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imagine-docx · 4 years

Text

interested.

Summary: Being best friends with Bucky, he always thinks you’re trying to get with Steve, when in reality, that is far from the truth. [college!chubby!]

Warnings: Swearing.

A/N: helloooo, i know i have been practically dead. but post secondary really ain’t it chief. here’s a small chub buck fic before i go back into the void that is my 3 hour online zoom lectures. - amanda 💛

»»————-　★　————-««

First year religion, with Professor Hill was quite possibly the most boring class to exist, but hey, that’s how you met Bucky Barnes. First year religion was a mandatory course that you had to take for psychology, and Bucky had to take for history. During the first lecture Prof Hill made you turn to the person next to you and discuss ideas, which happened to be Bucky.

The two of you felt so comfortable with each other, that you were always sitting next to each other during lectures, and eventually becoming the bestest of friends. To the point where you two spent breaks together, Friday nights together, hell he even came to a few of your classes, even though he shouldn’t be there as he wasn’t enrolled in them.

Even Bucky was surprised at this close friendship. He always had the small thought in the back of his mind saying, “She’s just using you for an easy ninety. Once the semester is over, she’s gone.” But to his surprise, here you were in your fourth year, still as strong as ever.

He could pinpoint the moment he realized he was in love with his best friend.

Second year, it was a random party that Thor was holding around early November. You were wearing a basic grey long sleeved shirt, some dark blue ripped jeans, and a pair of heels. You were dancing with Nat and Wanda, and he felt the switch in him flip, and he saw you in an affectionate way.

Needless to say, he left the party and went through a crisis at two am in the back of an Uber, at his new realization.

Since that day, he kept his feelings to himself. Not even telling his best friend Steve about the feelings he harboured towards you.

He always felt insecure whenever he was around you. You were always glowing, even when you had no makeup on and were in sweats on the days you had 9 am lectures. You were always this ball of sunshine that anyone would be glad to hang out with. But here he was, stomach protruding over the top of his jeans, sweaters used to hide how thick his arms actually were, and all around embarrassed about the way he looks. You could never possibly like someone like him back.

»»————-　★　————-««

It was the rare Friday night, where the two of you couldn’t meet because you had a gender studies essay to write, and he had an essay due for ancient civilizations. But, of course, the two of you were on FaceTime.

“You going to Thor’s party tomorrow?” He asked, typing in his name and student number.

“Depends, I still have three readings and a discussion post over my head for Drax.” You responded, finishing up the last sentence.

“You should come, you’ve been pulling essays out of your ass since the semester started. You need to have some fun,” Bucky said, studying your face as you yawned.

“Perks of being a social science major,” you responded, making slight adjustments to your essay.

“Please?” He begged, “I need my best friend there.”

“We will see.”

»»————-　★　————-««

God, three years later, and he still didn’t understand how you pulled off every look possible. Last night you were in one of his hoodies, hair greased, and no makeup on. Today you were pulling off a slightly oversized band tee, some ripped jeans, hairstyled and effortless makeup.

“Didn’t expect you to be around here, thought Drax owned you tonight” Bucky jokes.

“Thought about it. But a certain Brooklyn boy talked me into coming. There’s always pulling an all nighter tomorrow night,” you said, taking a drink from your cup.

“Glad to know I am useful.”

The two of you spent a good chunk of time talking by the bar. The two of you didn’t stop until Sam pulled him away for some beer pong.

You debated going over to your friend group, but from where you were, it looked like they were wasted out of their minds. And talking to them will probably result in them drunkenly saying that you should fess up and admit your crush to Bucky. And knowing your exact luck, he would be around, and that would be a hard hole to dig yourself out of.

You decided that you were gonna get some peace in the kitchen. You were sitting on one of the counters, hearing drunken screams, while scrolling through Instagram.

“You know, it would be easy to tell him how you feel,” you look up to match the voice to the person, only to see Steve.

“And I am assuming Nat did some drunk mumbling to you,” you mumbled, looking down into your cup.

“Or anyone with eyes could see the way the two of you look at each other,” Steve said, leaning against the fridge next to the counter you sat on.

You let out a sigh, “He doesn’t see me in that way. I’m just his best friend.”

“He looks at you like you hung every single star in this galaxy. I should know, I was told I look like that when I look at Nat.”

You laughed and punched him in the bicep, “At least the loverboy admits it.”

Bucky was looking for you, passing by the kitchen he saw that you and Steve were smiling, laughing and talking. He never realized how much of a couple the two of you looked like. Absolutely perfect for each other.

He felt nauseous and decided to head home. Of course you wouldn’t like him, you liked guys who were fit, like Steve. An absolute sweetheart, like Steve. Someone who could care for you, like Steve. Steve.

»»————-　★　————-««

The next morning, he saw that you were calling and kept the talking to a minimum, saying he didn’t feel good and hung up.

He needed to get his feelings in check before he exploded.

From then on, he always scheduled stuff with Steve too. You deserved it.

You deserved happiness, even if it was with Steve and not him.

He would make coffee dates on campus, and never show up. Or invite you for movie night at the apartment, and at the absolute last second ‘have his shift extended’ at work.

»»————-　★　————-««

At some point, he just started blatantly ignoring you. From phone calls, to texts, to even practically running away from you.

The last straw for you was the day your sociology professor let you go early for the day. And you were already feeling under the weather, so you just decided to head back to your dorm, and spend the rest of your day taking it easy.

While you were walking down the tunnel from your class, you saw an all familiar head of hair walking in the opposite direction. You shouted his name several times, and practically ran after him. And you knew he saw and heard you, but continued to walk away from you.

You finally stopped, realization hitting you. He doesn’t like you anymore, and you don’t know what you did. You took a deep breath, turned around and walked back to your dorm.

You sat on your bed, confused as to what the fuck you did to him for him to do this. At that point, you gave him the space he wanted. You stopped texting him, calling him, even going over to his apartment.

»»————-　★　————-««

What caused Bucky to do all of this? Two days prior, he finished his contemporary civilizations class and was on his way to the student centre to get something to eat before his colonial encounters class.

When he walked into the centre, he was greeted with you and Steve sitting at a table, laughing about something, while drinking bubble tea.

He felt something stab him in the chest. It’s supposed to be him. He’s supposed to be the one taking you out for bubble tea. He’s supposed to be the one making you laugh like that.

It was then he realized, he didn’t set up this meeting. He drew the conclusion, that he pushed the two of you closer together, and that neither of them wanted him to know.

He knew he was acting childish. But he didn’t care.

»»————-　★　————-««

Since the encounter after your sociology class, you haven’t messaged him, called him, or even made the effort to see him. It was starting to bother him. He felt empty.

He missed the random texts he would get from you about something stupid in your readings. Or the ‘I accidentally watched too much Netflix, and my discussion post is due in an hour and I have NOTHING’ texts. Or you randomly calling in the middle of the night asking him if he wanted to meet up for milkshakes.

All he would see was Instagram stories or posts of you. Whether it was you at a party getting wasted with your friends, or if it was you being cozy and studying, or you and your friends doing late night stupidity. He missed having you around.

Every single thought he has, would be of you. What were you doing? Who were you hanging out with? Did you get enough sleep? Did you eat anything for the day?

He eventually decided to start essays early just so his thoughts weren’t fogged by you.

»»————-　★　————-««

Bucky was wrapping up his notes on his latest reading. As he closed his textbook, he felt something collide with the back of his head. He turned around to see Steve sitting on his bed. “What?”

“Why are you ignoring her?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky turned back around.

“You damn well know what I am talking about. So, answer the question, why are you ignoring her?” Steve asked.

“Why do you care? That’s your girlfriend.” Bucky seethed.

A laugh erupted from Steve, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Then why do the two of you act like it.” He muttered.

“Because she’s giving me pointers on asking out Nat,” he responded, “I bet you feel so stupid.”

Bucky turned back around in shock, “Wait, you’re not dating her?”

“Never was. It’s cute seeing how jealous you are,” Steve said, getting up, “Go get your girl.”

»»————-　★　————-««

Bucky has never sprinted out of his apartment so fast. He was about to walk up the stairs leading to your dorm, when he was about to open the door, the door opened revealing Carol. “Oh hey Buck. What are you doing here? You know she moved out like last month right?” she asked.

He never realized that you left the dorms, hell he didn’t even know where you were now. “Oh yeah, force of habit.” He nervously laughed.

“Anyways, I’m late for my date. Tell her I said hi!” She said walking off.

»»————-　★　————-««

Bucky returned to the apartment and was pacing around. He didn’t know where you could have gone. Nat and Wanda had no space, so you wouldn’t be there. Your parents were way too far out, and you wouldn’t want to commute all the way back. His mind was running through possibilities.

Steve and Sam were just looking on at the spiral that was occurring in front of them. “Does he…?” Sam asked.

“Nope.” Steve responded.

“Ah.” Sam responded.

“Where could she have gone though? I don’t get it.” Bucky said to himself.

“Can I tell him?” Steve asked.

“Nah.” Sam said.

“Wait, you guys know where she is? Why don’t you tell me?” Bucky said with despair laced in his voice.

Sam sighed, “Nat and Wanda.”

And with that Bucky practically sprinted out the door.

»»————-　★　————-««

Wanda and Nat were out for the night, leaving you in the living room finishing up your essay for sociology. Wrapping it up, you slapped the submit button, and headed for the shower.

Upon getting out and changing into some sweatpants and hoodie, you were contemplating what you wanted to eat. Until you heard a knock on the door, confused, you opened it to Bucky, you were about to close it but he managed to let out a, “Can I talk to you?”

You were about to say, “No.”

But once you heard his voice cracked, when he said, “Please,” your heart broke, and accepted talking to him.

»»————-　★　————-««

The two of you sat on top of the building overlooking the city. Bucky was looking at the view of the city, whereas, you were sitting on the bench.

He took note that you were shivering, and he shrugged off his jacket, wrapping you up in it. You were trying to shrug it off, when he said, “You’re gonna get sick.” You accepted that he was probably gonna tie you up in it so you don’t take it off, so you kept it on.

“So why did you ignore me?” You said, looking down at your feet.

“I thought you were dating Steve, and I got jealous. I know I pushed the two of you together, but I still couldn’t bear the thought of him being the one dating you.” He muttered, taking a seat next to you.

“Wait, you were jealous? Why?” You asked, confusion laced your voice.

“I really like you, god I’ve liked you for so long and you deserve someone better than me. Someone who’s fitter, someone who’s better looking, someone you would want to be seen with.” He said, looking down at his feet, hair falling into his face.

You pushed the hair out of his face, “No. I deserve someone who is willing to pick me up for burgers and milkshakes at 3 am. I deserve someone who is willing to drop anything they're doing to come and spend time with me. I deserve someone who would respond to my psych readings, even though they aren’t in my program. I deserve you.”

“You like me?” Bucky stammered.

“Wasn’t it obvious?” You asked. “I thought me calling you at three am because I missed you was obvious.

He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer, kissed your hair before muttering an, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m only accepting your apology under one condition,” you said.

He looked at you with the biggest eyes ever. Ready to do anything you even asked for. “Get bubble tea with me?” You asked.

“How about tomorrow we take a trip out of the city, to a zoo or aquarium, and bubble tea?” He said with pleading eyes.

“Only if it’s a date,” you said smiling at him.

“Anything for you.” he said, finally leaning into kiss you.

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vilepie · 3 years

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i want to sit here, and talk about something regarding hetalia that has always bugged me. it’s a bit serious, but i think it needs to be said.

to state it simply, i’ve always felt as though liking hetalia invalidates other areas of my personality. this ties into greater schemes associated with the fact that people can’t enjoy themselves without facing some sort of unnecessary criticism. not all criticism is unnecessary, but i’m referring to a situation such as walking up to someone and saying, “that show you watch is awful.” not the best example, but i’m hoping it got the point across. the world shouldn’t work that way, but things along those lines are said, solely with intent to harm, about the very television show that has saved a person’s life.

i feel that since i’ve watched hetalia, and people know that i have watched it, my love for history, philosophy, mythology- it’s all automatically invalid. people might say things such as, “you don’t like history, you just like anime/manga/whatever.” that’s odd, considering i remember one day, i had to be about seven, when the teacher pulled out a large book about ancient greece. i fell in love. i would talk to my friends about geography, history, mythology, you name it. i couldn’t get enough.

then hetalia came along. i could talk for the rest of my life trying to cover the offensive/incorrect/all around not good scenes in hetalia. the fandom isn’t the only thing that is problematic. i watched hetalia, because i was looking for something lighthearted, and it was labeled as “a comedy.” plus, i’d heard about it before. now, quick note, i’m picky with my shows. i can only watch one thing at a time, and i linger around that one thing until something pushes me away. i’m hoping i’m not “pushed away” from hetalia, but i also can’t speak for the future.

hetalia wasn’t at all what i expected, but i kept watching. some of the jokes, and points made were harmless, and could give a good laugh. i loved the concept as well. of course, the execution is not what i would have expected if someone told me, “i’m gonna write about personified countries,” but it did fulfill it’s intended purpose. like i said, the concept was nice, the execution had so much potential, but that isn’t why i stuck around. i found characters that i liked that weren’t based on who they personified, (note, at first i felt obliged to like slovakia due to family, but then got into his character) what they did historically, or anything along those lines.

i wouldn’t have stuck around if it weren’t for the characters. i still love history, and i still am learning languages not simply because i liked hetalia. that being said, one thing i am grateful for is insight into lithuania. when it came to history, i loved picking apart events involving various revolutions, and the church. (note- i am not christian, but i do believe everyone is entitled to their own religion. regardless, nobody can truthfully state that “this group of people (in reference to any group ever) never did anything wrong.”)

i liked tolys’ character, but i think both his personality, and my personal favourites of historical events greatly influenced that relation i feel. here’s where i’m going to make a very important point. i have family in scotland, i’m celtic. i liked looking at their struggles throughout history in relation to treatment by other peoples. i liked looking at their religion throughout history as well. when i realized that there was far more than a history teacher told me behind eastern european history, i jumped at the opportunity. i realized that those groups that only got one mention in school had everything i was looking for.

hetalia means nothing when it comes to love for history. i like the characters, the concept is nice, there are a few good jokes, a few good plot points, but it has nothing to do with what i loved before i even knew what anime/manga was. hetalia has, however, pushed me in the right direction. instead of focusing solely on researching what school fed me, i’ve gotten motivation to research things that the books don’t cover. i’ve always struggled as an author, and fanfiction was what i turned to when the goings got tough. hetalia gave me a way to tune into those historical fiction projects i had long since abandoned. hetalia didn’t make me, but it did make an outlet that i’ve been searching for.

#hetalia #atticus rambles

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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Some additional points about that grave find in Finland that you may or may not find interesting. And that may or may not be dated, because I studied history 20 years ago. That said, I'm not sure if 1000 years ago is firmly middle-ages in this context? At least back in my uni days, they told us that here middle ages got going slowly during 1100's and 1200's when Sweden started converting the population to Christianity and the prehistorical era gradually ended. Maybe they teach differently now.

More about the grave. I don't know why The Guardian would talk about Vikings in this context at all, because the erstwhile population of current day Finland is not considered to have been Vikings, afaik. They were similarly warlike, and the graves from that era have a lot of weapons, and they certainly encountered Vikings, but they never participated in the raiding, and isn't that what makes Vikings Vikings? Their language and religion was also different. But anyway. I don't mean to correct you because the larger point stands. When I saw the headline in a Finnish news paper about that grave and traditional gender roles my first thought was, well, maybe the gender roles hadn't become traditional then yet. Just some additional context, which could be illuminating or could be totally dated.

I did the stupid thing and sent you asks about the Suontaka burial before reading the Cambridge article about it: I'm reading it now, and my comments seem fairly useless. Feel free to ignore with extreme prejudice. We're in agreement on the guardian article.

Aha, well, we all make mistakes from time to time, so no worries! However, since you do touch on a few points that I would like to discuss, I'm going to go ahead and answer, whether for you or anyone else who might find it useful. (It's the teacher in me, I'm afraid.)

First, I have to say that I had a definite "eeegh" moment at the idea that the eleventh/twelfth century isn't "medieval" in Finland just because it (at least prior to the Baltic/Northern crusades, if we're considering them to begin with the Wendish Crusade in 1147) wasn't yet fully Christianized. Scholars pretty universally accept "medieval history" as referring to the time period between 500--1500 CE (the fall of the Western Roman Empire to the Renaissance). These, of course, are horribly Eurocentric frames of reference, but there you have it. Any event or culture taking place within that span of dates, no matter where in the world it is or what its socio-political circumstances may be, is medieval. We have to call out the pernicious equivalence of "medieval" with "Western Christian European," since that seems to be the underlying assumption. This is also what makes people mistakenly think that the medieval world (which, y'know, was just as big as it is now) is exclusively about white Christian Europe, and that no other global regions have a medieval history. Either way, the eleventh/twelfth century is actually closer to the end of the medieval era than it is to the start. I'm certainly not suggesting that you were consciously implying this; I have no trouble believing that that is indeed how they taught it twenty years ago. But yeah, the idea that still-largely-pagan eleventh-century Finland couldn't be "medieval" until it's Christian is definitely not the case as understood now.

The idea that anywhere in eleventh-century Europe is still "prehistorical" in any sense of the word is likewise a little baffling, tbh. Once more, it associates "history" only with "Christianity," and that would get quite a bit of pushback if included in a paper on medieval studies today. That is what also annoys me deeply when I see people describing the pre-Columbian Americas as "prehistoric" (read: pre-white-people-historic). If the chief marker of "history" is "written history," sure, there is a very narrow pedagogical argument to be made that these societies don't have narratives or chronicles in the standard historiographical sense. But also, uh, European colonialism and conquest destroyed vast swathes of records that we have never been able to read, understand, or even access, because they're just not there anymore. There is ample evidence that the ancient (and I do mean ANCIENT, up to thousands of years BCE) and early-to-late-medieval Mesoamerican societies had complex systems of writing, astronomy, calendar-keeping, and other history-recording practices, right up until 1492. There are something like four (FOUR) pre-Columbian Mayan scrolls still in existence, out of probably thousands and thousands, because the Spanish destroyed the rest. So "prehistoric," unless you're literally referring to the Stone Age, is never a politically neutral word or a word to use uncritically...

...and speaking of the Stone Age, we actually have histories for that too! Or rather (iirc) the Ice Age, because for example, Aboriginal Australians transmit their history orally and require each new generation to memorize it, word for word, exactly as taught to them. Some of these histories stretch back over ten thousand years, which means that we actually have first-person accounts of life during the end of the Ice Age, and scientists recently discovered that these traditional narratives accurately reflected the archaeological and geological record of Australia during the time period in question. (Indigenous people know what they're talking about and should be listened to, example number 85,000.) Of course, the Western-white-supremacist model of historiography calls these just "legends" or "myths" or "folktales" rather than history, because I guess not writing it down in a chronicle as a monk in a European Christian monastery in the year 1015 or whatever doesn't qualify as history for some people. (I don't have strong opinions about this or anything. Welp.)

I likewise don't know why the Guardian article brought up the Vikings, aside from the fact that they were quoting someone who explicitly used the Vikings in a hypothetical scenario about "traditional gender roles." This person expressed surprise that an intersex person living in a medieval Scandinavian society could rise to a high social role, by citing the widespread belief that "Vikings" were all dedicated to being very manly at all times and nobody with feminine qualities/feminine-coded social power could rule over them. I don't know if this was just a bad phrasing (plus, it obviously overlooks the often-egalitarian nature of medieval Scandinavian societies and plays into the favored white supremacist stereotype of the Vikings as some Master Aryan Race Where Men Were Men, etc) or what, but yeah, it's wrong across the board. Viking is the name of an occupation, not an ethnicity. It comes from the word wicing, meaning "seafarer" or "sea raider," and referred only to those guys who went out on their longships and stole a lot of stuff from their neighbors, most notably in the eighth to eleventh centuries. Their families back at home were part of the exact same society and benefited from those raids, but strictly speaking, they weren't vikings. We use the word "Viking" to describe any member of a medieval Scandinavian society, but it's similar to describing everyone living in the eighteenth-century Caribbean, no matter who they were or their social status or ethnic background, as "pirates," which is obviously inaccurate.

As you correctly point out, the Finns aren't considered quite the same as the Norwegians, Danes, and Swedes (as anyone can tell from looking at their written language; N/D/S are mutually intelligible and derive from the same linguistic family, while Finnish is COMPLETELY different and comes from an altogether separate branch of the tree) and therefore it's even more baffling that the person quoted in the Guardian article would cite them as an example of a "Viking" society. Likewise as you note, the whole phrase "traditional gender roles" is intensely problematic in most contexts, and especially here. It assumes that modern Western ideals of sex and gender have been static and unchanging throughout history, and that means that we tend to read our own (biased) assumptions onto the historical record and then get surprised when, shock of shock, they don't fit. The burial at Suontaka seems to have been of a biologically intersex person (i.e. someone with Klinefelter syndrome), but this is also the case when it comes to people assigned the usual male or female at birth, without any complicating genetic conditions. I'm working on a book review for an entire edited volume that discusses the intense gender-fluidity and proto-transgenderism in some medieval saints' lives, and how obviously the fact that they have been held up as a holy example, while explicitly subverting the so-called Traditional Gender Roles of the Middle Ages, means that it was (and is) a lot more complicated than shallow stereotypes and Bad Medievalism would have it.

