Ten words. What could ten words amount to? The saddest goddamn words you’ll ever hear, dammit. This poem is a feeling more than a concept. Ever feel homesick when you haven’t gone anywhere? Lonely when you’re around other people? That’s V. This was supposed to be a victory, supposed to be what they wanted. But now Johnny’s gone, scorned and betrayed, and no one they calls seems to even be able to give V the time of day. This was supposed to be a victory, their way of going back to the way things were, getting their life back, going home. But we can never go back, can’t ever erase our experiences, what we learn, how we grow. As Misty says, we should not fear change in of itself, but who we might change into. This just goes to show what happens when we betray ourselves by rejecting our own growth: all that’s left is bitterness and sorrow.

The next day when V wakes, you can pick up a shard containing a section from Chapter 8 of The Odyssey. Now, I’m not too familiar with the Odyssey. In fact, I hate the Odyssey. So if anyone wants to jump in here and add something more intelligent, I’m all for it. The Odyssey is the tale of Odysseus, who has been trying for ten long years to return to his wife and son after the Trojan war. Odysseus is basically listening to a bard remind him of all his Trojan War trauma, and begins to weep, at which time time people start questioning what’s up with this guy:

Say what thy birth, and what the name you bore,

Imposed by parents in the natal hour?

(For from the natal hour distinctive names,

One common right, the great and lowly claims:)

Say from what city, from what regions toss'd,

And what inhabitants those regions boast?

So shalt thou instant reach the realm assign'd.

In wondrous ships, self-moved, instinct with mind;

No helm secures their course, no pilot guides;

Like man intelligent, they plough the tides,

Conscious of every coast and every bay,

That lies beneath the sun's all-seeing ray;

Though clouds and darkness veil the encumber'd sky,

Fearless through darkness and through clouds they fly;

Though tempests rage, though rolls the swelling main,

The seas may roll, the tempests may rage in vain,

E'en the stern god that o'er the waves presides,

Safe as they pass, and safe repass the tides,

With fury burns; while careless they convey

Promiscuous every guest to every bay,

These ears have heard my royal sire disclouse

A dreadful story, big with future woes;

How Neptune raged, and how, by his command,

Firm rooted in a surge a ship would stand

A monument of wrath; how mound on mound

Should bury these proud towers beneath the ground.

But this the gods may frustrate or fulfill,

As suits the purpose of the Eternal Will.

But say through what waste regions hast thou stray'd

What customs noted, and what coasts survey'd;

Possess'd by wild barbarians fierce in arms,

Or men whose bosom tender pity warms?

Say why the fate o Troy awaked thy cares,

Why heaved thy bosom, and why flowed thy tears?

Reading this made me feel just how tired V must be. All this fighting, all this war, and for what? Much like Odysseus, V has been through hell and back (literally, depending on how you see it). And it never seems to end. V has been fighting for so long, yet there’s always something more; the tests the doctor gives her are endless, and they’re always being asked to do more, over and over again, with no results or end in sight. Odysseus is teetering on despair; nothing he does seems to do will ever be enough, just like V. The world will just take and take and take. It’s exactly what V’s poem asserts in Mikoshi; the world cannot be fixed, and resistance is futile. You can’t change how corporations rule the world, and as a protestor states on the TV in the hospital room, the rich have no boundaries or morals, and we are powerless to stop them from taking whatever they want. They can take not only our souls, but our bodies, devour them in order to prolong their own lives. Johnny would, of course, disagree. Even a slap in the face to The Man is better than submitting to a corpo-leash, even if that is the easier path. And in fact, he may be right, since it seems taking Hanako’s offer is the conformist path, and the only one that leads to Saburo coming back.

But Johnny isn’t there anymore to walk the rebel path at their side. No more guardian angel to whisper when they it most to never stop fighting.

There’s a lot more we could go into here with the Odyssey; comparing Arasaka to the story of Polyphemus and the cave, talking about themes of passion vs. commitment, yadayadayada. I hate the Odyssey so that can be someone else’s problem tbh.