Anyway, this is long enough (especially considering that you graciously offered me the chance to ignore it) so I think we'll stop here for now. But yes, there you have it. :)

#history #ancient history #medieval history #queer history #anonymous #ask

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jeannereames · 3 years

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1) I think it was Plutarch’s account, that after Hephaistion’s and Krateros’s famous clash, Alexander eventually reconciles them by telling them he loved them most of all men. Will you be expanding on Alexander’s and Krateros’s relationship in your future DwtL books? I remember you briefly touched upon them in Rise. Or like, is there any historical evidence that elucidates what their dynamic was like beyond/including the whole philobasileus thing?

Who Was Krateros (and what will I do with him in DwtL)?

I’ve always found it curious that, in most novels about Alexander’s conquests, Krateros tends to be a distant secondary character in contrast to others around Alexander, especially Ptolemy—despite the fact Krateros was more powerful than Ptolemy, and powerful at an earlier date.

I suspect it owes to the fact Ptolemy went on to found a dynasty and write a history. Modern writers feel as if they know him better. By contrast, Krateros died just two years after Alexander. So although he tends to have a better reputation among modern historians (which, I think, is not well-deserved), he’s never really received thorough treatment in much the same way (and for much the same reason) as Hephaistion.

He died too soon to become a major player among the Diadochi. But that means the people we know best from the era of the Diadochi were NOT the most prominent men at Alexander’s court. So don’t be surprised when Krateros pops up as an important secondary figure in the series with a more conspicuous role than Seleukos, or Antipatros, or Antigonos, who all long outlived him.

In part, that importance owes to Hephaistion’s role as protagonist. If pressed to name the chief protagonist of Dancing with the Lion, Alexandros or Hephaistion…it’s Hephaistion.

I don’t want to go into too much detail about future plots and spoil it—but if Krateros winds up Hephaistion’s bête noire, he doesn’t start that way. The details of their falling out is a driving point of the Long Plot (e.g., the plot across books, part of the overall tragedy of Alexander’s story). I’ll just say that, when I first saw Hamilton, the Musical, a lot of the Hamilton-Burr dynamic resonated because it reminded me of my vision of Hephaistion and Krateros.

Don’t overextend that, but it gives a general idea.

We have some hints that suggest, at least at first, Hephaistion and Krateros weren’t enemies. They may not have been bosom buddies, but I don’t think they were enemies.

I have a clear personal view of each man, based on the historical texts. Hephaistion’s personality I laid out in the first two novels. He can be touchy about his honor and how he’s viewed, and is 110% loyal to Alexander, but not a suck-up. The two just generally see things the same way, and will continue to do so (except in matters of religion, which does come to a head in one particular event I’ll not spoil). Yet in how to run the empire and how to Persianize the court, they’re on the same page and Hephaistion is deeply involved in court procedural renovations. This accords with what the sources tell us. Hephaistion followed Alexander in the changes, which is typical of how ancient sources would present it. Me, I’d argue he didn’t just “follow,” he helped Alexander come up with it. He understood the problem/hurdle as Alexander did and was a party to the solution of blending the two courts.

My Hephaistion is proud, and wants to be recognized for his contributions and ideas. He resents it when anybody suggests he’s just a “yes-man.” And no, that’s not because they were/are lovers. It’s because sycophancy is an easy way to insult your rival. 😉Nothing makes him angrier than being called a “flatterer.” His friendship with Alexander will go through highs and lows (because that’s human), but he remains mostly certain of his place at Alexandros’s right hand. That doesn’t mean he won’t get jealous, because he definitely has a jealous bone (which I think I pretty clearly established in Rise). Yet as time goes on, he settles down and his clashes with others stem from a failure by those others to recognize his place. Yet he understands his place—and ambitions—differently. He can act jealous and touchy, but not for expected reasons. My Hephaistion (and I stress this is not the historical person) just isn’t that interested in commanding others or occupying high office for itself. The kleos of it: glory He wants to help Alexandros make his new empire work, and gets really impatient with all the other “idiots” who can’t see what needs to be done to achieve that. He has ambition, but it’s north/north-west of typical.

Krateros is also pretty clear in my head, both as a fictional character but also how I think he was historically. He, too, is a deeply ambitious, and very capable. My fictional Krateros’s vicious ambition stems from being the “poor cousin” to Perdikkas and the Orestian royal house, needing to prove his place, not just get it as a right of birth—although he also gets it as a right of birth because he is not a commoner. In short, he has the resentment and envy of second-tier gentry, but the drive to succeed in Philip’s (and then Alexander’s) army where ability is recognized too. (I’d note that, after ATG’s death, Krateros [along with Ptolemy] joined Antigonos’s rebellion against Perdikkas as regent of the kings…which is why he died in battle fighting Eumenes, who was on Perdikkas’s side. Yet this is notable because he was almost certainly from Orestes…and thus, related to Perdikkas. We can debate who was higher born, but I think it was Perdikkas.)

Anyway, Alexandros recognizes both his ability and sympathizes with his drive to succeed because it’s similar to his own: the need to prove himself to his father, as prince.

That’s the fictional background of my Krateros, but the historical man was good at what he did, and knew it, and expected to be recognized for it among his peers: to stand first among them. Ergo, he was viciously competitive to rivals, but charming and charismatic otherwise.

How does that work? To those well above him in the power structure, he’s respectful and seeks their approval in order to receive advancement. So, for instance, he’s devoted to the kings (Philip, then Alexander) because they are Givers of Good Things (promotions, land, loot). He would have been a young officer under Philip, making him roughly the age of Ptolemy, Philotas, Nikanor, Koenos…maybe Kleitos (although I think Kleitos was a bit older), just as Leonnatos, Perdikkas, Seleukos and Hephaistion were coevals of Alexander.

So he couldn’t and wouldn’t challenge the “old men”: Parmenion, Antigonos Monophthalmos, Antipatros, etc. He even seems to have been an understudy to Parmenion. For instance, at Issos, he was in charge not just of his brigade but the whole left wing under Parmenion’s general command. He wanted to impress Parmenion and earn his support—not antagonize him.

Likewise, he had no reason to lord it over his infantry battalion, who would have been no threat to his ambitions. He needed them, in fact. By being chummy with them, he was far more likely to secure their loyalty—not unlike Caesar later.

It was those men who were rivals for positions he wanted who drew his special ire. Krateros would never get Parmenion’s spot while the old man lived, but Parmenion was old. Krateros could wait. After Issos, I expect Krateros saw himself as Parmenion’s natural successor. Yet Krateros was also unlikely to get Parmenion’s spot as long as Philotas lived. If we have only a sketchy idea of ranking order in the army, the whole Philotas Affair tells us/suggests the position of commander of the Companion Cavalry was the #2 position after Parmenion’s slot as viceroy to Alexander. Krateros may have served under Parmenion in charge of the army left side at Issos…but Philotas was still above him in the food chain.

Nikanor (Parmenion’s middle son) may also have been a hurdle, as commander of the Regular Hypaspists (as opposed to Royal Hypaspists), but he was younger than Philotas. Thus, Krateros would have started by removing Philotas, only worrying about Nikanor after—and as it turned out, Nikanor died of disease in late 330, deleting himself from the picture.

Our histories seem united on Philotas as arrogant and pushing his place: an obnoxious little brat, if also a perfectly capable commander. Ergo, Philotas provided Krateros with the perfect target, one unlikely to have staunch defenders.

So Krateros systematically went after him as early as the Egyptian sojourn, and possibly even earlier. Plutarch doesn’t always get things right, so we must be cautious about this, and Badian wanted to make the spying of Krateros part of Alexander’s big conspiracy against Parmenion’s family. Not at all. I think it was Krateros’s attempt to target the man he saw as chief rival.

At that point, Krateros would have regarded Alexander’s cohort as “the boys.” They didn’t have major offices, although were rising to some key junior commands. For instance, Hephaistion apparently commanded the “agema” (later term but good enough for this) of the Hypaspists. That’s the king’s own unit, who acted as his personal bodyguard in battle and actually ran with the cavalry squadron (!, yes in full armor). They would have been composed almost entirely of aristocratic young men: e.g., former Pages. So that’s a plum command for Hephaistion…but he didn’t command a whole SECTION of the army, like Philotas and the Companions.

Hephaistion, Leonnatos, Perdikkas, Seleukos…they weren’t a threat to Krateros. He could be friendly to them, may even have cultivated Hephaistion especially, for his unique access to the king. You may be thinking, Man, he sounds like a user! Well, yes. That’s how the Macedonian court functioned, although I think Krateros was more ruthless, and successful, than most.

Then he got an unexpected gift-horse: the Dimnos Conspiracy and Philotas’s casual (and deeply stupid) dismissal of the warning about it. Krateros went right for the jugular.

I want to make a point that I also made in “Crisis and Opportunity: the Philotas Affair…again.” We absolutely must resist looking backwards from the outcome to ascertain motives. When the scared Pages finally approached Ptolemy, who then went to Alexander and the other Friends, NOBODY knew what the outcome would be. It was not planned. It really was a crisis.

Yet Krateros saw opportunity in the crisis, and as a successful field commander, ran with it. So I see him, not Hephaistion, as the architect of the accusation against Philotas. HE had the most to gain (he thought), and if Plutarch can be believed in this, it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to bring Philotas’s snarky words and bad behavior to Alexander. As alluded to above, he’d paid Philotas’s mistress to report to him what Philotas said during “pillow talk” as early as Egypt. Now it could be (and quite probably was) that he saw Philotas’s bragging and claims to victories as a real threat to the king. (Kinda like shadow presidents in Mar-a-Lago.) People can have more than one motivation. They can even have a “good” motivation (protecting Alexander’s pride and reputation) alongside a “bad” motivation (making Alexander resentful of Philotas). Alexander’s pride was touchy too. 😉 Even if he blew off Krateros’s accusations at the time, we can imagine he was still stung. Seeds successfully planted!

We must, however, be careful not to read the final results back into the assumptions of the people at the time. Hindsight 20/20 and all that. I do NOT think Krateros believed this would result in Parmenion’s removal/death, although I do think he wanted to get Philotas arrested and executed.

Also, I do NOT believe Hephaistion had any idea he was about to be elevated to command of half the Companion Cavalry. He’d have had no reason to think he’d be leapfrogged over older, loyal men, such as Krateros…or Kleitos, who wound up as his co-commander.

Hephaistion’s motivation? Friendship. In “Crisis and Opportunity” I stressed it was friendship to Alexander, but I’ve also come to think that Krateros may have talked him into it, so also friendship, or at least alliance, with Krateros, who knew he could rile Hephaistion’s blood. He wanted that sheen of authentic anger. I want to quickly add that Koenos joined in with the torturers because he feared going down with the ship, as he was Philotas’s brother-in-law.

All this neatly explains why it was Hephaistion to whom Philotas appealed during his torture. Not because he orchestrated it, but because he had the least reason of the three to want Philotas out of the way. He was in it for passion and so, might then be moved to pity. Krateros was all-in from the outset, and Koenos had to be to save his own neck from Philotas’s arrogant stupidity.

So Philotas was convicted, executed, and then Alexander felt he must also execute Parmenion because he was sitting on Alexander’s all-important supply lines during a major operation. That is not a pretty picture and must be acknowledged as much. Philotas Did a Dumb, and lost his life for it. Extreme, but he dug his own grave. Parmenion was flat-out murdered. Realpolitik does not excuse the death of the man who’d sided with Alexander, put him on the throne, then advised him so capably.

In any case, from Krateros’s point of view, this was terrific. Philotas was out of his way, and so was Parmenion. Honestly, I doubt he wanted to see the old man dead instead of honorably retired, but it still cleared the way for him.

Then an astonishing thing happened!

Krateros didn’t get the Companions. Hephaistion did. And Kleitos. Of the younger generation, Hephaistion had just leap-frogged right over the heads of Krateros and all his cohorts. (Again, I think Kleitos was older; there’s no evidence of Krateros being at public odds with him.)

Just imagine how angry Krateros was!

The snotty little upstart! Who the hell did Hephaistion think he was?

So yeah, Krateros got what he wanted: Philotas out of the way. And in the process, he shot himself in the foot.

Plutarch tells us exactly why Alexander made the choice he did: nobody should have that much command authority henceforth, even his best friend. But he did want a man loyal to him in that position. I would not be at all surprised if—crisis past—Alexander recognized Krateros’s maneuvering for what it was…and didn’t indulge him. He wasn’t about to give out promotions for the backstage take-down of a fellow officer.

By the Battle of the Hydaspes against Poros in India (almost three years later), Krateros served the same position as Parmenion: hold the main army while Alexander leads the attack. Yet in between, Alexander had rearranged units. Even the Companions had not only been split, but divided further into six Hipparchies. Hephaistion’s was primary, but only the first of six. He was no longer overall commander. And that would have happened had Kleitos lived or died, as Kleitos had been reassigned as satrap in Baktria. Dividing the Companions had just been the initial sally to a more comprehensive reorganization and power redistribution.

Ergo, if Krateros had power, it would never be equal to Parmenion’s, and it seems to have been deliberately delayed after the Philotas Affair. Krateros dared not get mad at Alexander. Again, as king, Alexander is above these status wars, and the Giver of Good Things.

Another complication for Krateros: Parmenion’s death had angered Parmenion’s loyal men, some of whom Krateros had commanded…and Krateros had been part of Parmenion’s downfall, however indirectly. Wouldn’t it be convenient if he could shift the blame to Hephaistion?

So Hephaistion was now the chief man “in his way.” Plus (fair or not) Krateros resented him for getting the plum assignment, may have convinced himself that Hephaistion used the opportunity to sweet-talk Alexander into giving it to him. Even if he didn’t believe that, he could still have spread the rumor. It was advantageous, displacing soldier’s anger over Parmenion’s death onto Hephaistion. And it would rile up his own battalion/soldiers with indignation on his behalf.

“Stop the steal!” *smirk*

It all exploded in India. We’re not told when, but I suspect sooner rather than later—before the Malian catastrophe. My best guess is after the Hydaspes, possibly while everyone was relaxing for a while in Poros’s kingdom. Bored soldiers are gossipy soldiers, and get restless and pick fights.

Gregor Weber in his analysis “The Court of Alexander the Great as Social System” (Alexander the Great: a new history, 2009) suggested that Alexander encouraged such rivalry among his Hetairoi and Friends, and uses the H. and K. squabble as a peak example. To some degree, that’s true. Competition was endemic to the Macedonian court because it was endemic (maybe EPIDEMIC) to Greek society more broadly. Macedonian kings (not just Alexander) would have encouraged competition as a way of choosing the best officers. The Hetairideia I described in Dancing with the Lion—the Festival of the Companions with competitions—was a real thing. I made up a lot of the details, but we hear about it under the Antigonids, by which time it involved mock battle. But it was said to have been much older. There very well may be ties between the Hetairideia and the original Macedonian “Olympics” at Dion. E.g., the latter may have grown out of the former, but it’s all too vague to know.

Anyway, competition was natural and encouraged at court, but I disagree with Weber about Alexander encouraging THAT particular competition between Hephaistion and Krateros. Weber reads the clever “philobasileus/philalexandros” as encouraging. I see it (and Plutarch’s wording suggests) just the opposite. He was trying to lower the temperature in the room. It didn’t work.

We simply aren’t told enough about the swords-drawn brawl to understand what led up to it. E.g., who started it, as Alexander put it. I don’t mean (and don’t think Alexander meant) who pulled his sword first. He meant who STARTED it. I tend to read that “I’ll kill you both, or at least the one who started it,” as a veiled threat to Krateros. He would have damn well known who started it. He was telling Krateros in that public reconciliation, “Knock it off, dickhead, or else.” And I expect that’s also what he told him in their private meeting/confrontation.

There is more to this, but I’ve said all I want to, for the moment. Again, I’m working on Krateros and Hephaistion at present for a book chapter in a collection, and I’ll also be doing more on them both for a monograph. So I’ll just end with my take on the Indian conflict.

#asks #Krateros #Craterus #Hephaistion #Hephaestion #Alexander the Great #Macedonian history #Macedonian court #Craterus and Hephaestion #Krateros and Hehaistion #Greek history #Classics #Tagamemnon

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gemsofgreece · 4 years

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I know the Byzantine Empire was Greek, as in the rulers/nobility were Greek and spike Greek. So why did they call themselves Romans? This is something I’m always confused about, especially because as a Pontic Greek from Turkey, we call ourselves Rum, which comes from Roman. Even though we are Greek.

No wonder you are confused about that, we all are. I’ve not found yet an entirely satisfying answer to that. But from my little knowledge and my experience as a Greek living in Greece, I think I can reach some conclusions that are generally safe. I’m gonna explain this in two sections and, again, this is based on my personal understanding of the situation. I might be wrong. Also, this is long because, hey, it´s me, I can´t help it.

1. Why did the Byzantines call themselves Romans?

The Byzantine Empire was the Eastern part of the Roman Empire, coming into existence after a division which did not happen with a revolt or a war or some other violent change. The Roman Empire would often be divided and ruled by more than one emperors because it was apparently too challenging a task for one person and because of how vastly different the West and the East were. Not only that, but the East was growing powerful and the West couldn’t keep up with it.

Emperor Constantine the Great played the most crucial part in this - maybe it was his Greek descent or maybe he was ahead of his time and could see there was no hope for the western part. He moved the capital to Constantinople and focused almost entirely on strengthening the East, and left the West to its fate. A few decades after his reign, the empire got divided forever. And in about a little more than a century, the Western Roman Empire was but a memory.

On the contrary, the Eastern Roman Empire lasted another 1000 years. This is why, in terms of influence and power, the Byzantine Empire is the true successor of the Roman Empire. I think the name was kept as a token of its origin, its power and glory. Besides, the Byzantine Empire was largely Greek but multi-national too. There were Illyrians, Armenians, Slavs too, and they too had positions of power and they could all ascend to the throne. Something that was true of the Roman Empire even before its division.

So, I think Roman served as an umbrella term and described citizenship, not ethnicity, not at the time. Most historical evidence, most knowledge we have of famous Roman and Byzantine people is clear about their descent, so apparently it was clear to the Byzantines what each man’s origin was. Just like we know Constantine the Great was a Roman Emperor but he was half-Greek, half-Illyrian. Just like everyone born in the USA, they all say they are American but if you ask them for more detail, they’ll say they are Native or of Irish, Spanish, Italian, Nigerian, Thai descent and so on.

And why Roman Empire and not Hellenic Empire once again? Well, first, exactly because it was multi-national. I think power in the Roman Empire was most accessible than in the Hellenic Empire, where mostly Greeks gathered the power. And, second, because simply the Roman was closer in terms of time and more familiar to the Byzantine Greeks. Let’s not forget, people back then didn’t have our science and technology - they couldn’t easily get as familiar with periods way back in time like we do nowadays.

And one more reason: at its late age, the Roman Empire was a synonym to Christianity. The Hellenic Empire meant paganism and Byzantine Greeks loathed this as much as they loathed Satan (and the Pope).

So, long story short, for these four reasons: imperial power, multi-national character, religion and comparative familiarity with the culture, the Byzantine Empire retained the Roman title.

2. Why did the early Modern Greeks call themselves Rum / Romioi / Romans?

I ‘ve read that at its late period, when the Byzantine Empire lost its eastern lands to the Seljuk Turks and was left mostly with the Greek lands, the Byzantines would then often replace the name “Romans” with the name “Hellenes”. So, even back then, people were fairly aware of their descent and background. Culturally and lingually, the Empire was always Greek but now it was also becoming by name so. This does not mean that the title “Roman” had lost its official character though.

So, when the Ottoman Turks came and annexed the empire, they knew they conquered the Roman empire. And because its population was largely Greek, it’s the Greeks whom they called Roman, or “Rum” in Turkish. And I don’t think the Greeks were in a place where they could dictate to be called Hellenes now that the empire had fallen. Frankly, I don’t think they even cared at that point. Like, at all.

Romans / Rum was the name the Turks had found when they first encountered the Greeks and this became their common name in the Ottoman Empire. As subjects, the Greeks took that name and lived with it. The Greek variant of Roman Ρωμαίος (Roméos) became Ρωμιός (Romiós) so it changed both in writing and sound. This makes me think that Romios derived from Rum, as a double lexical borrowing, and at this point it had changed meaning entirely. It didn’t address the Roman citizenship anymore, it certainly did not have any glorious connotations either. It simply meant Greek (subject of the Ottoman empire).