The final piece is what the doctor asks V to read as one of their tests. Now, on surface-level, this is foreshadowing if V will choose to stay in their body, or be turned into an engram. It’s laughing at them, really, both pitying and mocking the fact that they believe they have a choice, since either way they’re once again at the mercy of the rich and powerful:

“And it was a sight to behold, he said, how a soul would choose its life; sometimes pitiable, sometimes laughable at times wonderful and strange. For in most cases, the souls made their choice according to the habits of a former life.”

I couldn’t find where this was from, or if it was a quote from anything. But googling it does bring up Plato’s Allegory of The Cave, which I thinks tracks pretty well. I found a quote from this chapter of Plato’s The Republic, which is strikingly similar in meaning. For the sake of my sanity, lets assume that this quote is referencing this one from Plato:

“And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being, and he will pity the other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light, there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets him who returns from above out of the light into the cave.”

If you’re unfamiliar with the allegory of the cave, it’s a philosophical discussion from Plato’s The Republic. It’s about how human perception is limited, and so true knowledge comes from the self via philosophical reasoning. Much like humans imprisoned in a cave with only shadows as their entire world, we cannot imagine the true world outside the cave until we leave to see it for ourselves. Those who are freed from this limited reasoning have a duty to go back and free others, subjecting them to the full experience of awakening; both the pain and the triumph it entails. V starts out with a limited perception of things; a surface-level world, never stopping to see the bigger picture, until Johnny comes along and encourages them to question the status quo. In all other endings, V accepts this enlightenment. They challenge Arasaka, and try to follow Johnny’s legacy and Stick It To the Man. Yet if they accept Hanako’s offer in an attempt to return to “the habits of a former life,” they are rejecting this new understanding, refusing to leave the cave and live in ignorant bliss. This, I believe, is where Johnny’s true feeling of betrayal comes from: not because he’s being shredded, and not because he thinks V doesn’t know any better. V learned and changed just as much as he did, and this growth was something they were able to gift to one another. Johnny is proud of his change, proud to be someone trusted by V, proud at a second chance not to fuck things up. When V gives him control to go with Rogue to Arasaka, he’s ecstatic to prove himself worthy of that trust, to prove that he’s changed. Yet V, the person who aided in that change, is now actively ignoring and rejecting their own growth, and thus is betraying themselves. By not using their enlightenment to actively oppose the status quo and rebel, they are choosing the side of the oppressor by default.

Some of her last words if you choose not to sign the contract are to Goro, “You have no idea how good it feels to be free.” But the truth is, V is not free, and now they will never be free. By walking the path they have, they are choosing willful ignorance, stubbornly clinging to the darkness of the cave because it is easier to convince oneself that they are not a prisoner at all than it is to leave the comfort of one’s chains. Either way, they are caged, even if the bars the rich and powerful build around her are clear instead of solid. Her so-called freedom (and knowledge) is pure illusion — shadows depicted on a cave wall.

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

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Can you do Jonsa Gladiator AU or Mob AU? Angsty but happy ending pleeeeeease! ❤

❤️❤️ thank you for the prompt!

a few things...

1) I’m not really into mob stuff so I chose gladiator????

2) I don’t know anything about gladiators and was too lazy to do research so....... whoops! most of this comes from cursory google searching, my viewing of the movie Gladiator when I was a child, and my Latin classes in middle school.

3) I’m not completely sure if this fits the angst prompt or even the gladiator prompt, really, but I tried my best

4) does this plot make sense? who knows!

5) the seven kingdoms are separate kingdoms in this just as an FYI, except the Iron Islands which is part of the North for Reasons™

6) these are supposed to be fairly short fics/drabbles but this turned into nearly 4k words because I have ZERO self control

7) here’s gladiator Jon to make up for this fic’s shortcomings:

In the pit, he stands over his opponent and waits for the Emperor's decision.

They call him the Northman, they call him the Barbarian, but from this far away, she cannot tell. If he is Northern, he has been in the south too long. His skin is tanned golden and they have clad him in Northern armor, but perhaps he is just a southerner with dark hair that they have dressed up for fun. It isn't even true Northern armor, but she supposes that is likely because of the heat and the sun.

The Emperor raises his hand and gives the signal and in the pit, she watches him execute his opponent without hesitation and she thinks, no, it is not him.

….

She is seven years old when Jon's horse is maimed on a ride and they must put it down. She is not there when it happens, but later she finds him hiding in a corner in the stables with tears staining his face. He will not come out, does not want to face the teasing from Theon or Robb. She knows what it is like, to be teased for crying, and so she sits with him and she never tells a soul.

….

“Alayne is ever so interested in the gladiators,” Margaery leans forward, like she is telling the Emperor a secret.

“They do not have them in the North,” she says, keeping her eyes low. This is what she is good at, this is what she knows – playing a demure lady. Timid, accommodating, and one with no secrets.

She does not want to meet the Emperor, not really. From what she has seen during her time in King's Landing, he has proven to be every bit as cruel as the rumors made him out to be.

“I never imagined such a beauty from the North,” the Emperor says with a smile that would be charming if she didn't know better.

“Usually Northern women look just like their men!” some man she does not know jokes, he is drunk and loud, and the others around wait for the Emperor's reaction before deciding what their own is. The Emperor laughs, though, and the others follow suit.

“I heard the barbarian King is part wolf himself,” some noblewoman says, her hair twisted into an elaborate, painfully tight style. “I hear he eats raw meat and sleeps on the floor!”

“Have you ever met the Northern King, Alayne?” The Emperor turns to her and gives her a predatory smile.

“I have not, Oldcastle is so far from Winterfell, you see,” she lies and manages to keep a straight face, though she can feel her blood pounding furiously through her veins. She hopes they think the flush in her cheeks is from the wine and not her anger. “And I am from a lesser house.”

She is relieved when she is finally able to get away, as Margaery leads her around the room and introduces her to all the King's Landing elite. Margaery is from The Reach, but has been in King's Landing long enough to know all the players.

Finally, finally, they meet someone who can help.

“If Lady Alayne is so interested in the gladiators, perhaps I could give her a tour,” a man with salt and pepper hair and a pointed beard and a slick smile offers.

She can tell Margaery does not like this man, but this is what she needs and so she gives the man what she hopes is an innocently excited smile and says “oh, could you?”

…..

When Jon gets past Robb to rescue her, she throws herself into his arms and sighs “thank you, Dragonknight.”

“Dragonknight?” she hears Robb snort and she pulls back from Jon and scowls.

“Don't ruin it, Robb,” she stomps her foot as Jon laughs. She hears Robb say something as he moves away, but she does not care. Robb is terrible at playing monsters-and-maidens, but Jon is a better sport. She likes when Jon rescues her and he usually does not make fun of her when she makes up names for them. She is good at that, making up names and stories.

“Don't listen to him,” Jon tells her and she gives him a bright smile. Jon is always the most fun to play with. She does not have much in common with her cousin, but he is always kind and he plays along, better than Robb or Arya or Theon.

She rewards him for rescuing her with a kiss to his cheek and she likes the way he ducks his head and blushes and she spends the rest of the day with Jeyne talking about what it meant.

….

This is a waste, she thinks as Petyr Baelish leads her through the fortress that houses the gladiators. They are all in cells and they stare at her as she passes and she feels something sour in the pit of her stomach. She and everyone in the North have heard of the gladiators of the southern kingdoms, but it is not something they practice in the North and it makes her sick. Feigning interest and enthusiasm in it makes her sick. The Emperor with his golden smile makes her sick. The man leading her right now makes her sick.

She is sick of the south and she wants to go home, but this is what she came for and she will see it through, though she knows it is pointless. Theon was wrong.

She pretends to look at the various gladiators as Baelish talks, but she barely hears him. She has spotted the Northman's cell and it is all she can do not to walk directly over to it and confirm that it is not him so that this can be over. When it is over, she can leave. She can go back home and stop pretending to be Alayne and she'll deal with father's wrath but at least she will be home. She will be home and she can finally rid herself of the sick, choking hope that has been inside her ever since Theon had come back to Winterfell from his trip to the southern kingdoms and told them what he found.