The names Greek and Hellene never disappeared, thanks to the Western Europeans and the Greek Orthodox Church respectively. The New Testament is written in Greek and there are references to Hellenes in it. So Greeks knew these two were also names for them but they didn’t feel much connection to them at the time. There’s a reason the Ottoman rule is considered the Greek Dark ages. All education Greek peasants received was their language and their religion. Forget about heritage and history and all that jazz. They were disconnected from these. The Greek language and Christian religion was where they entirely based their sense of different identity from the Turks. The connection to the ancient cultural heritage was maintained by rich and educated Greeks that had fled in Europe and a few privileged ones who still lived here.

The last century before the Greek Revolution sees an awakening, a rise of the Greek sense of identity, now more familiar and more reconciled with its past. The wealthy intellectuals had to do a lot with that and here’s one rare bright example where the wealthy and the religious actually helped significantly, if not decidedly. (The latter.) In all historical evidence we have, the Revolutionaries, the intellectuals, the war chiefs and the captains all use Romiós, Greek and Hellene interchangeably. So, we can be certain that early Modern Greeks meant Greek by the name Romios.

So, long story short: It had changed meaning throughout the ages, simple as that.

In Greece, the name Romios can technically still be used, although very rarely. Before and shortly after the Independence, the region of Central Greece was called Rúmeli. The name has been famously used even in the 20th Century by poet Yannis Ritsos (Την Ρωμιοσύνη μην την κλαις / Tin Romiosíni min tin kles / Do not weep for Hellenism) and then set to music by Mikis Theodorakis.

Its use rapidly gets weaker here because the more we grow distant from the Ottoman past and the more knowledge we gather about the Byzantine Empire and the Romans before it, the more alienated we feel towards it.

But as a Pontic Greek living in Turkey, with the Turkish language, you are still close and familiar with it. It just means Greek. And we don’t have negative feelings towards it here, we just don’t choose to use it I suppose.

#greece #history #byzantine history #greek history #romans #byzantine empire #roman empire #ottoman empire #greek language #anon #ask #mail

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srchng4answrs · 3 years

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Absolution of sin isn’t easy. Every year in my Catholic high school they would bring in priests to listen to our confessions. We would sit in the auditorium an empty chair in between each person and one by one walk to the back of the auditorium where a man in vestments would sit ready to tell us that we are still God’s children. I never went.

“Before religion” isn’t a concept that exists for me. This is strange for many reasons, the primary being that my family is not religious in the slightest. We went to church out of obligation every Christmas and Easter, and stopped following that tradition when I was in 4th grade. I don't know what my mother thought I would gain from going to a religious school for 10 years.

Catholicism is the particular sect of Christianity that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to reconcile with. The preaching of love and tolerance. The acts of service and the good deeds. Is it still a good deed if you’re doing it for personal gain?

Defender of Mankind. In Ancient Greek that's what the name Alexandria means. That's what My name means. I learned that at church. It’s ironic, the places that tell you you are meant to defend, are the same ones attacking. I wasn’t equipped to defend myself from the teachings of a group that I thought had my best interest at heart.

Eulogies in religious services are often delivered by the clergy member who is officiating the service. A religious eulogy will focus on the role of God and faith in the life of the person who died, rather than any secular accomplishments. I often write eulogies for people in my head. I have never once written something religious.

Father Sean was an odd man. Nothing against him but I wish he would stop sending me friend requests on Facebook.

Gabriel is a Hebrew name meaning “God is my strength”. He told Mary to not be afraid, but he was also the angel sent to destroy Jerusalem. Which one of those is real strength.

Half human, half divine. The manifestation of God in the flesh. How terrible it must’ve been to be crucified for telling the truth. To be needlessly slaughtered for the sake of people that want to see your organs fail as you slowly suffocate and bleed out. Father forgive them they do not know what they are doing.

I often wish I understood. I want to be able to walk into a church and feel god. I want to wear my Kairos cross without feeling like a liar. I don’t think religion was meant for people like me.

Jesus was not white. He didn’t have long flowing hair or a long beard. He was shorter than we think. Is it more disrespectful to put someone on a cross or to purposefully make their physical appearance more palatable for a racist audience.

Kairos may have been the closest I’ve ever been to experiencing god. For three days you sit in small groups and listen to people talk about their most traumatic experiences. Religious retreats are made to break you. To make you flood the earth with your tears. To make you turn to god because there’s no one else to turn to. I wish I could say with any level of certainty that my experience was real.

Love is such a funny idea. God “Loves” you. I still don’t understand the double standard of preaching love and then telling people they love wrong. I think there are bigger sins to worry about.

Matthew was a tax collector. One of the most sinful professions they lied, cheated, and stole from the poor. The Lord will not let the righteous go hungry, but will thwart the cravings of the wicked. I find “sinners” much more real than the righteous. At least sinners don’t go out of their way to tell everyone they sin.

No one in my philosophy of god class chose to walk away from Omelas. I remember it perfectly. You get to stay in a perfect city where everyone is happy, at the misfortune of one child. I spoke last. I would walk away. I still get chills thinking about it. I don't know why I made that choice.

Often my friends and I debate the existence of god. One philosopher said that you might as well because if you believe and god is real you gain everything, and if he isn't you lose nothing. But if you don't and he is real, you lose everything. We all know there's much more to religion than that. Simply believing in the omnipotent power that destroyed cities and flooded the earth has not, and will never be enough.

Prom was one of the most nerve wracking experiences of my life. I was the first person since my schools founding in 1957 to go to prom with someone of the same sex. That year three of my friends did the same. So much easier to just split the bill with a friend. I had to make a case for why I should be able to. Would the outcome have been different if I told them we were dating.

Questioning whether the omnipotent and all knowing being in the heavens that we cannot see, hear, smell, or touch is apparently against the rules. I got quite sick of the Lord’s Prayer.

Raining from the sky was blood. Thicker than water. Did it bring the people together or did it turn them against each other. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. Blood can bring people together, but I’m not sure it can wash you clean.

Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed by sulfur and fire because of their wickedness. The two cities associated with homosexuality were burned to the ground. We have a history with fire. Fire cannot cleanse what isn’t dirty, but the ash will stain your hands for eternity.

Time stands still as I sit in the pews at my cousin's wedding. It seems like the hands on the clock are moving backwards. Instead of looking at them I stare at the sculpture of Jesus, crucified, blood coming out of his wounds, hanging roughly 10 feet above them. It isn’t alive. I’ve seen the same type of sculpture in a hundred different churches. But in this moment I can hear him gasping for breath. It was a beautiful service, I told her.

Uriel is the angel of repentance. In the Christian text the Apocalypse of Peter he is as pitiless as any demon. The devil himself was once an angel. What's the difference between angels and demons other than name.

Vanity was the reason the devil was cast from heaven. Born an angel and a king, free from sin he became proud of his beauty and intelligence and was struck down by God. I’m still unsure why he is considered the villain. Was it not God who leveled cities and murdered millions.

Without religion I’m unsure of what my life would look like. As hard as I try I cannot cleanly separate myself from it. Like a mouse stuck on a trap, when it gets free it either leaves its skin on the trap, or escapes covered in glue. I’m unsure if I can escape without leaving a part of myself behind, or taking something with me I did not ask for.

X appears 1,436 times in the King James version of the bible, but never at the start of the word. It is the only letter in the english alphabet that a verse does not start with.

Younger me used to enjoy church. I’m not sure why. I could never sit still, the sermons were boring, the pews were uncomfortable, and I couldn’t wait to go home. But without fail every Sunday I would wake up and get ready. I wish I could go back and tell myself that I don’t need to force myself into places I know I don't belong in order to be loved.

Zion shall be redeemed with judgment. I wonder if the same applies to me.

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clonewarslover55 · 3 years

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Walon Vau’s story

I decided to write out Walon Vau’s story, especially his home life and childhood. Why is Walon Vau the way he is? Read this and find out why.

Notes: I used my own headcanons mixed with the small details Karen Traviss gave us in the Republic Commando books. Please don’t steal this because you think it’s all hers!

Warnings: Bad childhood, abuse, child abuse, wounds, whipping, exile, royal drama, evil in the form of a man, thoughts of suicide, angst,

Let’s start this off with a little bit of planet information and backstory!

The planet Irmenu is a small ocean world, the only land masses being large rocky islands. Most seem like mountains, with dangerous cliffs leading into the cold unforgiving sea. The ocean is riddled with beasts and monsters, but the only way of life is to sail. There are some valleys for livestock or farming, but not many. The valleys usually flood anyways, the storms always ruthless. So the Irmenu people fish and sail, searching for months on end just to survive and feed their family.

Sailing is easy enough. The winds are strong and the seas rough. It’s cold year around, but the people have learned to adapt and survive. Wearing the fur of the air breathing sea beasts, making larger boats, etc.

The kingdoms are clusters of islands, not one large land mass. Many islands are in large clusters, huge oceans between each cluster. The islands are all under the rule of the religious leaders, but sometimes there is still conflict. Conflict never lasts long on Irmenu though.

This oceanic planet is in the Outer Rim, in the Belsmuth sector. Their planet is in the middle of the Crombach Nebula, which is extremely hazardous. This gives Irmenu a very good excuse to be so isolated. The leaders of the world use this to their advantage.

This planet is a Feudal world, which means it’s controlled by a strict religion that also runs the powerful military. This means his world is very close minded and far behind on certain technologies and such. They still have spaceships and holopads, yes, but they’re out of date and ancient.

The Imperius Priesthood runs the planet under very strict rules. They control what leaves and goes, along with who. They control the nobles and their money, using the Count’s as their marionettes. If you didn’t follow their rules/beliefs, you were either publicly executed, exiled, or sent to a nunnery. All depends on the situation.

They’re everywhere, spying on their people and arresting whoever they please. Being so strict and ruling by fear affected the Irmenu people terribly. Most were religious fanatics, which means religion dictates every single part of their lives. They read the Irmenu Bible over and over instead of other books, and they follow the rules like good puppets.

This planet is clearly terrible on it’s own, which only made Walon Vau’s childhood even worse.

Walon Vau was born around 79 BBY on the planet Irmenu. He was the first and only son of the Count of Gesl, who was also an admiral in the very large Irmenu navy. Walon was raised like any royal, so he didn’t have much of a childhood.

Every second of every day was planned out by his father. He was highly educated, classes every day of the week and all day long. He rarely saw his parents, and when he did it was never under good circumstances.

Walon learned proper etiquette, dancing, poetry, politics, and many other things he’d need to know for his future as a ruler. He was taught by a number of tutors, each brutal and cruel. He either learned, or was beaten.

Once he reached the age of ten he began to work harder, practicing and studying for the navy. He didn’t want to follow in his fathers footsteps, but Walon had no choice. Plus he loved sailing, the ocean was calming and vast. The navy was his only hope for a better life.

Pa Vau, Walon’s father was a harsh man. He was described as domineering, cold hearted, and unpleasable. He beat Walon when he didn’t do perfect on his lessons or training. He wanted Walon to be like him, so he tried to beat all emotion and feeling from his son. He almost succeeded.

A good ruler in Irmenu has no heart or soul in Pa’s eyes.

He would never hit Walon on the face or anywhere visible, he had to have a good face as a royal. As Walon got older the beatings became more often and more brutal, because he wasn’t doing good enough in Pa’s eyes.

When Walon was fourteen and tried out for the navy his own father rejected him, saying he was not good enough. Walon continued to train, the beatings even worse. The training didn’t help, Walon never made it into the navy. Pa was so unpleasable his only child was never good enough for him. This caused Walon to quickly lose hope, the thought of suicide seeming more appealing by the day.

Walon only ever got to see his mother at nights, when she would come clean up his bloody lashing marks and other wounds. She was a soft gentle woman, but timid. Pa beat her as well, making sure she didn’t see her son for too long. She was never allowed to see Walon alone, because Pa didn’t want Vau to go soft by a mothers love.

She was a religious fanatic just like his father, so she would lecture him as well. He had to be better, he had to. He was royalty, he was better than how he acted. Her words were often more cruel than intended.

When she finished cleaning his wounds she’d read him a chapter of the Irmenu Bible, a book Walon was forced to know every last word to. He never listened though, he would always zone out and dream of a better life…….Or even of ending his life.

His parents were never in love, their marriage arranged. His father married his mother because of her wealth and bloodline. His mother had rare golden eyes, a symbol of high status to his people. He got her eyes, but his father said that the color of his eyes meant nothing compared to how much of a failure he is.

When Walon turned sixteen he was at a ball for some religious holiday, where we meant a beautiful princess of a neighboring province. After a few dances they quickly hit it off, and grew close rather fast. She basically saved his life, keeping him from ending it once and for all. She also changed his future for the better.

He would sneak out as often as he could to meet her under the stars, but more often than not they wrote love letters on flimsy back and forth. Each letter, written with the finest penmanship and finest poetic words was kept by the princess. Walon kept hers as well, in a box under his bed.

When Walon was eighteen, he asked his father if he could marry the princess. His father and her father both rejected the marriage, along with the Priesthood. Not because of politics or religion, but because Walon was not good enough or worthy to marry such a beautiful woman.

His father was enraged that he had dared to ask such a question, so he was beaten worse than ever and nearly died. All because his father was embarrassed. When Walon healed a little he learned his love had been shipped away across the planet, to a nunnery. She would learn her lesson for sneaking out and falling in love with someone who was not of an arranged marriage.

He knew he’d never see her again.

Walon was exiled temporarily aftwards, being sent to some neighboring shit hole of a planet. He was eighteen and alone, with no idea of the outside world. His mother sobbed for days, her only child and her last hope gone. She prayed every night that he would be allowed back soon.

Luckily for Walon Vau, he used to sneak out to the large library every night to read books. They had no fiction books, so he just learned about other societies and their ways. Most books pointed out how “bad” they were, but Walon always thought they were so much better than his planet's society.

Thanks to reading, he knew a bit about the real galaxy.

Walon had nothing but the clothes on his back. He had no money or possessions. No title, no name. So he wandered.

Soon he ran into a group of Mandalorians, one by the name of Jaster Mereel. They quickly took in a teenage Walon, teaching him a new way. The way of the Mandalorian warriors. He never believed his home world's ludicrous ideas, so switching religions and cultures was very easy for Walon.

His family found out and disowned Walon for giving up his culture and religion. He lost his title and broke his mothers heart. His mother apparently died of a broken heart, after she heard the news that he would never return. But he knows deep down that his father finally snapped and killed her.

Walon became a perfect warrior, his body and mind already scarred from years and years of abuse. He was cold, calm, and calculated. Walon was also highly educated and very intelligent. So much so that some other Mandalorians taught him how to torture and dismember. He learned about the medical field and could have even been a doctor, but he preferred dead bodies and torturing.

Jedi could hardly sense him in the force, his soul too broken. He was a perfect Mandalorian Warrior, fighting along with his friend Jango Fett and many others for years. He fought in the Mandalorian Civil Wars, killing Jedi with no issue.

Early in his time with the Mandalorians, Walon met a Strill. The Strill could sense Walon’s shattered soul and broken mind, so it adopted him. The Strill was named Lord Mirdalan, jokingly after his favorite uncle. The uncle that had beaten him the less, and had been executed when Walon was ten. Walon did not miss him, or anyone from his home world.

That’s Walon Vau’s childhood story. He’s ice cold, calm, and utterly detached for a reason. His body is scarred, as is his shattered soul. He was so traumatized and beaten down into the way of the soulless that he had a hard time trying to escape that pit.

He was cruel to his Clone Commandos, but every day he would be up all night thinking. He wanted them to survive the war, that's all he wanted. He didn’t want them to be failures like him, he couldn’t allow it. Failures never survived.

Walon Vau hardly ever sleeps at night, his mind plagued by nightmares. Not of the wars, but of his home life.

Mird held Vau together a little better, but his soul never healed. He could never escape the hole of his traumatic past, and it ruined his life forever.

They call him a psychopath but he really isn’t. Walon Vau can still feel, he just doesn’t know how to. Walon Vau is just a shattered and traumatized man, one who never got proper help. One who never had a childhood.

(Please reblog this if you like it! I worked very hard on it!)

Tags: @leias-left-hair-bun @iamassbuttkingofhell @catsnkooks @mxndalorians @colorfulloverbatturkey @ahsokatano-thetogruta @jedi-mando @peacefulwizardfox @hounding-around @julyzaa @feathersforclones @chr0nicbackpain @strangebroadwaykinks @jedi-nila-rhyn @crimson-dxwn @detroitbydark @passionofthesith

#walon vau #Walon Vau's story #Republic Commando #Planet Irmenu #Pa Vau #Ma Vau #republic commando novels #republic commando game #republic commandos #delta squad #walon vau’s boys #repcomm novels #repcomm game #repcom #repcomm

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butwhatifidothis · 3 years

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Damn, does the writers waste Claude's potential. How about his support with Ingrid? Someone who has the crest his advisor shares the last name with, and part of a family that broke off from the Alliance to the Kingdom. The same Kingdom that the nobles wanted independence from? Or, how about gauging her xenophobia, since his main goal is to bridge both of his heritages, and maybe use the other foreign nations as stepping stones as ridding prejudices? No, just inferior Sylvain/Ingrid? Damn it all.

...Alrighty there anon you had me checkin’ my drafts to make sure I didn’t accidentally post the thing I’m workin’ on rn because it’s all about Claude’s wasted potential lmao had me sweatin’.

Got long so under the cut

But yeah, Claude’s supports with Ingrid are some of my least favorite in the game because of the big flashing opportunity IntSys had to make Ingrid’s hatred for Duscurians something more than a “ahh let’s just have one support deal with this, I’m sure only Dedue would have any problem with this”. Dimitri is also fine with his childhood friend hating another close friend of his just because of their race, I guess. I get it, you don’t want a repeat of FEA/Fates where a character has That One Trait that keeps getting brought up in nearly every support convo, but like... this is kinda big?? Ingrid has supports with two of the biggest opponents of discriminatory thought, one of them directly related to the people she hates, and it’s just... never brought up by either of them.

The only reason I give the Dimitri/Ingrid supports a pass somewhat is because what we get is still interesting, but my god her supports with Claude are just... bland. Uninteresting. The same basic “You act too much like [x] you should be [y]/Nooo wait you were better as [x] you’re fine the way you are” shtick with barely any twist or originality whatsoever.

To spoil some of that post I’m doing, I was thinking that this is actually a perfect opportunity to see some hints of Almyra’s culture? Hear me out: Claude says that cringey “You should smile more” line (after re-working it to be less... so demeaning - Claude is rarely so blatantly rude so it’s always felt strange to see that here, it’s like the writers forgot they weren’t writing Sylvain sometimes in this support) and Ingrid reacts the same way as she does, but instead of Ingrid continuing on from that, have Claude... be confused. Have that saying be cringey and demeaning to Fodlani people, but not Almyrans. Have him say something like “Whoa, did I say something wrong?” and genuinely mean it. Have Ingrid be mad and go along the lines of “Oh, you know what you said, don’t even try to play stupid!” but Claude’s just like... what.

Because look, the guy’s only been in Fodlan for a year! And it seems like most of that time was spent in some form of politics - we never hear otherwise and we know how actually busy Claude is working on his dream. Some things about casual Fodlan culture are sure to fall through the cracks when he’s actually living in it and not just being told how Fodlan is like, which is something I desperately wished 3H explored more. Think of it like a “you shouldn’t shake hands with a firm grip” sort of cultural difference. So from this point in the supports we can hear from Claude some things about Almyra as a response to some of the things Ingrid accuses him of: A noble doesn’t yawn in public? Well, maybe her nobles don’t, but that’s not to say that’s the same everywhere (wink wink nudge nudge), something along those lines. We can also see Ingrid’s reaction to these differing culture ideals: Confusion over how different it is? Curiosity over want knighthood entails for other cultures? A positive or negative reaction? I wanna see that!

Hell, we already kinda have that - Claude meditating in the morning is a legitimate practice of Zoroastrianism, an ancient religion originating in what is now Iran (to give a basic description, to say the least), which Almyra is partly based off of, for example. This isn’t the first time something related to Zoroastrianism is brought up with Claude, as seen with Annette’s supports (the fire ritual he describes closely mirrors the Chaharshanbe Suri, a practice of Zoroastrianism that celebrates the spirits of the dead - again, to oversimplify it), so it’s likely this is something Claude genuinely does and is genuinely part of Almyran culture.