What he thought he found, she reminds herself. Theon was wrong.

Finally, they arrive at the cell she wants and she looks inside at the man lounging on his cot. Unlike the others, he has not gotten up to stand at the bars to watch her. He is not leering at her or saying crude things like many of the others. It almost seems like he is ignoring them, pretending they are not there.

“What is your name,” she asks and steps closer to the cell. Behind her, she can hear Baelish make a sound of protest, telling her not to get too close. She knows the gladiator hears her, but he does not respond and she feels annoyance creep through her. He is dragging this out, making her stay here longer than she needs to. “You, Northman,” she says in her best imperious tone, “what is your name?”

“The lady asked you a question,” she hears Baelish's voice slither from behind her and one of the jailers clangs on the metal bars, like the gladiator is some sort of animal.

The gladiator finally sits up and she can't quite see him in the darkness of his cell. It isn't him, she reminds herself, but she feels frustrated because she needs to be certain. He looks at her and she watches him slowly stand up, but he stays back, in the shadows, and finally he says “they call me a lot of things,” and he shrugs. His voice is rough and low and something swoops low in her stomach because... because he sounded Northern. She needs to hear more words, needs to hear the accent.

“Are you actually Northern or just some southerner dressed in a costume?” she makes her voice as haughty and challenging as she can, her own Northern accent becoming just a little bit thicker than the polished one she uses down here (and somewhere, distant in her mind, she recognizes her tone as the one she used to tease him with, the one that could always get a rise out of him).

When he scowls and steps forward with an almost snarl, hope claws at her chest but she pushes it down.

“I'm more Northern than you are,” he spits, and one hand comes up to curl around the bars of his cell. In the light, she can see his grey eyes and his long face and she feels her hands start to shake.

“You'll watch your tongue,” Baelish says, but the gladiator ignores him.

“Look at you, all dressed up in their clothing,” he mocks, his eyes raking over her dress and her elaborately styled hair (her brown hair, she had just touched up the dye last night).

What is your name? She wants to scream it, wants to drop to her knees in front of his cell and beg for it, but she cannot. Petyr Baelish is here and somewhere, hovering in the shadows, is Varys. They are watching her and she has spent too much time here already and there is only so much she can excuse her behavior with we're both Northern and I am curious.

And so instead she backs away and turns to Baelish and tells him to take her home.

….

“You can't!” she sobs and tugs on his arm. “I don't want you to go!”

Jon sighs and carefully removes her hand from his arm, but he doesn't let it go, he holds it and brings his other hand up to cup her jaw.

“It will only be for a few months,” he sighs. “I'll come back.”

He is going away to visit Uncle Benjen and though he promises he is not going to take the Black, she still worries. He is sixteen and thinks himself a man grown.

“You promise?” she sniffs, her voice wavering too much.

“I promise,” his voice does not waver and his eyes never leave hers. “And when I come back, I'll talk to Uncle Ned.”

This is something they have not spoken of, not since that night. Not since the feast where Jeyne had snuck her more wine and she had gotten tipsy and kissed Jon as he had escorted her back to her rooms. She remembers him pulling away, remembers him telling her that she was drunk and didn't know what she was doing. She remembers telling him that he was a coward that would never ask for her hand and then storming into her room and slamming the door in his face.

“You will?”

“Aye,” he breathes and though she can tell he is nervous, he does not look away. “I'm no coward.”

….

She feels as though she will vomit, standing in one of Margaery's guest rooms where she has been staying for nearly three months now. Three months of dying her hair and pretending to be Alayne. Two months to see him in person, another to finally work up to asking Margaery to arrange this.

Sansa endured her sly smiles, her little jabs. “I suppose if you're homesick, it might be nice to have a bit of the North in your bed,” Margaery had grinned. “You're taking a risk though, Dany will be furious if she finds out.”

And so she had learned that Daenerys favored the Northman, brought him often to her bed and the idea turned her stomach, but she had held it together in front of Margaery.

But now Margaery is not here, off at a celebration for the Emperor's name day, and she cannot keep herself together. There is still a chance it is not him, but oh she cannot help the hope that has blossomed once again in her. And tonight is the night, it has to be. Most of the city will be celebrating the Emperor, no one will be watching a minor lady from the North.

He is led in by guards and she sees him for the first time in full light and it does nothing to dispel the hope. It has been nearly seven years since she last saw him, and this man's skin is darker, his hair longer, a beard where only sparse hairs had been before. A scar runs through his brow, another on his chin, and she can see others lining his arms, his hands.

He stands in the center of the room with his hands linked behind his back and a blank expression and his eyes look unfocused and far away and she wants to scream.

When she stands from the bed, she cannot think of a single thing to say except “what is your name?”

He stares straight ahead, expressionless, as he says “you can call me whatever you want.”

“No,” she cries and stomps her foot like she hasn't since she was a little girl. “What is your name?”

He turns to her, his eyes coming back into focus and she watches his brows furrow, just a bit. After a few moments of silence, he says “Jon,” and she nearly weeps with relief.

Theon was right.

….

When Arya crashes into the room, Sansa looks up from her sewing as Septa Mordane begins to scold her, but Arya is not listening.

Arya is crying. She never cries, and Sansa feels her stomach drop as Arya's eyes find hers.

“They were attacked, Jon and Uncle Benjen,” Arya stutters and Sansa has never seen her so wrecked. “They're all dead.”

Sansa barely feels her sewing hoop slip from her fingers and all she can think is that this is a lie, it cannot be true. He cannot be dead, he promised to come back. He promised to ask for her hand.

….

Jon is a common name but she knows deep in her heart that it is him and so she reaches up and undoes the scarf that hides her washed out hair. For a moment he does not move, he simply watches her copper hair fall around her shoulders and then his eyes move from it to her face and then to her hands as she pulls her direwolf pendant from where it was hidden beneath the neckline of her dress.

She cannot tell what he is thinking, he says nothing, only stares.

“Jon,” she breathes, taking a step forward and reaching for him, but he jerks back, like her touch will burn and she feels tears well up. She isn't wrong, she can't be.

“No,” is all he says, shaking his head slowly. “You can't be here.”

“Jon-”

“These people... you can't be here,” he's angry now and he moves forward and grabs her shoulders and grips them tight, but she is not scared because it is Jon.

“Oi,” a voice sounds from behind them and Jon freezes, “watch the hands.”

Sansa watches as Arya slips out from behind the curtain and moves forward, one hand casually resting on the knife at her hip.

“I know you're my cousin, but I'll still gut you if you hurt her.”

Jon turns to stare at Arya and his face has paled under his tan and Sansa watches everything from fear to anger to despair cross his face and she hates it.

“That's Arya's way of saying hello,” she tries to joke, tries to break the tension, but she's crying and so her tone is all wrong.

“You can't be here,” Jon whispers again, letting go of her shoulders and backing away from the both of them.

“Like hell,” Arya scowls. “We're here to rescue you, you idiot, pull yourself together.”

“Be nice,” Sansa scolds, but from the way Jon straightens up, she thinks maybe the direct approach is best. As it is, she's barely holding herself together and she thinks maybe they need Arya to get them through this.

…..

Theon pulls them into a room and Robb rolls his eyes and tells him to stop being dramatic.

“What's this great secret?” Arya asks, leaning against a table as Sansa settles herself in the chair.

They all expect theatrics from Theon, it's who he is, and he's been away for nearly a year, traveling the southern kingdoms to gather intelligence for their father. So of course Theon has some scintillating story to tell them, but this is beyond his usual fanfare. The secrecy of it all, it's a little much.

“You know the gladiator games in the south, right,” Theon says, but it isn't a question. Of course they do. The games are most popular in the Crownlands and the Reach and the Westerlands, but they are also held in the Stormlands and the Riverlands and the Vale. Dorne is the only other kingdom to ban them outright like the North.

“Don't tell me it's your new dream to be a gladiator,” Robb jokes but it falls flat as Theon seems to pale. This isn't his usual way of telling stories, all giddy excitement and exaggeration. He is serious and Robb falls silent as they all realize this.