Give us more shit like that! Or focus on her hatred of Duscurians and how Claude reacts to seeing that kind of hate up close! Or give us more Judith/ Kingdom and Alliance lore! That’s three topics this support could have chosen to focus on that are infinitely more interesting from a character and lore point than the played-out trope we’re given - but on the other hand, like, even that had potential to go somewhere! Claude and Ingrid pointing out the other’s flaws and genuinely trying to fix that part of themselves but failing despite their earnest efforts could have been something! There’s a reason people like that trope! But they both just give up and the support cops out with the “you’re perfect the way you were :)” when no they weren’t! They pointed out legit flaws! Claude does come across as empty and dishonest even when he’s trying not to and that lowers people’s view of him! Ingrid does come across as self-righteous even when she doesn’t mean to and that pushes people away from her! Those are not quirky lil’ personality traits, they actively harm their relationships with others! But nope, Claude and Ingrid have to have the “cute” relationship of bumbling husband and nagging wife but oh neve you worry they have kids so it’s totally a loving relationship (which is what their ending depicts them as - fun fact, this is the only ending Claude has that mentions him having kids!), so they couldn’t dare, oh I dunno, help each other develop past their flaws or anything. Ingrid couldn’t help Claude come across as more earnest (because if there’s one thing Ingrid is it’s that she’s extremely honest) and Claude couldn’t help Ingrid relax some, no they had to reenact a dynamic you’d see on fucking George Lopez

Just... yeah. Wish something better was done with them.

#ask #anon #will always be peeved at this support #so many things they could have gone with and they made these two an annoying sitcom couple #what a waste

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when-picnic-remember-snacks · 4 years

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Chapter 1

This is my newest fic, an AU of The Old Guard with everyone’s favorite immortal husbands! It is so far untitled. In this AU, Joe and Nicky are new teachers at an ///unrealistically/// liberal private boarding school. They live in adjacent apartments in a dorm. Joe teaches history, Nicky teaches Latin and Italian. Over the course of the year, the two grow close and a relationship begins to blossom.

DISCLAIMER: I am not Muslim, but I am doing my absolute best to write Joe as a multi-dimensional, imperfect, complex Muslim character. It is frustrating to me to see Joe’s relationship with his faith cast aside in other fics, and I want to portray him as someone with a real, complex relationship to his religion (without assigning my own narratives to it). Despite my best efforts, there may be times when I fall short, and I am not afraid to edit and revise my work (even after publishing it!). Please bear with me!

The new apartment was small. Really small. Nicky wasn't sure what he expected of an apartment that was nestled in a dorm for high schoolers, but he at least expected it to be clean. There were stains on the walls and carpets, and before he could settle in, he resigned himself to a day of literally scrubbing the remnants of previous occupants from his new home. Starting in the kitchen, he donned yellow rubber gloves to his elbows, grabbed a few rags, a sponge, and a bottle of spray cleaner, and got to work.

After an hour, he was satisfied with the results. The appliances gleamed, and there were no more food stains on the walls. The grout between the tiles was a more respectable grey color, and the whole room smelled of bleach. He leaned against the counter and wiped his sweaty forehead with his elbow, looking down to see that his grey shirt was visibly soaked in sweat. The early-August heat did not pair well with an apartment lacking central air conditioning.

As he moved into the living room, there was a knock on the door leading to the hallway. Cazzo, Nicky thought, hissing through his teeth. He crossed the room and opened the door, realizing one second too late that he was wearing a sweaty, bleach-stained grey t-shirt with old basketball shorts that had a giant rip near the hem. Sexy. He became extra aware of his bizarre, decidedly unattractive outfit when he found himself looking into the soft brown eyes of a very handsome man. He opened his mouth, completely lost for words.

"Hello," said the man in his doorway. His voice was soft and musical, and he had a gentle accent. "I'm Joe, I live right next door and I figured I should come to say hi before you think I'm a bad neighbor." He laughed, and Nicky realized how rude he must seem, staring at this man from his doorway.

"Hi, I'm Nicky," and he extended his hand to shake. Joe glanced down at it, one eyebrow cocked. Nicky sucked air in through his teeth, cursing himself, then pulled off the yellow rubber gloves. Thankfully, Joe just laughed again and shook Nicky's hand with both of his own. There was an awkward moment where they stood, still holding each other's hands, before Nicky said: "I would invite you in, but it's a mess in here right now and it smells like a swimming pool–"

"Oh, no, I don't want to intrude, please," Joe reassured him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then, seeming unhappy with that, tucked them behind his back. "I just wanted to introduce myself." He backed up a step, rocking on his heels.

"I'll tell you what, though," said Nicky quickly. "I should be cleaned up by tonight, you should come over for a drink." He bit the inside of his lip, worried that he was coming off too friendly, but Joe smiled. It made Nicky's heart race a little.

"That sounds very nice, I would love to," he said. "I will bring a bottle of wine?"

"Yes, that sounds perfect," said Nicky. "7:00?"

"See you then," Joe waved awkwardly, then turned and walked the few feet to his door. "Bye," he said with a nervous laugh.

"Bye," said Nicky. He pulled the door closed and leaned against it, tilting his head back and blowing air at the ceiling. He looked at the apartment, suddenly panicking. He glanced at his watch. 10:26. Which gave him… seven and a half hours to clean and move into his apartment. "Fuck," he said quietly, then sprang into action.

6:30 rolled around, and after hours of diligent work, his apartment was presentable. The walls were clean, the carpets de-stained and vacuumed, and he had moved his furniture into place. There still wasn't anything hung on the walls, but he had installed all of his books on his bookshelves. Well, the books that would live in the living room. There were three whole boxes and another set of shelves in his bedroom.

He was still drenched in sweat and he smelled like bleach, so he stripped off his dirty, sweaty clothes and showered. He took a long time shaving his stubble and making sure that his eyebrows were tamed. Then he glanced at his watch, swore, and rushed into his bedroom to put on clothes. It was almost 7:00, and he was running behind schedule. He hurried to the kitchen. He was pulling out wine glasses when he heard a soft knock on the door. He crossed the living room, running his hands through his hair, and opened the door.

Joe was standing there, holding a bottle of red wine. Nicky admired how well his shirt fit, then remembered the situation at hand. "Come in, come in!" he said, stepping aside to let Joe in. He reached to take the bottle of wine from Joe, who handed it over and looked around.

"It's very nice in here," he said generously. His eyes widened when he saw the bookshelf. "May I?" he asked, gesturing towards it.

"Oh, of course, please," said Nicky, setting the wine on the counter. "Do you want anything to eat? I don't have much right now but if you like cheese I have some meat and fruit to go with it."

Joe paused, weighing his next words. "I try my best to keep my food halal, even if I do have a drink from time to time. So the meat… I can't eat it, I don't think." The corner of his mouth twitched, a little embarrassed.

Nicky kicked himself. "That's no problem at all, I have some shrimp in the freezer, maybe shrimp cocktail instead?"

Joe turned to him, smiling. "That sounds lovely. You Italians and your insistence on feeding everyone." At Nicky's questioning look, he laughed a little. "You have a very subtle accent. Only confirmed by the books." He gestured at Nicky’s extensive collection of Italian novels.

Nicky smiled. "You got me. I lived there until I was ten. Most people don't notice," he said, not including how he had tried his best to suppress it when he was a teenager and therefore lost most of it.

"I have an ear for them. Accents, I mean," Joe said simply, turning back to the books. "How many languages do you speak? I saw Italian, Latin, English, what else?"

Nicky felt himself blush a little. "Those are the main three. I know a little Greek, and if you know Italian it's not too hard to pick up Spanish, so I can get by." He paused. "I'm teaching Latin and Italian this year," he said. "I just finished my master's in Italian literature."

"Oh, congratulations to you!" said Joe, tearing himself away from the bookshelves and joining Nicky in the kitchen. "How can I help you?"

"Please, sit, make yourself comfortable. Have a glass of wine," he said, gesturing to the glasses and the corkscrew on the counter.

"You will have one, too," said Joe, deftly opening the bottle and pouring two glasses of wine.

"I can't say no to that," said Nicky, taking the glass.

Joe raised his glass slightly, his eyes trained on Nicky's, and said "To your master's degree! And to our new jobs." Nicky tapped his glass against Joe's, and they drank.

The wine was delicious, tart and full. It was much nicer than anything Nicky would have bought himself. Joe held eye contact with him as he took another sip. Nicky felt his heart squeeze and forced himself to speak. "So, what are you teaching?" He turned to the freezer and pulled out the shrimp, trying to conceal the furious blush creeping up his neck.

"History," said Joe, leaning back against the counter as Nicky grabbed a bowl, dumped shrimp into it, and filled it with water. "They have me down for intro to ancient world and a study of Islam elective." He took another sip of wine.

"Are you coaching anything?" Nicky felt like he couldn't control himself, he just kept spouting off questions. He was terrified of what might happen if he let himself sit in silence with Joe.

"Not much of a sports man," said Joe. "Not playing, anyways. I'm going to proctor after-school art this fall."

"Are you an artist?" Nicky raised his eyebrows and smiled. It made sense to him, that Joe would be an artist. He couldn't put a finger on why, but Joe had a certain warmth to him that made him seem like a painter. Or maybe a potter. "I would love to see your work."

"An amateur," said Joe, blushing a little. "I don't have a lot here, most of it is at my sister's house. Just a couple sketchbooks and a painting or two here." He paused, and Nicky could tell he was a little uncomfortable. So he searched for a way to change the subject.

His cat, Bruno, made a very opportune entrance. He had spent most of the day curled up on the cat tree in Nicky’s room. Joe's face lit up at the sight.

"Oh my goodness, what a handsome man that is!" he cried, setting down his glass and kneeling. He reached out his hand, and Bruno chirped as he rubbed up against it. Joe scratched under his chin. "What's his name?"

"Bruno," said Nicky, smiling. Bruno was a good judge of character, and Nicky always felt better about someone if they liked cats. Joe had plopped himself down on the tiles with his back against the cabinets, thoroughly entertained by Bruno, who had laid down against Joe's leg and was purring loudly. "He's a great cat."

"I can see," said Joe, grinning up at Nicky. He leaned down and kissed Bruno's forehead, then stood back up. He took another sip of wine. "What a wonderful little cat," he said, watching Bruno trot off towards Nicky's bedroom.

Nicky checked the shrimp, then pulled the cocktail sauce from the fridge. "These are ready, do you want to sit in the living room and eat?" He drained the water from the shrimp and picked up the bowl.

"Yes, please. Could I wash my hands first?" He pointed to the sink.

"Oh, of course," said Nicky.

Joe carefully washed his hands and dried them, then picked up Nicky's wine glass and carried it to the couch.

"Thanks," said Nicky, sitting down a couple of feet from Joe. Joe propped one ankle on his knee and relaxed.

"Where did you go to college?" Joe asked. He kept his eyes carefully trained on Nicky's face as he picked up a shrimp, dipped it in sauce, and popped it into his mouth.

"I did Northeastern for undergrad, and Middlebury for grad school," said Nicky. "You?"

"University of Chicago," said Joe. "I'm going to do some work this year towards my master's at Harvard." He blushed a little, embarrassed, then took another sip of wine.

"That's great!" said Nicky, taking the last sip of his wine. He set the glass down on the coffee table. "Where are you from?"

"Originally?" Joe said, raising his eyebrows. Nicky started to panic.

"Oh, no, jeez, I didn't mean–"

"I'm messing with you," Joe laughed. Nicky relaxed a little. "One immigrant to another? I'm from Morocco. We emigrated to New York when I was thirteen." He took a sip of wine. "And based on your accent, I'm guessing you moved from Italy to… Boston?"

Nicky laughed. "Can't slip anything past you, huh? Yeah, we moved around a little but we were always around Boston. You know, lots of Italian families there. And my family is pretty Catholic, so they liked being around other Catholics."

"Ah," Joe nodded. "Do you see a lot of them? Your family?"

"Not really," said Nicky, looking down. Joe seemed content to leave it alone.

They sat in silence for a few moments as Joe finished his glass of wine, then stood. "I will go grab the bottle," he said, crossing to the kitchen. Nicky watched his back as he went, watched how he tread softly and how his broad shoulders tapered into a narrow waist. He shook his head a little to clear it. He stared at his hands, clasped in his lap, and tried to calm his breathing. This is not happening right now, he told himself. You just got here. But he had a twisting, hot feeling in the pit of his stomach that was growing every second he spent with Joe. It hadn't even been an hour, and it was threatening to outgrow the limits of his chest and spill out into the world. He felt his cheeks burn with a familiar shame.

When he looked up, Joe had his soft brown eyes fixed on his face. He was a few feet away, holding the bottle of wine. There was a small crease between his eyebrows. "Is everything alright?" Joe said, sitting down and tilting his head to the side. "I hope I did not upset you, asking about your family. I know things can be… Well, things can be complicated." He smiled, and Nicky's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch.

"No, no, it wasn't you," Nicky sighed, then rubbed a hand over his eyebrows. "I mean, yes, my family is... But I think I'm just tired. Long day," he finished lamely. His heart sank. He barely knew Joe, who was gentle and kind and seemed genuinely interested in being friends, and he was already shutting Joe out. Withdrawing deep into the dark space within him, where he kept all of his most secret feelings tucked away.

"I understand," said Joe, setting the bottle of wine on the coffee table. "Would you like to call it a night? I would not be offended." Nicky looked up and took a deep breath.

A quiet, insecure voice in Nicky's head screamed out for Joe to stay. To stay and look at Nicky with his incredible brown eyes and his gentle concern. To smile and listen to Nicky talk about his family, his life, his intense love for Italian literature. To stay and stay and stay so Nicky didn't feel so terribly cold and alone. But that voice was drowned out by the others, which called for him to shut the door tightly behind Joe and never let him back in. To force the warm feeling growing inside him back down until it died.

"I'm really sorry," said Nicky. "It's just been a long couple of days. I feel so rude inviting you over and then kicking you out after one drink–"

"No, please," said Joe, reaching out and clasping Nicky's shoulder. He smiled gently. "Remember, I just finished moving in myself. I completely understand." He stood, and Nicky looked helplessly up at him. "Nicky, really, don't worry. Actually, here. Come over tomorrow for coffee, at 3:00," he said.

Nicky stood up and tried to hand the bottle of wine back to Joe, but Joe waved him off. "No, no, you keep it. Maybe we can finish it another night," he said, smiling.

"Coffee sounds great," Nicky said, forcing a smile. "Again, I'm really sorry." Guilt was washing over him in waves; guilt about being a bad host, guilt about kicking Joe out, guilt about the rising tide of warmth in his chest that swelled every time Joe spoke. Or looked at him. Or pushed his dark, curly hair back off his forehead.

"Nicky," said Joe. "You don't need to apologize. You were very kind to invite me over tonight. And I will see you tomorrow, for coffee." He crossed to the door. "Goodnight, Nicky." He gave Nicky one last, warm smile.

"Goodnight," Nicky said, and watched Joe walk out the door.

As soon as the door closed, Nicky collapsed back onto the couch and put his head in his hands.

#the old guard #netflix the old guard #joe x nicky #nicky x joe #niccoló de genova #niccolódegenova #niccolo de genova #yusuf al kaysani #yusufalkaysani #marwan kenzari #luca marinelli #fanfiction #fanfic #the old guard fic #the old guard fanfiction #nicky x joe fic #joe x nicky fic

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goddessdoeswitchery · 4 years

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Hellenic Polytheism 101: Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism

What follow is a transcript of all 7 episodes of my podcast Hellenic Polytheism 101, where I discussed the pillars of Hellenic Polytheism. There are more episodes to follow, but I figured it would be nice to have a place where all 7 of the episodes discussing the pillars were together. The series started on August 23rd and ended on Nov 1st, released on a bi-weekly basis at 8 am every Sunday. In total, it’s 12 pages long, so I’m placing it under a Read More because it is very, very long. In each episode, there is a list of resources, and each one is linked for you in the original post (just click the tag transcripts under this post, and it’ll take you to the transcripts for every podcast episode) to do your own follow up research. I hope that people will find this useful.

Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism: Technically, the pillars were never actually a “thing”. Unlike then 10 commandments, the pillars were never taught as a set of rules that everyone knew by the name “Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism”, or any variation thereof. What modern day practitioners of Hellenic Polytheism call “The Pillars” were essentially religious and cultural practices that were taught by family and friends via every day practices. The pillars were an essential part of the culture of Ancient Greece, taught to them the same way customs like tipping, saying “bless you” at sneezing, and the now-common practice of wearing a mask everywhere are taught to us today. In recreating Hellenic Polytheism for the modern age, the Pillars grew out of a need for a set of guidelines to help us recreate a very old religion.

KHARIS

Welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be discussing the Pillar of Hellenic Polytheism, Kharis. Kharis is the reciprocity inherent in Hellenic Polytheism, a devotional act for the Theoi with hope a return favor in kind. It is also so much more than a transactional behavior. Its not bribery, its not a quid pro quo. At the same time, it is not the Christian act of praise worship.

One of the most common actions as a Hellenic polytheist is devotional acts. Whether it be offerings, prayers, hymns, or the increasingly common Devotional Actions (like beauty routines for Aphrodite, studying for Athena, singing for Apollo, housecleaning for Hestia, etc); we worship by engaging in acts of devotion. Oftentimes, that act of devotion is also accompanied by a request. This act of devotion is not a bribe. This is an offering, and a plea. The deity in question can respond or not, it won’t change the fact that we made the offering and it shouldn’t affect how we give in the future. We give without the expectation of getting something in return, as an act of worship and of thanks for everyday blessings. We give to just give, and a lot of the times, the deity or deities in question will respond. We then give in thanks, and then they give to us. We give in thanks, they give to us and so continues the circle of praise and of blessing. This circle of reciprocity is Kharis.

And yeah, I completely understand how confusing that would be, so let’s try using some more relatable examples. I know not everyone will be able to relate to these examples, so there will be a few of them, and hopefully one of them will resonate enough that the concept of Kharis will become less confusing.

The first example I will use is of a couple. Let’s call them Kate and Ashley. They are very much in love. Kate is out grocery shopping and next to the checkout line is a display of flower bouquets. One of them has roses and lilies, Ashley’s two favorite flowers. So Kate grabs that bouquet and places it in a vase on the table for Ashley to see when she gets home. Kate isn’t getting the flowers for a birthday, or anniversary, or holiday. These aren’t apology flowers. These aren’t get well soon flowers. They’re the best kind of flowers. These are “Just Because I Love You” flowers. That night at dinner, Kate asks Ashley to take the trash can to the curb before bed and Ashley does so. The flowers weren’t payment for the favor of taking the trash to the curb. The flowers and the request may have come at the same time, but one wasn’t required for the other. The next morning, Kate makes Ashley breakfast in bed and Ashley starts Kate’s car so it’s warmed up and defrosted before Kate goes to work. Both are acts of love that aren’t reliant on each other. Now, say this cycle continues constantly. They do each other favors, they get each other small tokens, for the rest of their relationship. No one but the most cynical would say that they have a transactional relationship. Their tokens aren’t required for favors, and their favors aren’t required for tokens. Their actions are out of devotion to each other. That’s an example of how Kharis works.

Another example, this time between family members. My sister, my mom, and I have lived together for a lot of our lives. As adults, we have lived together for the last 5 years. My mom has a tendency to not eat, and there have been times when I’ve sent her a pizza while she’s at work, because I know then that she will eat. The food is an act of love, a way to show I care. When she responds in kind by cooking dinner for the house the next day, it is not a payment for the pizza. It’s a continuation of the circle. When I was off work for 3 weeks, I cleaned the whole house, reorganized their closets to be easier to navigate, and cleaned out the cabinets and cupboards. Its another way I show I care. My sister usually watches the kids all summer long, and my mom and I will get her flowers, as a way to say thank you. Every day of our lives as a family, we show love by doing favors for each other and getting things for each other. The favors are not a payment for the things and the things are not a payment for the favors.

Hopefully that explains what Kharis is a little better, so we can go a little deeper into what it means as a worshipper, as someone who calls themselves a Hellenic Polytheist.

Now, remember how I said that the pillars weren’t exactly a thing, and instead were a modern invention to assist those who weren’t raised in Ancient Greece with learning the customs and cultural behaviors that were common knowledge in Ancient Greece? Let’s keep that in mind. On a historical note, Kharis required something real. Having faith and good thoughts was not a part of the reciprocal circle that is Kharis. It required something real, and in Ancient Greece that did not mean devotional acts like making playlists. It meant something solid, offerings, like libations, food, incense, coins, seashells, and other solid, real items. If you have an altar, think about what you leave on it. On mine, I’ve got an incense holder, coins left at the foot of the statue of Hermes, corn from the field next to us, a nature ball with acorns and leaves and flowers in it, devotional drawings, fortunes from fortune cookies also at the foot of Hermes’ statue, dried roses and lilies in an empty wine bottle, seashells, pins, a book of myths, and a plate and cup where bread, oil, seeds, fruit, wine, and other food offerings can be left. Some of these are permanent, some of them get removed as they go bad. When I light incense and pray, when I leave food, when I leave seashells or coins or fortunes, I’m engaging in my part of the reciprocal circle that is Kharis. That means, historically, offering something real that goes above and beyond simple faith.