“I saw a match in King's Landing and there was... they call him the Northman and I swear, I swear to you, it was Jon.”

He barely gets the sentence out before Robb snarls and grabs him by the collar and slams him into the wall. Sansa feels as though she is in a daze as she watches Robb nearly choke Theon, as Arya grabs him and pulls him back and Theon staggers to his feet and pulls in gasping breaths.

“What sort of fucking sick joke-” Arya starts, just as angry even though she saved his life.

“It isn't,” Theon whispers, still trying to get his breath back. “I swear to you. I debated whether to tell you or not the whole way back. I haven't even told the King. I couldn't be sure, they didn't give me his name or anything, but he looks exactly like one of you Starks. And he's the right age and...”

Sansa hears nothing further. Jon is dead. He and Uncle Benjen had been killed in a raid by clansmen disloyal to her father. They had found Uncle Benjen’s body, not Jon’s, but there had been a fire that had burned some beyond recognition and Jon is dead.

…..

They do not have much time and Sansa pulls a set of clothes out of the dresser for Jon. He is too conspicuous in his current state and they had managed to steal a set of commoner's clothes for him. He strips out of his tunic and Sansa blushes and turns away, though he does not seem to care about his state of undress and she wonders how often he is forced to be naked in front of others (and she thinks again to Margaery telling her that he was a favorite of Daenerys, the faraway look in his eyes when he thought he was here for the same thing).

When he is ready, they slip out of the room and Arya leads them through back corridors and secret passageways.

In the months that Sansa has been ingratiating herself into King's Landing society, Arya has been learning all their secrets. Their guard patterns and exits and which servants are less loyal than others. And Sansa knows that somewhere along the coast, Theon is waiting for them with his sister's ship. Back home in Winterfell, Robb is lying for them, holding off mother and father's suspicions for as long as possible, intercepting ravens from the Eyrie that would tell the King and Queen that their daughters are not actually there.

She has been waiting for it all to fall apart, for one of them to slip up, for it not to be Jon at all, and so it feels unreal as they arrive at the stables to find three horses waiting and a stableboy plied with gold. The stableboy punches Arya in the arm and they seem to be friends and Sansa would laugh if she weren't so terrified that she is going to wake up any second.

But she does not wake up and instead they leave the city and ride for hours and hours, making their way north and east, until they finally reach a small seaside town.

They do not dare to get a room at the local inn and so they wait in the woods at the outskirts of town until they see the ship come in to dock. It flies a Manderly flag but when they sneak on board, Theon greets them and it is only when they are properly out to sea that Sansa lets herself believe that this is real.

“I knew it was you,” Theon grips Jon's shoulders and they never truly got along as children, but that doesn't seem to matter now.

Later that night, she cannot sleep and so she leaves her cot and heads up on deck and she finds him standing at the rails and she somehow knew she would.

“You came for me,” he says, his voice dull and disbelieving.

“Of course we did,” she whispers, she doesn't trust her voice not to break if she speaks any louder. “You always rescued me when we were kids, it was time for me to rescue you.”

For a moment he is silent and then he lets out a sharp laugh. He does not point out that he never truly rescued her, it was only play. He does not scold her for putting herself in danger. Instead, his head drops and his whole body seems to sag against the rail as if it is the only thing keeping him upright. She moves forward and wraps her arms around his middle and then he seems to transfer his weight from the rail to her and she does not mind.

She does not know what he has been through, truly, and if she were being honest with herself, she's not sure she wants to know. The horrors she had witnessed in the few gladiator matches she attended, the way the nobles talked about them like they were animals to be used and discarded, the cold cell he had been kept in, his rage when he did not know it was her, the way he almost seemed to disappear inside himself when he was brought to her rooms.

She feels as though she should not know this Jon who has been gone for seven years and who has been through so much. He should feel like a stranger to her, but he doesn't and she thinks he never will, because he is Jon. No matter what they have done to him, he will always be Jon, he will always be hers.

It did not happen the way it was supposed to and he needed help to do it, but he promised to come home to her and Jon always keeps his promises.

#jonsa #jonsa fic #prompt fic #gladiator au #mostly an excuse to post that pic

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