Now, not everyone can do that. Not everyone has the ability to have an altar, and not everyone can afford to burn incense everyday, and not everyone has the time to bake bread everyday. Now, that doesn’t mean that someone who lacks those abilities, or doesn’t have that time can’t engage in the reciprocal relationship that is Kharis. Remember, a huge part of practicing Hellenic Polytheism is bringing ancient worship into the modern world. Devotional acts are something real. You can offer a devotional act to the Theoi as your part of the Kharis. I’ve seen some stunning works of art created in devotion to the Theoi. I’ve heard songs wrote in devotion. I’ve read some deeply moving poetry. And I’ve seen prayers, prayers written with such devotion and love that they could bring you tears. Those actions are fully capable of being classified as part of the circle that is Kharis.

Kharis is not just actions, its a relationship. Much like how Xenia was a way of life ingrained into the culture of Ancient Greece, so too was Kharis. All the rites and rituals, sacrifices, prayers, hymns, offerings, everything that was offered to the Theoi; it came from the understanding that a relationship had to be built and maintained. You couldn’t just say your prayers and call it a day, you lived with the Theoi, and dealt with them every single day. Everyday, you had the opportunity to build the relationship, and the expectation that you would was built into society. Indeed, the concept of Kharis was so built into society that offerings and sacrifices were a part of their stories. Examples can be seen in many myths, plays, and epic poems from them. The reciprocal nature of Kharis is shown in the Illiad, the Odyssey, and the writings of Aristotle.

I’ve learned that Kharis can be hard to understand, especially when you’ve grown up in a society where the love of a deity is just…..constantly there. Kharis is the idea that the love of our deities is not unconditional, and our love for them need not be unconditional as well. We don’t have that relationship with our gods that is bondless. We build a relationship with them, and they build one back. That, to me, is one of the appeals of Hellenic Polytheism. The relationship is a reciprocal one built up over time, using something that is definable, real, an offering that you can hold and see. So, we give, they give, we give, they give, until you’ve built a solid foundation for a solid relationship. That relationship, built out of Kharis, is what makes the worship we engage in so beautiful.

Thanks for listening to today’s discussion of Kharis. For today’s episode, I relied on the Illiad, the Odyssey, Kharis: Hellenic Polytheism Explored by Sarah Kate Istra Winter, The emotions of the Ancient Greeks: Studies in Aristotle and Classical Literature by David Konstan, and the Center for Hellenic Studies. You can always find a transcript of this and other episodes on my tumblr blog at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, as well as a link to the sources I used. Feel free to ask any questions, and don’t forget to tune in on September 6th, when we will be discussing Arete.

ARETE

Welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where I will be discussing the pillar of Hellenic polytheism, Arete. For first time listeners, I want to mention that technically, the pillars were never actually a “thing”. Unlike then 10 commandments, the pillars were never taught as a set of rules that everyone knew by the name “Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism”, or any variation thereof. What modern day practitioners of Hellenic Polytheism call “The Pillars” were essentially religious and cultural practices that were taught by family and friends via every day life. The pillars were an essential part of the culture of Ancient Greece, taught to them the same way customs like tipping, saying “bless you” at sneezing, and the now-common practice of wearing a mask everywhere are taught to us today. In recreating Hellenic Polytheism for the modern age, the Pillars grew out of a need for a set of guidelines to help us recreate a very old religion. Now, on to Arete.

Arete is excellence. It’s living up to your fullest potential. It’s being the best you. Arete means doing your best to become your best and to live your best life. Arete’s end goal is a life fulfilled, and happy. Arete in Homer’s works is usually associated with the person who uses everything at their disposal to do the best work, the person who is most effective at achieving what they set out to achieve. Homer applies arete to Penelope as she fulfills her role as wife. Odysseus has arete when he uses his intelligence. In the Illiad, Achilles has arete by being the best warrior. In the Tenets of Solon, Arete is achieved by being honorable, honest, intelligent, and humble. He advised the following: Consider your honor, as a gentleman, of more weight than an oath; never speak falsely; pay attention to matters of importance; be not hasty in making friends and do not cast off those whom you have made; rule, after you have first learnt to submit to rule; advise not what is most agreeable, but what is best; make reason your guide; do not associate with the wicked; honor the gods; and respect your parents.

Arete is simply being the best version of you. One of the hardest things about Hellenic polytheism is taking those ancient concepts and applying them to the world we have now, one that doesn’t call for heroes like Achilles, and one where we can’t always take the time to better ourselves because work and life can get in the way. It is important to understand that arete doesn’t always mean being number one and winning whatever contest is at hand. One thing that should be understood is that a person can be their best, give it everything they’ve got, and still lose. There will be people who are objectively better at doing what you do than you are. Someone will get a higher grade. Someone else will get the role or solo or part you’re trying out for sometimes. Someone else can have a better idea than you. Someone else will write better, or draw better, or be better than you in whatever you are trying to achieve.

The first step of applying the concept of arete to our everyday lives is to accept that your best and the best of someone else are very different things. You are you and you can only do your own best. Now that does mean that you have to apply yourself. Doing the barest minimum to get by is not a way to achieve arete. Arete means taking control of, and responsibility for, your own life. It means challenging yourself everyday to become better than you are.

Take a moment and think about things you’ve always wanted to do. A language you wanted to learn. A hobby you wanted to pick up. A project that you’ve put to the side. Something you’ve always wanted to learn about. Arete means taking the time to do that. If you have a goal, arete means doing the work to reach it. Then it means creating another goal. Plato said that arete is the ideal form of a thing, something that you are always trying to achieve. You achieve arete by always trying to reach for it, always trying to be better. This means that you won’t always be at the top of your game. You will stumble. You will fail. You will make mistakes. Arete doesn’t mean you will never be wrong, you will never fail, and you will always be perfect. It is not expected of us to be perfect all the time. What is expected is that we will try. When we fail, we learn from that failure and try again.

Now, if you’re anything like me, you’ve probably got a busy life. Between work and taking care of a household, I rarely get time to do anything for me. It is hard to take that time that I want to use to watch Netflix, or pop on a movie, or scroll online doing nothing of any real substance and put it towards something that is actual work. But I try. I read, every day. I do research for this podcast and my own growth. I do the laundry. I clean the house. I spend time with my kids, as a parent, teaching them and guiding them and playing with them. I write. I exercise. I plan and cook meals that are good for us and aren’t the easiest options. I pray. I always strive to be better at work. I’ve given my boss ideas that we’ve implemented nationwide that have made our division look good. I reach for arete every day, by understanding that it is something that I must always strive for. By always striving for it, I hope to achieve it.

One of the things that made this episode a little bit more difficult to write than the previous ones is that arete is subjective. Xenia is a set of rules. Kharis is a reciprocal circle. But arete isn’t something that can simply be memorized and put into practice as we come across situations that could use it, like xenia is. Arete is not something built into our everyday worship, the way Kharis is. Arete is something that has to be strived for every day. It is something that is work. It takes focus. It takes energy. It takes commitment. Only you can know if you’re doing your best and so no one else can come up to you and say “You haven’t achieved arete, you’ve broken the rules, you need to do better next time.” It is up to you and you alone to strive for arete. No one can coach you one it. No one can teach it to you. So, this episode will be a lot shorter than the others, because I can’t teach you arete. I can only explain what it is, explain how it has been seen historically, and let you do he work from there. Now it’s time for you to do the work. Good luck.

Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we discussed Arete, one of the pillars of Hellenic polytheism. Today, I relied on the Odyssey, the Illiad, the Center for Hellenic Studies, Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, Baring the Aegis, wikipedia’s page on Arete, and The Greek Way by Edith Hamilton. A transcript of this episode and all others can be found on my tumblr, goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com under the tag “transcripts”. There you will also find links to the sources used today to more research on your own. You can always ask me any questions there as well. Tune in on September 20th for the next episode, which will be about the next pillar of Hellenic polytheism, Sophia.

SOPHIA

Hello, and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be discussing one of the pillars of Hellenic Polytheism: Sophia. Sophia is wisdom, cleverness, and skill. The concept has changed and has grown over time to be more applied to wisdom and the pursuit of wisdom, especially by Plato. It might be easier to recognize Sophia in the way it was applied to Socrates and Plato and Pythagoras, as part of the term “philosophia” or, philosophy, the love of wisdom. Now, remember how I’ve said in my other podcasts about the Pillars of Hellenic polytheism being more of a way of life than a literal set of rules? Here’s another part where that really comes through. In Greek culture, wisdom and the pursuit of it were incredibly important, so much so that it was the Ancient Greeks that were considered to be the founders of philosophy; and since Greek culture and Greek religion were so intertwined with each other, we are left asking, how can we, as modern day Hellenic polytheists, apply the concept of Sophia to our everyday lives?

One thing we can be sure of is that a person doesn’t need to be a world class philosopher like Plato to be a Hellenic polytheist. What we should be aiming for is the ever-present pursuit of wisdom. We should always be trying to learn, everyday. It doesn’t have to be a huge undertaking. Read a book. Watch a documentary. Read a scholarly article. Listen to a podcast. And if you come across something you don’t quite understand, research it. One of the best ways to pursue wisdom is to fight ignorance. There will be many times in your life when you are faced with something you don’t have any experience with, something you know nothing about. Living with the pillar Sophia means taking the time to learn and battling your own ignorance. In today’s world, I know how hard that can be. You can’t do a google search without their predictive algorithm doing some serious confirmation bias. Living with Sophia means taking the time, in pursuit of wisdom, to do it right.

Now, I love learning. I’m one of those people who, if given an unlimited supply of money and an eternity, I would be a student forever. But Sophia doesn’t necessarily mean learning in a classroom environment. Think about your last week. Did you come across new information? Did you read an online article that broadened your world view? Did you learn something new? Did you gain a deeper understanding of something you thought you already understood? Did you discover something that mostly everyone you knew was aware of, even something as simple as the fact that if you roll up the deodorant, you can take the plastic cover off without having to struggle with it? If so, outstanding! You battled ignorance in some small way this week.

Battling ignorance and pursuing wisdom also means battling the ignorance of others. If you’re hearing and listening to this, or reading the transcript, then it means that you’ve entered the online world in some way. That means you’ve also come across ignorant people, who seemed perfectly gleeful to remain that way. It also means you’ve come across people who were ignorant, simply because they didn’t know any better, and they needed someone to point the way. Anecdotal story break time: I’ve got a cousin who is a senior in high school. She plays a lot of different instruments and she’s very, very good. She has practiced, a lot, and has put some serious work into it. I’ve also got an uncle who is on his 4th or 5th black belt. He has put some serious effort and a couple decades worth of time into varying forms of Martial Arts. My sister’s friend is an artist, and an incredible one. She has more followers on her Instagram and tumblr and devian art pages than I care to count, and she’s graduating college as a graphic designer with job offers from some very big names. All 3 of these people are outstanding in their field. Now, to get to the why I brought them up: All 3 of them have told me, in some way, that once they reached a certain point in their skill level, the best way to get better was to start teaching. As they taught others, their own skill increased. I believe the same applies to everyone. So, one of the ways you can apply Sophia to your life is to teach those who don’t know any better. You will come across people who are resistant to fixing their ignorance but more often than not, people are willing to learn. That means you can take the time to teach them.

Sophia also means cleverness and skill. In fact Homer applies to the term with the meaning “skillful in handicraft and in arts” towards both Athena and Hephaestus. Now, I would never suggest that we, as Hellenic polytheists, can be as skillful the Theoi in any way. We should all know why that’s a bad idea. However, we can become skilled in our own handicrafts and arts. That is another way to practice Sophia. Now, I know not all of us have something we can reasonably point to and say “That’s an art”. There are artists and musicians and weavers and seamstresses and poets among us, to be sure. But we also have writers. We have readers. We have spellcrafters. We have engineers. We have software coders. We have jewelers. We have homemakers. Sophia means cleverness and skill. That means there are many, many ways you can apply it to your daily life. Everyone has something they can do with skill. Sophia means practicing that skill and utilizing it.

To me, Sophia is one of the easiest pillars of Hellenic polytheism to bring into my every day life. Pursuing wisdom, battling ignorance, practicing a skill, these are all things that we are doing every day. And Sophia is as simple as that. Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism, where we discussed the pillar Sophia. Today, I relied on the notes from one of my college courses, Intro to Philosophy, and the Homeric Hymns. As always, you can find links to the, well, one source that is linkable this time around, on my tumblr page at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, where I am also always free for discussions and questions. Coming on October 4th, the next pillar Sophrosune. I look forward to seeing you all then.

SOPHROSUNE

Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be moving onto to the next pillar of Hellenic Polytheism: Sophrosyne, which is, essentially, moderation, prudence, self-control, self-discipline, or temperance based upon thorough self-examination. Since we are coming up on a holiday season in the US, this seems like the perfect time to focus on Sophrosyne, and to remember it’s opposite, hubris, and how to avoid it. It is also important to remember that even in Ancient Greece, it was well understood that Sophrosyne could be taken too far, something we also understand still today.

“Earth shaker, you would not consider me sophrosyne if I were to fight with you for the sake of wretched mortals” Apollo says this to Poseidon in the Illiad, as Homer brings us a look at what Sophrosyne would mean to the same deity who brings us the Delphic Maxims, such as know know thyself, know by learning, exercise prudence, praise virtue, nothing in excess, know who is the judge, keep secret what should be kept secret, take sensible risks, be well behaved, be self disciplined, be sensible. This is not the only example in Homer’s work of Sophrosyne. In fact, there are a really a lot of them. I would definitely suggest you read both of them and look closely for examples of sophrosyne. Homer was very sensitive to the need for Sophrosyne in society and in an individual. On an individual level, sophrosyne prevented people form getting into serious trouble, both with themselves and on a religious level. After all, someone exercising sophrosyne would be very unlikely to become a spider after being cursed by Athena, right? On a modern level, someone exercising sophrosyne is less likely to face personal problems as well. You won’t wind up drinking to excess and getting into a car accident. You won’t find yourself challenging someone better than you to a fight. You won’t find yourself taking on more tasks than you can manage. You won’t find yourself spending more money than you can spare on things you don’t need. By exercising sophrosyne you can avoid a lot of trouble. On a societal level, we should try to exercise that same self control and temperance. After all, there is no reason for any country to spend more than 56 countries combined on defense spending. There is no reason for a city to cut taxes and not invest in repairing roads or assisting those who need it the most. There is no reason for a group of friends to go out in the middle of a pandemic to a bar just to have a good time. We can bring the ideals of sophrosyne to our own lives and encourage others to do the same, through voting and talking to others and being an example.

When we do not practice sophrosyne, we tend to fall victim to hubris. For someone who has spent any sort of time practicing Hellenic polytheism, we should all know exactly how bad hubris is. We’ve all probably seen it or heard it online. Recently, there was a lot of talk of witches online cursing the moon, specifically aimed at making Artemis or Apollo angry. Now, in the end, it was revealed to be some big hoax, a lie they told to make other witches start saying things about how they could tell someone had hexed the moon because their own spells weren’t as effective. Then the original hexers could say “Ha! We told you witch craft and the gods weren’t real, see? These guys said they noticed a change but we didn’t do anything, so clearly they must be faking!” The whole ordeal was a perfect example of what could happen if people fell victim to hubris, and many more sensible folks online pointed out that it was hubris, believing anyone could have an affect on a deity by cursing the moon. We’ve all seen other examples of hubris. Hellenic polytheists who say that Artemis would never let a man worship her, or a straight woman, or a woman who has had sex with a man. People who gatekeep, projecting their personal bigotry onto the Theoi. We’ve all come across. Hopefully, most have us have rolled our eyes and ignored it.

Even in mythology, hubris is painted to be among the worst things a person can be. Niobe lost her sons and daughters to Artemis and Apollo after she bragged to Leto that she was better than Leto for having more children. Arachne, turned into a spider for daring to compare herself to Athena. Antigone’s father, who lost his son and his wife for believing that his life was higher than the law of the gods. Oedipus refuses to accept his own fate and wound up falling victim to it because of his hubris. Ajax, believing he was entitled to the armor of Achilles and being driven mad and eventually killing himself. Icarus, flying to close to the sun, too prideful to listen to his father’s warnings. Orestes taking it upon himself to avenge his father by killing his mother and being driven mad. Greek stories are teeming with examples of people who have fallen victim to hubris. In many of these stories, sophrosyne is pointed to as a virtue to aspire to strictly to avoid it’s opposite, hubris.

And yet, we can also take sophrosyne too far. For example, in the Bacchae, Pentheus holds himself as a champion of sophrosyne, as fails to understand that by being overly self-controlled and self-discplined and holding himself up as the model of sophrosyne, he ignores the moderation and temperance part. He tried to force everyone listen to him, to oppose the Bacchic rites, and, in the end, his obsession with only a part of sophrosyne causes his own death. The Ancient Greeks understood that there was such a thing as being too controlled. There was such a thing as a fatal exaggeration of one side of the many-sided virtue of sophrosyne. Thus one of the biggest keys to sophrosyne is moderation. Nothing in excess says one of the Delphic Maxims, not even self-control and self-discipline.

As we go through this holiday there a lot of ways you can apply sophrosyne to your life. One of the dangers of the holidays is becoming over-extended. For example, I have a large family. Like…..over 100 people kind of large. So large that we could probably fill a high school basketball stadium kind of large. It’s also got a lot of different branches. Mom’s side, which has dad and mom in separate houses. My ex-stepdad, whose family we still see. My dad and his family. My dad’s ex wife and her daughter and her kids, who I’m also close to. My girlfriend. My kids’ dad and his family. I always joke that we’ve got our own little 12 days of Christmas skit between grandpa jones, grandpa long, Uncle Cody, Uncle Andrew, my dad, his ex wife’s house, my girlfriend, the kids’ dad, his family, and we’ve still got to squeeze out time for our own holiday celebration too. Factor in the fact that, like most customer service based companies in the US, my job doesn’t allow us to take more than half of Christmas Eve and all of Christmas day off. Sure, we’ve got the Sunday before and after when I’m off as well, but that’s barely 3 days for 4 states and 10 places to visit. Factor in the budget for all those places and all those gifts, not to mention the drama that comes around when we decide where we’re having Thanksgiving at and you can understand why I bring up being overextended as a danger of the holiday season. Now, maybe that isn’t a problem for you. Maybe you become over extended by volunteering to work too many hours to help your more Christian friends have time off. Maybe you offer to do too much during Thanksgiving and wind up having to wake up at 5 am to get started on a meal that you can’t believe you promised to cook. Maybe during Halloween, you spend too much time focused on parties or trick-or-treating and realize that you would have had a much better time sitting at home, watching Halloweentown with a bowl of candy and some friends. Either way, we all tend to push ourselves too hard, especially once the holidays roll around and we start wanting to do everything so we can get every experience. We need to remember sophrosyne during this time. Exercise self-control and stay home when it’s something you want to do. Exercise self-discipline and avoid getting gifts when you can’t afford it, there is no shame in saying “Look, finances are strapped and I can’t manage more than X”. Exercise moderation and remember that you can’t actually do everything. Be prudent and accept the reality of whatever situation you are facing. Practice sophrosyne.

Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101 where we discussed another one of the Pillars of Hellenic polytheism, Sophrosyne. Today, I relied on the Odyssey, The Illiad, Sophrosyne: Self Knowledge and Self-Restraint in Greek Literature by Helen North, A Period of Opposition to Sophrosyne In Greek Thought also by Helen North, Mythology of the Greeks by George Grote, and the Wikipedia entry for Sophrosyne. Remember, all links to the resources I used can be found on my tumblr at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, along with a transcript of today’s episode under the tag “Transcripts”. I look forward to speaking with you all again on October 18th, where we will be discussing Eusebia.

EUSEBIA

Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be discussing, Eusebia, or reverence and duty towards the gods. Now, keep in mind that Eusebia was so revered, so vital to the worship and religion of the ancient greeks that she became a personified spirit, who was married to Nomos, the Law, and had a child, Dike. This already sets aside this particular pillar from the others. As a being, Eusebia was the personified spirit of piety, loyalty, duty and filial respect. However, we are not yet at the point for deities or personifications, so mostly all of today will be focused on talking about what Eusebia is as a concept and how we can practice it as a modern worshipper. Now, so far we’ve talked a lot about our relationships with the many deities we worship. We’ve talked about offerings and Kharis, we’ve talked about the humility we should approach them with, and we’ve talked about the respect we should bring with us whenever we approach them. All of that goes into Eusebia.

Eusebia is about reverence towards the Theoi. That reverence is where, I’ve noticed, a lot of modern worshippers tend to falter. There is nothing wrong with making a joke about some of the Theoi. I don’t know if all of you have heard the one about Hermes being the only god to pay his worshippers for their worship. It’s fun to joke about that. I always like using Hermes as an example of a deity that a lot of worshippers are fairly causal with. He is, in my experience, one of the most easy going deities. He’s the type of god that puts a train on every track between your home and work on the only morning you’re running late for the last 6 months, just to get a message to you. He’s a prankster, a jokester….and still deserves the same degree of reverence as every other deity. Just because you can laugh with him doesn’t mean he is not revered by you. After all, he is also the shepherd of the dead, the one who guides their souls. He is the god of travel, of languages, of luck, of communication, and like 1000 other things.

It is not reverent to attempt to speak for the Theoi. It is not reverent to make up bullshit facts about a specific goddess to say that she would be on your side of an online discourse. It is not reverent to leave a deity out of your worship because you don’t like how one interpretation of one of the myths portray the deity. It is not reverent to drag the Theoi down to the level of an online personality. They are gods and goddesses and they deserve to revered as such. By virtue of what they are, they deserve the worship, offerings, and the rituals that we engage in. Impiety was frowned upon by the ancient greeks and should continue to be frowned upon today. It has never been acceptable to treat the Theoi like accessories, to be tried on and discarded whenever you don’t have enough time to engage with them. You find time, you make time, in whatever you can. And it doesn’t have to be a big thing. A prayer. A lit candle. Some incense. A quick offering. The Theoi deserve worship.

But, just like with some of the other pillars, the people of ancient Greece knew that there was such a thing as being too pious. There were people who spent too much time praying, too much time fearing the Theoi, and were constantly sure they had something to offend the Theoi and so spent even more time praying and offering and attending to the temples. This excessive fear, or deisidaimonia, was a sign of taking Eusebia too far. It was understood that a person should be mindful of the Theoi, and take an appropriate amount of time and give the appropriate offerings. This also included attending and participating in the appropriate rituals and festivals.

Eusebia also means understanding why we do the things we do. Why do we give these particular offerings? Why are offerings for Chthonic and Ouranic deities different? What are the reasons behind certain rituals? What are the reasons behind traditional offerings? Eusebia means understanding these things, having the answers to these questions and not just blindly following a traditional path. It’s important to understand the reason why. And so, Eusebia means taking the time to research your beliefs. If you have questions, put in the work to answer them. This can also definitely include asking others. We are a community. So, if you have questions, reach out. Ask people, “Why are coins such a common offering to Hermes?” Find a book in the library about the life of people of ancient Greece. Put in the effort to research and create your own calendar with your own rituals and holidays. Take the time to understand why, to research your deities and understand what they might ask of you, and why they would ask it. All too often, I’ve seen popular bloggers and popular authors in the community asked the same question a 100 times because the idea of taking the time to do your own research is apparently distasteful to some people.

It is important to remember, as a part of Eusebia, that the Theoi are not room mates or friends or accessories. They are deities. They are gods and goddesses and titans and by virtue of what they are, they deserve our devotion. I’ve always seen Hellenic polytheism as a simpler path than Christianity. We do not have a single, omniscient, all powerful god that offers a set of rules that must be followed or else we will suffer for all eternity. That’s not how Hellenic polytheism works. We worship our gods in our own way, at our own pace. Hellenic polytheism is a very personable religion. Everything about it, from hymns to holidays to rituals to altars to offerings, everything is unique to each individual practitioner. But, on the flip side, that means that we don’t have a holy book to draw from. That means that we don’t have a set of authority figures we have to listen to. We are responsible for our own piety. We are responsible for our own worship. We are responsible for our own research. We are responsible for our own devoutness. We are responsible for ourselves.

And that’s what Eusebia is, that’s why it is gets set up as a pillar of Hellenic polytheism. It is a vital component of our religious practice, to take the time to not only worship, but to know how and why we worship the way we do. It is necessary to show the Theoi the respect they are due, by virtue of their very being. It is necessary to speak about them with reverence, to be loyal, to not use them as talking points or spell ingredients. It is necessary to take the time, to do the research, to understand the whys, to understand the rituals we take part in when we light incense and offer up a prayer and use an epithet and recite a Homeric hymn. This isn’t a religion where we can just go through the motions. We have to put the proper amount of reverence into our actions. We have to be devout, and loyal, and have a healthy amount of respect and fear towards these beings who we worship and who take the time to guide us on our way. It is necessary to be humble, to understand that what we are doing is worshipping the Theoi. I don’t know about anyone else, but when I pray, when I let incense or a candle or wrap my hands around a set of prayer beads, when I take that time…..I’ve never felt so at peace. That feeling, that love and devotion and serenity…..that’s the feeling of Eusebia. Next time you get to that point, when you feel that, take the time to focus on that feeling and harness it. Meditate on it. That’s what you should draw on when you think of Eusebia and how to interact with the Theoi, those beings that we worship as Hellenic polytheists.

Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we discussed Eusebia. For my sources today, I used the book Greek Religion by Walter Burkett, found on the Internet Archive. I also used The Greek Way by Edith Hamilton. I used Baring the Aegis’ and Elanion’s posting on Eusebia as well. Remember, you can find links to the sources, as well as a transcript of today’s episode, on my tumblr at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com. You can also always reach me there as well with any questions. Don’t forget to tune in to the next episode, on November 1st, which will be the last one discussing the pillars the Hellenic polytheism. I will be discussing the final pillar, hagneia. I look forward to seeing you all then!

HAGNEIA

Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic polytheism 101 where we will be discussing the final pillar, Hangeia. Now, anyone who is able to look at this word might note it bears a striking similarity to the word “hygienic” and then, you would be on to something. Hagneia is more of a ritual purity, an avoidance of miasma and cleansing oneself before you go before the Theoi, before you engage in rituals. Now, does this mean you can’t shoot off a quick prayer before you wash your hands while gardening? No, of course not, thus the “ritual” part of the “ritual purity”. Now, there is actually a lot of disagreement regarding miasma and cleansing in the Hellenic polytheism community. There are those that claim that for the most part, the average person won’t be contaminated with miasma throughout the course of an average life. There are those that believe that we collect miasma throughout the course of our everyday life. There are those that believe that we must fully cleanse ourselves before an offering. There are those that believe that a simple washing of the hands will suffice. There are those that believe the cleansing must be done with khernips, or lustral water. There are those that believe the cleansing can be done with any clean water. And there are those believe any variation of those beliefs combined. Remember one of the best part of Hellenic polytheism is that it is so personable. Therefore, most of this is going to be looking at it from how I work. As always, I urge you to do your own research on the matter.

Now, the first thing to keep in mind is that Hagneia was used to mostly mean ritually pure, spiritually pure, and was understood to mean whether or not someone was fit to approach the gods. There were things you could come into contact with that would create a buildup of miasma and it was best to avoid those things when you could. However, you can’t always do so. Some of those things are death in the family, giving birth, illness (not chronic illness, but like the flu), are all examples of something that can be considered miasmic. The real question we face today is how to cleanse that miasma? Most of the time, the biggest cure for miasma was time. There was a period of time you had to wait to no longer be considered miasmic after having given birth, or after losing a loved one. You were supposed to wait until after an illness has passed. And, you were supposed to cleanse yourself. Mostly that meant washing up, getting physically clean. For today, that means wash your hands, wash your face, take a shower or a bath (especially if you’d been sick, take a shower and change into clean clothes). So that part is really simple.

Now, historically, there was also another thing that rendered you miasmic. It very likely won’t apply to anyone hearing this or reading the transcript, but it is an issue that is covered in pretty much every source I read regarding miasma and Hagneia so I am going to mention it as well. Murdering someone was very much a cause of miasma. There were very special midnight rituals one was supposed to engage in in order to cleanse oneself of the miasma caused by murder. I would say that in today’s society that if you commit murder, you’re likely to get caught and so won’t have much use of said ritual, but that’s statistically unlikely so I’m just gonna say, don’t commit murder and you won’t have to worry about what that midnight ritual is. Mostly I just figured the fact that it’s mentioned so often is an interesting historical side note.

Time to move on the things that are more likely to affect you, such as how to practice Hagneia as a modern worshipper. While I would love it if the average Hellenic polytheist could go to a temple and worship with others on a regular basis, the fact is that most of us worship and prayer and do rituals on our own, or with a very tight knit group in a personal, private space. I myself am mostly a solitary practitioner. Sure, I have my mom and my sister and my kids, and I have a community of people online; but in my daily practice, it’s me, by myself doing the offering and praying and general worshipping. That’s probably true of most of you all as well. So how does a mostly solitary practitioner who isn’t going attending a ritual hosted by or attended by a large amount of people deal with the community based concepts like miasma and Hagneia? Well, in my case it means that I tend to put holiday rituals and offerings on hold when I would be considered miasmic. It means that when a close family member died, I prayed at the funeral for her safe passage and otherwise avoided rituals for a month. It means that when I gave birth to my kids, rituals and offerings were on hold for 10 days, which was about how long it took for me to even be in the mindset to get back to daily worship and prayers. It means that when I am sick, I wait until I am recovered to engage in practice and worship. When I got the flu a few years back, (three times that year, which is what I get for not getting the flu shot, I’m telling you, I’ll never miss it again and if you haven’t yet gotten your flu shot this year, please do) I stayed in bed and rested until I was better. I may have said a few informal prayers, like something along the lines of “please let this stop, I feel like I’m dying here”, but I waited until I was well. I then cleaned my bed and my room and myself and my clothes and changed my toothbrush and brushed my teeth with the clean toothbrush and got clean again before I went back to a regular worship schedule. So, for about 5 weeks that winter, I didn’t do very much in the way or practicing. And that’s okay. That’s what practicing Hagneia and avoiding bringing miasma to the Theoi is.

So, as a modern worshipper, the best way to practice Hagneia is to stay clean. Cleanse yourself of miasma as you come across it, make sure that you are fit to approach the Theoi before you do so. It’s a very simple pillar to follow because for the most, most of us already do. The next time you feel guilty about not being able to worship because you’re sick, or have a death in the family, or a newborn at home, remember that the break you’re taking is required, and important. It’ll be okay. The Theoi will understand.

Thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101. This is the last one that will be spent discussing the Pillars of Hellenic Polytheism. Remember, you can always find a transcript of the podcast on my blog at goddessdoeswitchery.tumblr.com, as well as a link to the sources I used today, which were: Inner Purity and Pollution by Andrej Petrov; Shame and Purity in Euripides' Hippolytus by Charles Segal; Shame in Ancient Greece by David Konstan, The Pillars of Hellenismos and What is and Is Not Miasmic by BaringTheAegis; and finally, A Beginner’s Guide to Hellenismos by Timothy Jay Alexander. You can also always ask me any questions at any time there as well. Finally, I will also have on there a complete transcript of all 7 episodes about the Pillars in a single post as well. Right now, we’re looking at 12 pages, and 8637 words, so it’ll be a very long post, set under a read more. The post will contain links to all the sources used for these last 7 episodes as well, so please fell free to check it out and continue your own research. For the next episode, I’m going to be discussing the Delphic maxims. There are 147 of them, so don’t worry, I’m not about to go fully in depth with each one the way I did the pillars. It’ll be just a simple discussion on the maxims themselves. I look forward to seeing you all then on Nov 15th!

#transcripts #transcript #hellenic polytheism 101 #pillars of hellenic polytheism #sophia #hagneia #kharis #arete #sophrosyne #eusebia #xenia

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britomart-heart · 3 years

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Goodness is Going With You, Ch.1

Hi all! First time posting fanfiction on this account, and first time writing in about two years. My target audience for this is approximately one person - ie myself who still likes zombie apocalypse aus, but let me know your thoughts and if you’d like more! Fandom: The Mandalorian Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader ****** You had been walking for days. Your small, ancient, ship had broken down on this back water planet, and even you had to admit there was no fixing it this time. But with the galaxy the way it was now, staying in one place was never an option for long.

It had also been days since you’d seen one of them. The creatures that had brought your world crashing to its knees more than twenty years ago. Just with the mere thought of them, your fingers brushed over your blaster strapped to your hip. The road had been too quiet for your liking, and it usually meant that the creatures had all moved to the same spot for whatever reason. That would make it easier for you to avoid them. It would also make it harder for you to outrun them if you did stumble across them.

You reloaded your blaster.

The virus was almost always deadly, and had taken sixty percent of the population of each system it passed through to prove it, but when a host was unfortunate enough to survive the initial sickness, it left them mindless, violent, and hungry for whatever flesh it came across. The accepted story was that the virus was biochemical warfare invented by the scientists of the Empire, meant to wipe out the last supporters of the Old Republic, but was more successful that they ever imagined. Now all that was left was barren planets controlled by warlords, travel systems overrun by pirates, and abandoned cities crawling with the creatures who prowled the empty streets hungrily.

Come to mention it, you were quite hungry too.

A map you found in a crumbling building had indicated that there was some sort of village north of where your ship had crashed, and you had been trekking across the desert sands in hope of some sort of meal, and maybe even an old piece of junk you could wrangle into flying condition. There was talk of a vaccine in the inner rim. A safe zone. It was an idea you could barely comprehend, but the whisper was enough to make you desperate to try and reach it.

As you began to daydream of what a safe zone might entail, you heard a cry in the distance, followed quickly by the warbled shrieks of the infected. Your stomach flipped, head snapping to attention. Normally such a cry would have you running in the opposite direction, but despite every instinct you had, your feet began moving towards the fray. That was the cry of an infant, of a child. Maker help you, but who would be heartless enough to turn away from that?

The noise seemed to come from impossibly far away, but you managed to find an abandoned moisture farm, and a hoard of infected swarming around the strangest looking kid you’d ever seen. Green ears nearly as wide as it was tall, it was crying out in distress as the creatures surrounded it. You’d never seen them attack like this before.

They surrounded the kid in a circle, and one by one they would try to attack with the usual sweep of their rotting arms. As one would rush in, the kid would raise a shaking three fingered hand, closing its eyes in concentration, and the creature would be flung back as if it was a rag doll. You stared in confusion, but quickly realised the child was slowing down, its eyes drooping lower and lower with each attack. You had your blaster raised without thinking and took down three of the creatures before they even noticed you there.

You slid through the gap you created and picked up the child just as it sleepily raised its arms up to you. Tucking him into the crook of your arm, you began firing shots as well as you could, swinging around, and ignoring the inevitable realisation that there was just too many of them. If you could just get out of their view there was a chance you could run, and you kept jogging backwards, until your back hit a wall.

They’d trapped you in a corner.

“Come on kid, that neat magic trick you pulled earlier would be helpful” you half yelled to the child who was clinging to your side. To his credit, the kid did try to lift his arm again, but the effort seemed to take the last bit of energy he had, and he slumped against you. Your grip was slippery with sweat, and with each beat of your heart, and fire of your blaster you knew it was hopeless. As the hoard closed in, you wiped the sweat from your brow, and the tears from your eyes, raising your blaster up to take out as many of them with you as you could.

You noticed the whistling in the air, before you noticed the tiny speeding bullets blasting into each of the snarling creatures, taking them out one by one. When the wall of them fell, a shining body that seemed solid silver landed in front of you, taking out the remaining monsters as if they were no more than training droids at a shooting range.

You stared in disbelief, clutching the child closer to your side, gaping at the number of infected this stranger had taken out in mere seconds, so stunned that you barely noticed that your saviour had now turned his blaster on you.

“Hand him over.” A deep male voice came through the modulator of the helmet, and he stretched his gloved hand out to you, gesturing towards the sleeping baby in your arms. You held him tighter on instinct.

“Who are you?”

“Listen girl, the only reason you’re still standing is because I saw you protecting him. Hand him to me, and we’ll call it even.”

You’d always been good at reading people, but this was like reading a brick wall. The dark visor hid even the slightest shadow of his eyes, and he stood still as stone, no body language to glean any sort of impression from. He held the blaster, still aimed at you, as if it were simply an extension of his arm.

But there was the slightest edge of desperation to his voice, just the tiniest hint of worry when he reached for the kid, that despite yourself you believed him. You wanted to believe him.

Slowly, you stepped over the corpse of one of the infected littering the ground and handed the kid over to the armoured man.

No, not just a man you realised, slightly later than you probably should have. He was a Mandalorian. You nearly dropped your own blaster, as you realised that an actual Mandalorian had pointed his weapon at you, and you actually had the gall to question him and survived.

He tucked the strange brown robe the baby was wearing tighter around him, with a tenderness that seemed somehow bizarre and charming at the same time.

“Why was he alone?” You asked, and the Mandalorian looked at you as if he had forgotten you were there.

“I was fighting a quarry into my ship, and the kid wandered off. He has a habit of doing that… usually I catch him before he gets into real trouble. After that, hopefully he won’t do it again.” He looks back at you, and somehow you knew he was looking over you from top to bottom. You shiver, and you know it’s not from the evening’s chill.

“I don’t have any credits.” He said, and you looked back in confusion.

“Credits?”

“To thank you. For saving the kid. Not many would have done that.”

“Oh don’t worry about it, anyone would have-“ You begin, but he shakes his head

“No. They wouldn’t have.” He tilts his head almost questioningly at you, and for some unknown reason you blush. Why are you blushing. You saved this guy’s kid, he’s thanking you, this is normal. All of this is normal.

“Well. I’d best be on my way then. Keep that kid out of trouble, he seems… special.” You answer, as diplomatically as you can.

“Yeah, he is.” The Mandalorian answers quietly, and you smile and start walking away. You’re nearly out of earshot, when the same modulated voice calls out again.

“Hey. Can I give you a lift somewhere. I’m not a taxi service but… I’m headed towards Nevarro and I can drop you there, or somewhere on the way.”

“Yes”, You say without thinking and without questioning the relief that threatens to spill over, “Yes, Nevarro would be great, thank you.”

He barely says a word after that, leading you nearby to his ship, and sets up a make shift bed for you on the ground of his rather shaken looking pre-empire Razor Crest. The kid stirs sometime after you enter hyperspace and gives you a toothy grin when he sees you sitting beside his floating crib. He reaches over to you with a tiny, green, wrinkled hand, and wraps it around your pointer finger.

“Hi kid, it’s me again”, you say and give him your name. He stares up at you with his enormous black eyes, and his calm gaze settles you enough that you allow the exhaustion of the past days to finally wash over you.

****

Over the next few days he tells you barely enough to satisfy your curiosity, but enough that your sufficiently intimidated by him. You can call him Mando, he doesn’t know the kid’s name, there’s rations in the hold that you can help yourself to whenever you want. You fill in the gaps you can with your limited knowledge of Mandalorians- that their religion is their armour and weapons, that their planet was lost before the virus destroyed everyone else’s, that the helmet never comes off.

It’s enough that your intrigued by him almost as much as you’re scared of him. His voice alone, warm and low, draws you in, and the affection he clearly has for the strange child that travels with him, is a walking contradiction to the Mandalorian code you heard about in stories and legends as a youngling. It makes you wonder if he travels with the kid out of obligation, or if he once was as lonely as you are, and couldn’t bare it anymore.

You can understand that.

You come out of hyperspace on the third day, and you hear him coming down the ladder into the hold before you feel the jolt of the ship entering Nevarro’s atmosphere. You have the kid on your lap, and were in the process of teaching him one of the few games you remember from your own childhood. He didn’t seem to get the rules, but giggled every time you clapped his hands together, and would try to do the same with yours.

“The kid likes you”. Mando says from behind you, and you smile over your shoulder.

“Well I’m easy to like. So is this little one.” You answer, and the kid gurgles in what sounds like agreement, and throws himself forward into you, stretching his tiny arms as far as he can reach, and laughs into your belly.

Mando walks forward, and gently tugs on one of the kid’s massive ears. You’re not sure if you imagine his fingers brushing over your shoulder when he moves his hand back.

“You’re handy with a blaster.” He says, in a way that feels more like a statement than a question. You’re not sure where he’s going with this, but you nod slowly.

“When I need to be.”

“You can handle moving around from place to place? You don’t have anyone waiting for you somewhere?” He asks, and it’s definitely a question this time. You nod more confidently, and turn around full to look up at him. He’s leaning against a wall, his arm resting confidently on his hip, and he’s literally in full armour, why is that a good look on him. You’re beginning to wonder if there’s something wrong with you. Maybe you’ve been alone for too long.

“It’s just been me for a long time.”

He nods in a way that makes you think it was the right answer.

“I’m trying to get into the inner rim. There’s some rumours that it’s safer there, and I need to get the kid… he needs to be safe.” He says slowly, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. Still can’t trust you with the full truth, but is offering up more than you ever expected. You try not to look too eager.

“I need someone to watch the kid while I collect my bounties on the way. You saw what happens when he’s left alone for too long. And I think you need to get somewhere safe too.”

You barely react, terrified that if you say something now, he’ll retract whatever offer he is about to make, the one you were always on the verge of suggesting yourself but kept losing the nerve to ask.

“I still need to stop in Nevarro. But you can join me when I leave again… if you want. I can pay handsomely, and it’ll be safer than travelling on your own.” He says, and you know he’s waiting for an answer now. You stand slowly, trying to look as if you’re contemplating a response, even though you know your answer immediately. You place the kid in his floating crib and wipe your hands on the front of your trousers.

“It’s a deal.” You answer and stretch one of your hands out in front of you.

There’s a few seconds of complete silence, only the unreadable man in front of you, staring at your outstretched hand, and oh maker have you misread this completely. You’re about to drop your hand, when he reaches out and shakes it with his own and seems to hold it a beat to long before letting go.

“Right, well then strap the kid in, we’ll be pulling into Nevarro shortly.” He answers as gruffly as if the conversation never happened and turns to climb back up into the cockpit. As if you imagined the whole thing.

Only, even though you have absolutely no proof, if someone asked you to bet on what expression he was making under that helmet, you’d have put money on him smiling.

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x female reader

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mystiika · 3 years

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re; atargatis

right so it made no sense to say that nukh was created by atargatis without explaining who she actually is. so atargatis is an assyrian goddess worshipped as one of the 2400+ known gods/goddesses in the mesopotamian religion & is associated with the primordial mother.

below the cut i cover her origin story as a mermaid ( since we have no origin for her as a goddess, she just kind of exists hence the mentioned primordial aspect ), her name(s) + etymology, who hadad is/why is he relevant, appearance & associated symbols, who is she + what is she the god of + what does she do, & finally, syncretism + her cult & reach.

honestly the important bit is the story, maybe hadad if you’re curious, & i’d rec skimming the first little bit of the who is she/what does she do but the rest is really just there if you’re curious.

the story

the earliest records we have for mermaids is the story of atargatis, where the records in question are from 1000 b.c.e. that being said, atargatis was worshipped as a goddess throughout assyria as well as across the mediterranean roughly 4000 years ago ( as far as we know ).

now, there are many different versions of her story spread across several cultures, all of which influenced each other. so what you’re about to read is a bit of a mixture, but there’s a lot i’m completely leaving out just because it's a conflicting narrative or it’s a triggering topic for some people ( & frankly, in those cases it seems unnecessary to include ).

such as in the most popular myth ( we think this more popular origin was actually the result of the greeks & the romans rather than the original tale since their primordial mother is gaia or terra ), atargatis started off human. but in mine, as with much of her older origin tales, from the beginning she was a goddess. primarily, the goddess of fertility, renowned for her beauty & kind blessings but it's worth noting that she is an aspect of the primordial mother & is very much so ancient. it was only after her rebirth that she became known as the mermaid goddess.

her timeline does involve a lot of contradictions though, some placing her to become a mermaid only after the rise of "her" daughter semiramis who ruled around around the time of 800 b.c.e, but as i said the first mention of her story as a mermaid was from as early as 1000 b.c.e. as such, in my interpretation & understanding, she became a mermaid long before semiramis became queen of assyria. as i write it, she did give birth to a daughter of the name of semiramis, but the queen semiramis was a direct descendant of the original semiramis rather than being born of atargatis herself. what we do know, is that semiramis would actually later to go on to become a legendary queen of assyria & among her many accomplishments, she was most well known for creating the famous hanging gardens of babylonia. she was very much so a real person which is why we have a rough date of her rule.

while atargatis’ role as an aspect of the primordial mother goddess is something i go over later. the story i tell in this section, is that of her rebirth as the mermaid goddess.

atargatis fell in love with a mortal shepherd boy, almost giddy with fresh feelings & fondness for the man. she loved him so deeply his mortality couldn’t stop her affections. & after some time, she bore him a daughter who they named semiramis. however, their tale didn’t stay happy for long. in the end, atargatis underestimated her powers & she inadvertently killed her lover. after which she was absolutely distraught, riddled with guilt & was overwhelmed with depression & shame over what she had done. in the end, she exiled herself, sinking below the waters of a lake near ashkelon. she wanted nothing more than to be alone, to either sit & marinate in a grief she was unsure she’d ever see the other side of, or to drown herself in those same waters. but her beauty was so great that the water could not hide it. she could neither die, nor fully transform into a fish. & so she remained half goddess, half fish; a mermaid & the first of her kind.

but that wasn’t quite the end of her tale. you see, with her new identity as a mermaid, she became more than just the goddess of fertility. she also became a goddess of the seas, & of the moon, feminine powers, fierce motherly protection & more. she also became a goddess of transformation.

name + etymology

her most common name is atargatis, a semitic word at its root, but she has many names.

given the fact that atargatis’ history & mythological lore is vast, & spans over several cultures & hundreds of years, it’s no surprise that she’s amassed a great number of names & alternate spellings: atergatis, ataratheh ataratha, athtart ( phoenician ), taratha, ‘atar'arah/‘atar'atah ( aramaic ), tr'th ( in the talmud ), atargates, derceto/derketo, dea suria, syria dea, deasura, iasura, whale of der ( philistine ), eurunome diana, & tirgata.

so the etymology of her name of atargatis has two different possible make ups.

this name ‘atar‘atheh is a compound of two divine names: the first part ( atarr ) is a form of the aramaic ‘attart’ minus its feminine suffix -t, plus ʿattah or ʿatā, a cognate of ʿanat. himyaritic ‘athtar, the equivalent of the old testament ‘ashtoreth, the phoenician ‘ashtart rendered in greek as astarte. compare the cognate akkadian form ishtar. the second half ( atis ) may be a palmyrene divine name athe ( i.e. tempus opportunum ), which occurs as part of many compounds.

alternatively, there’s the theory that the second half ( gatis ) may relate to the greek gados “fish”. ( for example, the greek name for “sea monster” or “whale” is the cognate term ketos ). so atar-gatis may simply mean “the fish-goddess atar”.

she’s also heavily associated with astarte, ishtar, aphrodite, venus, hera, rhea, & cybele ( some of which i discuss later ).

now, i’ve seen conflicting information regarding atargatis & atarte ( the babylonian & the chief [ or female divinity ] goddess of fertility, sexuality, & war ). frankly, i had no idea if they were the same goddess or not. a lot of the information states that they’re often confused due to similar names & etymology. however ! there is still a significant amount overlap between them. not to mention that astarte is even referred to as athtart/ashtart sometimes. most of the information claims that they are different goddess but as i talk about later, we have reason to believe that they started as the same goddess, split off for a portion of time & thus their histories & cults became distinct, but through the confusion of popular intellect, they merged back together again later as a single goddess which would explain the conflicting information. but honestly that could be a separate post in of itself so i won't get into it now. i won’t be covering astarte at all here. i just thought it was worth noting.

who is hadad

due to conflicting origin stories ( ahem the greeks ahem ), some depict hadad as being the name of the mortal shepherd boy atargatis had fallen in love with, but in actuality, hadad was her consort & a god in his own right. hadad ( also spelled had, hadda, or haddu ), is the west semitic god of weather, hurricanes, storms, & thunder & rain. his attributes were identical with those of adad of the assyro-babylonian pantheon. he was the chief ba'al of the west semites ( including both sedentary & nomadic aramaeans ) in north syria, along the phoenician coast, & along the euphrates river. as ba'al-hadad he was represented as a bearded deity, often holding a club & thunderbolt & wearing a horned headdress. hadad was equated with the greek god zeus; the roman god jupiter, as jupiter dolichenus; the hittite storm-god teshub; & the egyptian god set.

appearance & symbols

doves & fish were considered sacred to her: doves as an emblem of love & fish as symbolic of the fertility & life of the waters. some of her symbols are a lion, a crescent moon, & two fish confronting one another. she’s also associated with dolphins, spindle, barley, wheat stalks, egg, love, childbirth, gold, & great jewels.

her place in the mermaid triple goddess is as the crone & like the others of the mermaid triple goddess, mélusine & lí ban, atargatis is mostly associated with freshwater, specifically the sacred lake which changed her into her fish or mermaid form. likewise is lí ban a freshwater mermaid, having been transformed in a lake, & mélusine was a freshwater sprite who dwelled by a forest spring & in avalon before her transformation. as such, she’s known to represent origins, new beginnings, rebirth, transformation, healing & love.

lucian, a writer of the first century c.e who was born in syria, left us a description of the temple of atargatis. it was richly decorated, with a golden ceiling & doors, & inside it, the statue of atargatis was also made of gold & displayed with hadad’s. while he was enthroned on two bulls, she sat on two lions ( like astarte ), holding in one hand a sceptre, in the other a distaff; around her waist was a girdle that lucian identifies with the cestus of aphrodite, the magic belt that made her irresistible when worn. her crown was in the form of a tower ( the mural crown, signifying possession or rule over a city ) & rays were depicted behind Her head. this statue was covered with gems & jewels from all over, & in her crown was a great red jewel that lit up the room.

depictions of the cult-statue of atargatis of ashkelon on coins of the first century b.c.e show an archaic & standardised form, much like other eastern cult statues like the diana of ephesus or the aphrodite of aphrodisios. her body is stylised as a column in a tight sheath dress with her arms sticking out at the sides at right angles. she wears a veil that reaches to the floor, & holds a flower or ear of corn in one hand. on her shoulders are two wheat or barley-sheaves; her dress is textured with smallish lumps, reminiscent of grains of barley, with an unidentified oval in the centre, perhaps a representation of the girdle or cestus lucian describes

in regards to other associated symbols, at palmyra she appears on the coinage with a lion, or her presence is signalled with a lion & the crescent moon; an inscription mentions her. in the temples of atargatis at palmyra & at dura-europos she appeared repeatedly with her consort, hadad ( who i talk about later ), & in the richly syncretic religious culture at dura-europos, was worshipped as artemis azzanathkona. two well preserved temples in niha, lebanon are dedicated to her & to hadad. in the 1930s, numerous nabatean bas-relief busts of atargatis were identified by nelson glueck at khirbet et-tannûr, jordan, in temple ruins of the early first century c.e; there the lightly veiled goddess’s lips & eyes had once been painted red, & a pair of fish confronted one another above her head. her wavy hair, suggesting water to glueck, was parted in the middle. at petra the goddess from the north was syncretised with a north arabian goddess from the south al-uzzah, worshipped in the one temple. at dura-europus among the attributes of atargatis are the spindle & the sceptre or fish-spear. occasionally you'll also see her depicted with a dolphin crown.

some of the offerings people would use for her are wheat beer, pure water, wine, bread, barley, figs, & abstinence from eating fish. other things people would do in her name would involve ornering fish with gold & silver, maintaining beautiful ponds filled with these fish as well as others, all of which were sacred & therefore maintained & kept healthy to the highest degree. people would also contribute to the safety of sea creatures & their watery homes to gain her favour.

atargatis chant beads are one way to readily connect with the energy of the goddess. as you continue to use the beads, the chants become second nature, & the mind becomes free to journey into wholeness.

using a physical object, such as a string of beads, is also helpful for sensory recall. if you are able to consistently use the beads to achieve a certain feeling or mind-state ( peaceful, open, focused, etc. ), then before long simply handling the beads will easily bring about that sacred state of being.

who is she, what is she the god of & what does she do

she is the goddess of water, the moon, fertility, feminine powers, fierce motherly protection & more. sometimes also known as lady goddess of the sea. but she has many roles that go beyond her areas of rule. atargatis was an aspect of the universal mother & her life-giving waters.

atargatis represents the abundance & cycles of nature, the necessity of hope & the blessing of renewal after loss & endings. she represents all mothers & their love for both their partner, & for their children. she is the perfected beauty of the divine feminine & the personification of nourishing freshwater that wells from deep within the earth, rises through the equally life-giving air, forms the shading clouds & then falls again to the earth as merciful, quenching rain that sustains the endless cycle of life, growing & transforming all that it touches. in this sense, she is life. she is an aspect of the universal mother & her life-giving waters.

atargatis was known as a fierce goddess of power & of grace. she was the baʿalah ( or lady ) of her people—in charge of the city’s protection & well-being. & unlike other goddesses of feminine softness & fertility, atargatis was also a wild protector—able to channel the divine protection of a mother guarding her children, when need be.

even though the stories of this goddess are great & many, the threads throughout all of them unite in one true knowing: that atargatis was a powerful water goddess — deeply connected to the watery depths of this world. she was a mother, a lover, a ruler of fierce power & grace. one who loved her people dearly, & was loved just as dearly by them in turn.

i mentioned this under symbols but being the most ancient mermaid, & an all-mother long known & worshipped by many cultures & civilisations, atargatis is heavily associated with the crone aspect of the triple goddess. the crone represents the culmination of all feminine living & experience, having come full circle from the beginning to the end, & therefore continuing the cycle to a new beginning, as is all that death leads to. of the three mermaids, she is the only one who was ( in ways & in certain myths ) widowed & who purposely sought death or transformation, both of which also closely link her to the deathly crone. but we learn from atargatis the completion of the cycle & of finding & accepting our place in the circle of life. she is at once all aspects of the goddess triple goddess, as indeed is the crone as the culmination of all a woman’s life & experience. by the time she becomes the aged, wise grandmother & even harbinger of death, she has been all three – maiden, mother & crone.

it’s pretty interesting ( & worth noting at least to me ) that so many goddesses – astarte ( as i mentioned this association is sometimes considered inaccurate but their similarities are undeniable ), anat, ishtar, aphrodite, isis, hera, cybele – would all be identified with each other & even be considered just slightly different forms of or names for the same supreme goddess, one great mother, who was also considered to be a mermaid or in the form of a fish.

it really does prove the very sacred & apt symbol of the mermaid as the ultimate representation of the feminine divine, & the mother & nurturer that water itself is to all life, hence the watery & fishy associations with atargatis & so many other of the highest & most ancient goddesses & gods.

as she originated in the east, in mesopotamia, & as her rebirth in the lake as a mermaid represents a most hopeful new beginning & healing, the newly-formed goddess rising out of the sacred lake reminds us that there is always a new day & another chance.

atargatis is a very complex goddess who appeared in different forms & stories in many cultures, & the amount of both ancient & recent texts & research we have regarding her only ironically help to compound her mystery & the daunting task of trying to define her & sort out her legends, varied & intercultural as they all are ( & i’ll make a separate post about parallel stories of atargatis across several cultures ).

she is the great civiliser, who taught the people social & religious procedures, & who is responsible for inventing many useful things as her gift to humankind. in her capacity as heavenly goddess, she is concerned with astrology & divination, & fate. though atargatis is often identified with astarte, this is not quite correct—while the worship of both atargatis & astarte spring from a common source, the cults later diverged so that the goddesses became distinctly different. by the late periods though they were so confused in the popular imagination that some people believe that they did in fact merge back into the same goddess.

syncretism, cult, & reach

while she was often worshipped as the most prominent & beloved deity within assyria ( & later syria ), she was mixed in with many other mythology & cultures. as i mentioned before, atargatis is believed to be the inspiration to all the mermaids stories that have been told around the world. she was worshipped in ancient assyria & later on all over mediterranean. she’s a well-established deity, whose cult spread through phoenicia & all the way into greece & rome.

at her temples at ashkelon, hierapolis bambyce, & edessa, “they often” had ponds on the outside, which were filled with sacred fish that only the priests could touch, & which are said to have been quite friendly. glueck noted in 1936 that “to this day there is a sacred fish-pond swarming with untouchable fish at qubbet el-baeddwī, a dervish monastery three kilometres east of tripolis, lebanon.” there are other accounts of another fishpond of fish sacred to atargatis surviving at şanlıurfa, turkey, another part of the ancient edessa, its mythology transferred to ibrahim.

as ataratha she may be recognised by the self-mutilation & self-castration of her votaries, recorded in a perhaps sensationalist christian passage from the book of the laws of the countries, one of the oldest works of syriac prose, an early-third-century product of the school of bar daisan ( bardesanes ):

“in assyria & in urhâi [ edessa ] the men used to castrate themselves in honour of ataratha. but when king abgar became a believer, he commanded that anyone who emasculated himself should have a hand cut off. & from that day to the present no one in urhâi emasculates himself anymore.” —chapter 45.

these acts of self-mutilation were not unlike the priesthood of cybele. also like cybele’s, the worship of atargatis was practiced with song, dance, & music of flutes & rattles, the worshippers working themselves to a frenzy.

cult of atargatis travelled all the way to greece & rome & even british isles with roman invaders. the greeks called her derceto or derketo & romans called her dea syriae which shorted to deasura, the [as]syrian goddess.

lucian of samosata & apuleius of madauros give descriptions of the beggar-priests who went round the great cities with an image of the goddess on a donkey & collected money. the wide extension of the cult is attributable largely to syrian merchants; thus we find traces of it in the great seaport towns; at delos especially numerous inscriptions have been found bearing witness to her importance. again we find the cult in sicily, introduced, no doubt, by slaves & mercenary troops, who carried it even to the farthest northern limits of the roman empire. the leader of the rebel slaves in the first servile war, a syrian named eunus, claimed to receive visions of atargatis, whom he identified with the demeter of enna.

a recent analysis of the cult of atargatis is an essay by per bilde, in which atargatis appears in the context of other hellenised great goddesses of the east.

in many cases atargatis, ‘ashtart ( astarte ), & other goddesses who once had independent cults & mythologies became fused to such an extent as to be indistinguishable. this fusion is exemplified by the carnion temple, which is probably identical with the famous temple of ‘ashtart at ashtaroth-karnaim. atargatis generally appears as the wife of hadad, the storm god. they are the protecting deities of the community. atargatis, wearing a mural crown, is the ancestor the royal house, the founder of social & religious life, the goddess of generation & fertility ( hence the prevalence of phallic emblems ), & the inventor of useful appliances. not unnaturally she is identified with the greek aphrodite. by the conjunction of these many functions, despite originating as a sea deity analogous to amphitrite, she becomes ultimately a great nature-goddess, analogous to cybele & rhea: in one aspect she typifies the protection of water in producing life; in another, the universal of other-earth ( macrobius, saturn. 1.23 ); in a third ( no doubt influenced by chaldean astrology ), the power of destiny.

at ugarit, cuneiform tablets attest a fecund “lady goddess of the sea” ( rabbatu at̪iratu yammi ), as well as three canaanite goddesses — anat, asherah & ashtart — who shared many traits & might be worshipped in conjunction or separately during 1500 years of cultural history.

“…the semitic moon goddess, who followed the course of the sun, at times manifesting herself to the eyes of men, at others seeking concealment in the western flood, was represented as half woman, half fish, with characteristics which make her lunar origin indisputable. her name was derceto, or atergatis, & she was identical with mylitta, the universal mother, or source of life. this goddess “was esteemed by her votaries the same as venus or cupris;” she “was worshipped by the phigalians, in arcadia, by the name of eurunome diana; her statue was of great antiquity, & represented a woman as far as the middle, but from thence had the figure of a fish.” macrobius makes her “the mother of the gods;” & bryant wisely concludes that this mermaid figure was a hieroglyphic of the ark. on the coins of ashkelon, semiramis is represented as half woman & half fish, & at joppa she is also represented as a mermaiden; the story being that she fled from typhon, plunged into the sea, took the form of a fish, & thus preserved her incognito! the goddess of moisture ( the syrian tirgata, & the derceto of palestine ), was also depicted as a mermaid.” – llewellyn jewitt “the reliquary: quarterly archaeological journal & review, vol. xix 1878

in one of her many, atargatis was worshipped in a temple dedicated to her in the ancient city of ashkelon, now modern israel. it was told that her temple was completely made of gold & there was a giant statue of atargatis also made from pure gold & diamonds. there was pool in the temple & the worshippers of atargatis had to swim through the pool to get into the altar. pool was filled with living fishes which her devotees attended daily. as such, atargatis counted ancient israelites among her devotees. in this temple in ashkelon, the god hadad was considered atargatis’s consort ( he was the local ba'al, or “lord”, as she was the local baʿalah ). so he was worshipped alongside her.

we find references to an atargateion or atergateion ( a temple of atargatis ) at carnion in gilead ( modern north west jordan; cf. 2 maccabees 12.26, & 1 maccabees 5:43 ), but the home of the goddess was unquestionably not palestine, but syria proper, especially at hierapolis ( called bambyce by the greeks but its syrian name was probably mabbog ), where she had a great temple & which was considered her primary shrine. it was the largest, richest temple in syria & eventually plundered by romans. it was located on the mediterranean coast about 40 miles south west of jerusalem. herodotus credits atargatis’ temple there as being the oldest temple to aphrodite ( what he calls atargatis ) in the world, & the inspiration for her temple on the island of cyprus. in his work, lucian describes his visit to atargatis’ temple:

“there is too a lake in the same place, not far from the temple in which many sacred fishes of different kinds are reared. some of these grow to a great size; they are called by names, & approach when called. i saw one of these ornamented with gold, & on its back fin a gold design was dedicated to the temple. i have often seen this fish, & he certainly carried this design.

the depth of the lake is immense. i never tested it myself, but they say that it is in depth more than 200 fathoms. on the midst of this lake stands an altar of stone. you would think at first sight that it was floating & moving in the water, & many deem that it is so. the truth seems to me that it is supported by a column of great size, based on the bottom of the lake. it is always decked with ribbons, & spices are therein, & many every day swim in the lake with crowns on their heads performing their acts of adoration.” ( pp. 45-46 )

in her day, worshippers would immerse themselves in her sacred waters to offer praise. they would keep & adorn living fish in her honour. according to writers other than lucian, it was taboo to eat or touch these fish, except on special occasions & by the priesthood, who considered it theaphagy, the ritual eating of the goddess as a sacrament.

for further detail on her influence in greco-roman mythology, i’ll be making a post soon which i’ll link here once it’s up.

#atargatis #npcs — people will come & go‚ but the right ones will always stay #metas — the gap between understanding & misunderstanding can best be bridged by thought #atargatis — she who lives on in the soul of every woman who's ever fallen in love with the ocean #world building — when we lose our myths‚ we lose our place in the universe

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deans-mind-palace · 4 years

Text

Suspirium (Pt.3)

Pairing: Prof!Sam x Reader

Summary: You’re in your last year of your Classics and Mordern Languages studies and you’re majoring in Latin and English. Then you get assigned to a different Latin teacher. And damn, he loves his subject. Too bad that he’s also hot. What is just a childish crush soon develops into something way more complicated.

Word Count: 2,420

Warnings: Awkward meetings? I think that’s a warning. ;) Slowburn.

Author’s Note: Third chap. I’m terribly sorry that it took me some days, but it’s twice as long as normally and I have the full story plotted now. Things in cursive are translations for the reader. Also, this is a slow burn story! Show it some love with likes, comments and reblogs. But most important, have fun.

Suspirium - Masterlist

You had ignored the annoying questions of your best friends all day yesterday and this morning as well. They were dying to know how you felt about Professor Winchester's first lecture. After all, they didn't know that you had met him before by chance, when he spilled his coffee on you. You didn't know exactly why, but something tempted you to keep quiet about your encounter with the young professor. What was there to tell? It had been an accident and he had invited you in for coffee. Nothing more. No big deal.

Your last lecture for the day was already over and in a few minutes you would meet Sa- Professor Winchester in the little café around the corner. You entered the café and looked around, but there was no sign of Professor Winchester. A glance at your mobile phone told you that you were a few minutes early. Shoulder shrugging, you looked for a seat by the window. It was your favourite seat, because you had a beautiful view over the park. You were always sitting here and following the course of nature. Leaves rose, turned green, changed colour and fell off again. Every year it was the same. The eternal course of nature.

Sam saw you through the window when he arrived at the cafe. Your fingers thoughtfully twisted a strand of hair between your fingers while you looked out over the park with a dreamy look on your face. A gentle smile played around your lips and he struggled to tear himself away from the sight. You looked so calm and peaceful that it fascinated him immensely. You sat there like a Roman goddess. As if you were holding the world in balance just by being.

He loosened his shirt collar with two fingers before taking a breath and entering the room. Immediately your eyes fell on him and you waved at him. A smile lit up your face and Sam made his way through the guests to the table in the back. He sat down opposite you and smiled at you. "Good afternoon, Professor Winchester," you greeted him, but he interrupted you laughing. "Please do not stand on formalities. I am Sam." He reached out to you as if you were seeing each other for the first time in your lives. Laughing, you reached out and played along to his game. "Hi, Sam. I'm Y/N." He winked slyly at you. "Y/N. That's a beautiful name. You know the Latin version? Many names have a Latin origin or a corresponding version," he explained and you denied yourself a smile. His hazel eyes sparkled in the golden autumn light. "Yes, I knew that." You replied, loosening up a bit. You were afraid that it would become too formal and strange between you, but that was not the case. Sure, what were you thinking? After all, it was just a cup of coffee.

You talked about some petty things like how the year had started for you and how nice the weather was when Sam finally offered to get the coffee from the counter. "What would you like?" he asked you as he got up. A few strands of his brown hair fell down into his eyes, making him look almost mischievous. He looked younger that way anyway. Today he only wore a dark green t-shirt, a leather jacket and dark jeans, which sat on him and accentuated his tight ass. Every woman would have been jealous at the sight of his backside. "Y/N?" He cleared his throat and stared at you worried. "You all right?" Sam asked you.You flinched in surprise. "Um, yeah, of course. A caramel cappuccino, please." A little embarrassed, you tugged your top straight. Sam nodded. "Got it. I'll be right back." he promised and you followed him to the counter with your eyes.

Suddenly, your phone rang. You looked at the screen. Brooks' name shining in bright letters off the screen. In a hurry, you took a look at the queue where Sam was standing and answered the call.

"Hey Brooks. This is kind of a bad timing. Can I call you back?" you answered, but your best friend stopped you right there. "I haven't heard from you since yesterday! I thought you were dead. Where the fuck are you? What the hell are you doing?" Sam paid as you spoke. "It's a long story. I can't talk now, but I'll tell you later, okay? I promise." He sighed and you could tell by the tone of his voice that he was massaging his temples. "I was worried, Y/N." You smiled at Brooks' care. "I appreciate that. It's all good." Sam made his way up to you with two steaming cups and put the pleasant-smelling hot drink in front of you. "Look, I really have to hang up now. I'll see you later." And before he could say anything back, you ended the call.

Sam sipped his coffee and gave you a questioning look. "Your boyfriend? Is it okay for us to meet? No, I'm sorry, that's none of my business." he said calmly, but his eyes did not leave yours. "What, Brooks? No, he's just a friend." Sam nodded understandingly. "Even if he did, why wouldn't it be all right?" you asked, honestly surprised, and he nearly choked on his coffee. You were still stirring around with a spoon in yours. "Well, there's not that much age difference between us. Not that he thinks - never mind, forget what I said," he stuttered and a slight blush ran down his face. Sam bit his tongue in annoyance and avoided your gaze. Was he hinting at...? It was a simple statement of fact, since it was the truth, nothing more. Embarrassed, you sipped your coffee and closed your eyes with relish as the caramel descended on your tongue like mist. It was a creamy and intense taste. You sighed delightfully, which made Sam laugh. "I ordered twice the amount of caramel. As compensation."

For a few minutes you drank your coffee silently and sometimes smiled at each other over your cups. "So-" Sam finally broke your silence. "Why Latin?" He seemed genuinely curious. "I could ask you the same question," you replied, which made him laugh. "That's right. You first, then me." You didn't have to think for a second. "I chose Latin in the sixth grade so I'd have an easier time learning French later. But over time I became more and more interested in the Latin phrases, the view of the world of ancient Rome and literature and poetry. My Latin teacher recognized this early and encouraged me from the beginning. In the end, I did my A-Levels in Latin instead of French as I had planned. But you can't earn money with Latin alone, but since I always liked writing and languages, I decided to study English and Classics without further ado. The roots of our language today. Latin is the language of law, architecture and engineering, the military, science, philosophy, religion and - of particular interest here - the language of a flourishing literature which for centuries served as a model for all Western literature". You paused for a moment and looked away somewhat embarrassed. You had let yourself be carried away again when you spoke of your passion. You were used to people not understanding your feelings and only moaning when you started again, so you had stopped. You were just waiting for Sam's rejection, but as soon as you raised your eyes you saw the same passion in his eyes that you only knew from yourself.

A warm smile lay on his lips and his hazel eyes sparkled. He really seemed to understand what you were talking about, for he nodded violently. "The Latin of literature speaks of love and war in hundreds of masterpieces, reflects on the body and soul, develops theories about the meaning of life and the tasks of man, about the fate of the soul and the nature of matter, sings of the beauty of nature, the meaning of friendship, the pain of losing all that is dear to one; and it criticizes depravity, ponders death, the arbitrariness of power, violence and cruelty.

It creates inner images, puts emotions into words, formulates ideas about the world and social life. Latin is the language of the relationship between the One and everything" he completed your thoughts. You looked at him in surprise. "Exactly!" You both began to laugh. Then you both beamed at each other. You sipped your coffee. The caramel melted on your tongue and tasted pleasantly sweet. You put your cup back on the table with a soft clink and cleared your throat.

"And how did you come to learn Latin?" you asked and had trouble hiding your curiosity. He stirred thoughtfully in his coffee and the good mood seemed to have vanished. You were about to apologize in case you had said something wrong, but then Sam started to tell his story.

"Well..." He was shuffling around a bit. "I-I had a not-so-easy childhood. My mother died early and left my dad, my brother and me alone. My dad never got over her death, everything reminded him of her. He couldn't handle the pain and liked to drown it in alcohol. We often moved and he sometimes left us alone for days without knowing where he was or if he would come back. My brother and I were mostly on our own. Each of us dealt with the situation differently. I read a lot and enjoyed living in my own world, far away from the harsh reality. I had been interested in mythology from an early age on. It was my dad's thing and I soon came into contact with it. I loved these stories about brave soldiers, beautiful goddesses, adventurous ship journeys and fearless gladiators. Latin helped me escape from my screwed-up family. I found my way to poetry and literary writing. I became enthusiastic about translating stories, because it was my own secret language that no one else but me knew. They only knew a few sentences. Through Latin I was able to direct my many interests towards a common goal. Eventually I went to Stanford to study law. It contains a few Latin terms, but can't be compared to Roman law. In the end I returned to my passion and changed course. Now after years, here I am." Sam shrugged his shoulders and his eyes flickered uncertainly.

You hung spellbound on his lips as he told you the story of his life. He was such an open and friendly person that it was hard to imagine how much his childhood must have shaped him. When he finished his story, you still clung to his last words in your mind. He misunderstood your silence and looked at you nervously. He looked at you nervously. "I - oh, God. You probably don't care about that. You don't want me to tell you. It's inappropriate for me to tell you this as your professor." He was coughing and sipping his coffee in a hurry. Somehow he had let himself get carried away when he talked to you like that, because normally Sam didn't talk much about himself, but when you smiled at him broadly, he paused in surprise. "It's all right, Sam. I'm glad someone understands my passion. And I know what you mean. My childhood wasn't easy, either, not as extreme as yours, but I have history of my own." You felt your mood change when you thought about your parents and decided not to elaborate. Sam didn't ask any further, almost as if he sensed how uncomfortable you were with the subject. For a while, you went back to your petty banter. Sam liked your passion. The fire in your soul. Your love of the language that had been his best friend as a child. You knew what he was talking about. He was fascinated by you. You were no different.

"Well, I um... This may be a little inappropriate, but I spent a year in Italy as part of my studies and, well, that's when I started writing a book on the beauty of Latin." You started talking. Sam looked at you with interest gleaming in his beautiful hazel eyes. "Really?" "Yes. I'm on my own so far, but I need someone who knows something about Latin. An expert opinion, so to speak." You took a deep breath. Sam nodded. "You want me to read it?" he asked and you nodded in relief. He had understood what you wanted to say. Still you were a bit unsure. Sam was a real expert.

What if he thought your book was a load of bullshit? It was your heart project. Were you able to handle the criticism? "I've never let anyone read it before and-" But Sam interrupted you. As he smiled, his teeth gleamed brightly between his pink lips. "I'll do it. I'd be honored to be the first to read your work," the young professor told you. Joy filled you and filled your face with a beam that he reflected instantly.

You happened to catch a glimpse of the clock hanging over the door a little to the side of Sam's head. You were startled and began to curse. You had been here for almost three hours! "Oh crap. I am so late!" You hurriedly gathered your things and threw your bag over your shoulder. "I'm- I'm really sorry, Sam. But I have to go now or I'll be late for work!" You felt sincere regret that you couldn't just sit here for hours and talk to him. Sam didn't want you to go either, but you both remained silent about it. Sam sat at your table still a little perplexed and watched you put on your jacket. "I'd be glad if we could continue this sometime." It all happened a bit too fast for Sam, and he looked overwhelmed as he scratched his neck and ruffled his hair. "Um... Yeah, sure. No problem. I'd love to." he finally said and gave you a smile that you responded with relief. "All right, I really have to go. Bye, Sam." "Vale. Goodbye," he said with a wry grin and made you laugh. You hugged him quickly and his aftershave got up your nose, then you hurried out of the café and left a frozen Sam behind. Then you realized that you had just quickly hugged your professor. You got red in the face.

Tags beneath cut. Wanna get tagged? Drop an ask or comment in or add yourself to the Sam taglist with the link in my bio.

Sam Tags: @ashthefirefox @rintheemolion @fortheentries @vexhye @traceyaudette @zeppette @thewintersoldierswife @outofnowhere82

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bathtubjohnny · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1: Rough draft (Edited once for spelling/grammar)

TW: Bloody noses, descriptions of a corpse, mild gore and swearing, spooky zombie lady, bad formatting, rushed writing

Note: Please give me your sweet sweet feedback. Oh how I crave honest and good-hearted criticism.

*Thanks to a handful of members from a group chat for convincing me to post this*

The forest was dense enough to blot out the sun, almost completely plunging the path in darkness. It didn’t bother Sydney though; he was too focused on the building at the end of it. It was a church, and he stood in front of it, staring up at the grey steeple protruding from what was left of the roof. It was a miracle that it was still standing. The walls had been scorched by fire, and the once-beautiful stained glass windows had melted into colourful, wax-like puddles. He could still smell smoke even though the church burned an impossibly long time ago. It never occurred to Sydney that the surrounding woods were completely untouched by the fire, as if it had never happened in the first place.

The inside was different as Sydney pushed the double doors open. He didn’t recognize the inside. It was more spacious than what he remembered, but like the forest, untouched by the blaze. Instead of red carpeting there was a wooden floor; instead of oil paintings depicting the trial of Jesus, tapestries with horrific, indescribable images decorated the walls. The interior had an ancient feel to it, making Sydney feel insignificant as he stood before the rows of pews. He could tell that it wasn’t a Catholic church anymore. It was a haven for a religion that existed long before the concept of Christianity.

Across from Sydney and past the pews was a stone table where the altar should have been. There was a white sheet covering something laying across it. As he padded down the aisle towards it, he could see symbols etched into the stone, characters he couldn’t recognize. The closer he got the louder his ears rang, his sinuses becoming so congested that soon fluid began leaking down his chin. It wasn’t until he reached the table and saw the bright red droplets fall onto the stark white sheet covering it that he realized his nose was bleeding.

Ignoring his instinct to wipe away the blood, Sydney reached for the edge of the sheet and pulled it back. Underneath was a girl, or at least the body of one. Her skin was ashen and waxy, a greenish-blue in colour. Small blisters had begun to form on her cheeks and forehead, as if she had been sunburnt recently. Even though they were closed, Sydney could tell that her eyes were sunken into her skull.

“Syd?”

Pulling the sheet down further, Sydney saw that the girl’s arms had been placed palms facing up, leaving the undersides of her forearms exposed. On both of them were deep gashes, starting from her wrists and ending in the crooks of her elbows. The rest of her had begun to decay, but her wounds appeared recent, oozing thicker, darker blood than what was dripping from Sydney’s nose.

“Syd, are you awake?”

The sound of her inhaling made Sydney’s attention turn sharply back to her face as her jaw creaked open, sucking in air. He stumbled away as her eyes, covered in a watery blue film, flew open. Her head turned towards him with a snap, sending him falling backwards in shock. He hit the floor hard as she sat up, bones creaking and popping as she threw the sheet off her bloated body-

“Mr.Patrick!”

Sydney bolted up from his desk as the shout tore through his dream, nearly sending him toppling to the floor. Mrs. Bray was sitting on her desk glaring directly at Sydney, arms folded. A snort of laughter to his left made him blush as he realized he’d dozed off...again. “Uh, sorry.” He mumbled, slowly sitting back down and trying to ignore the eyes on him. Although Mrs. Bray had a stern look in her eyes, Syd was somewhat comforted by the fact that she was obviously trying not to smile.

“I get that there’s ten minutes left, but let’s try to stay awake, alright?” She sighed. “To those of you who may have dozed off, I’m not repeating myself about the assignment. You can ask your group. Now,” She side-eyed the room. ‘Is there anyone who isn’t in a group of three yet?”

Syd sneaked a quick glance across the room over at his close friend Lizzie Abrams. She caught his eye and shrugged apologetically, motioning to two other girls sitting near her. Feeling his cheeks heat up, Syd averted his eyes, staring down at his desk in embarrassment.

“We don’t have a third person in our group.” The voice to Syd’s left spoke up, making him turn. It was a girl in a worn, blue and white baseball cap, someone who Sydney unfortunately recognized. Her name was Morette Woodward, better known as Mo, and Syd knew her as being the one who broke his nose during dodgeball back in fifth grade.

She had one elbow propped up on her desk and was leaning her head against her hand while picking at her braces with the other. When she caught Sydney’s eye, she flashed him a toothy smirk.

Mrs. Bray glanced between the two and shrugged. “Perfect, evens out the groups. Now,” she turned to address the rest of the class. “I’m giving the last couple minutes of class to organize your chapters, so use your time wisely. Remember your book and your portfolio should be in at least six sections!”

Portfolio? Sydney rubbed his eyes and groaned, wondering what else he’d missed. Falling asleep at random times wasn’t a problem before, but lately he'd been feeling lethargic and finding himself unable to keep his eyes open for long periods of time.

“Hey, scooch your butt over next to us so we can talk better.” Mo nodded at a tall boy sitting beside her. Sydney didn’t know who it was, but thought he looked familiar. “Yeah hold on,” he turned his chair to face them before leaning forward. “So… what’re we doing exactly?”

“Man, you were really out, huh?” The tall boy said, giving Sydney a sympathetic grin. “You were pretty twitchy too. Were you dreaming or something?”

Syd blinked. “‘Twitchy’? What do you mean?”

“Like...mumbling and tensing up a lot,” He clenched his fists in emphasis. “It was kinda creepy. What were you dreaming about?” He was already talking again before Syd could reply. “Oh shit, you don’t know me. Sorry, I’m Henry Kaminer.”

Kaminer. Sydney didn’t know Henry, but definitely recognized the last name. He remembered reading about the Kaminers in the newspaper, and made a mental note not to bring it up.

“Oh. I’m Sydney. I don’t really remember what I dreamed of.” Sydney lied. Henry laughed. “Yeah, I heard. Isn't Sydney a girl's...? Whatever, nice to meet you Sydney."

Morette handed Sydney a sheet of paper. “I had an uncle Sid so no, it's not 'a girl's name'. Anyway, literally all we have to do is split the book up to read for a week, then do some fun little questions and activities at the end of each week." She flipped through her copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. "It's like the same stuff we did in grade 5, but with racism."

So she does remember. Sydney looked over his sheet of paper. "Oh."

"Yeah, it'll be easy." Morette leaned back in her chair and scrunched her nose up. "There's 31 chapters, but they're not too long. Let's just do five chapters each week and read whatever's left when we get to the last week." She tossed a stack of pink sticky notes at Sydney. "Use those as a bookmark."

Sydney looked down at the sticky notes. “...Thanks.”

___

“Hey Syd!”

Sydney paused at the front doors of the school just as he was about to walk through them. Henry hurried over to him, lime green beanie clutched in one hand, messenger bag in the other. The tall boy stopped beside him, huffing. “Man, I jumped down the stairs to catch up to you. Sorry, anyway. Walking home?”

Sydney pushed open the doors, nodding. “Yep. What about you?”

“Same here, but uh...which way are you going?”

“To the left.”

“Sweet! Mind if I tag along?”

“Sure,” As they made their way past groups of students waiting for their buses, they started walking down the sidewalk towards the nearby neighbourhoods. Syd, who barely made it to Henry’s elbows, couldn’t help but feel self-conscious with the giant beside him. “Do you live close to the school?” He asked. Henry shrugged. “Well, not really. To be honest I’m just tagging along to avoid my older brother, Marvin.” He chuckled a bit, but it sounded forced. “He’s got his driver’s licence and all, but…”

“But what?” Syd asked. Henry sighed. “He’s an asshole. I don’t feel like dealing with his anger issues today. So I’m here with you instead, little man. If that’s cool with you,”

“I’m not that little! But yeah, it’s cool.”

“Yeah you are, shortstack!!” Henry guffawed and rubbed the top of Sydney’s head with one hand. Syd swatted at his arm, but joined in the laughter. The two boys continued talking and joking around as they continued trekking down the street towards a crosswalk. The weather was warm for being early September, the sun beaming down on them helping to keep Sydney in high spirits.

The first week of school had been rough for him; being as timid as he was, making friends was hard enough in elementary school, never mind being in a new environment. For the longest time he’d considered Lizzie to be his closest friend, but they’d drifted apart over the summer, making him feel even more isolated than ever. As he listened to Henry telling him about his pet cat, Bowie, he felt a ray of hope that maybe he wouldn’t have to be so lonely after all.

“...he’s a really sweet boy, but he’s pretty ugly,” Henry was telling Syd. “He’s got this weird skin condition though so there’s like almost no hair on his body. I think it’s kinda hilarious, but every time he sits down his butthole sticks to our table.”

Syd snorted. “Gross.” He stopped at the edge of the crosswalk as the traffic light turned red, Henry following suit. “I don’t have any pets. My mom’s allergic to animal hair. It makes her sneeze.”

“Damn. No siblings either? Sounds quiet.” Henry leaned against a pole covered in colourful flyers and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand. Sydney took a couple steps back so he was standing in Henry’s shadow and decided that tall people weren’t that bad. “Hey,” he said. “My house is just up ahead, what about you?”

Henry shrugged and shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Not me little man, I’m heading to the right but maybe I can come over and wreak havoc at your place sometime.” He flashed Sydney a grin and straightened up, a couple flyers sticking to him before fluttering to the ground. “Whoops, those seemed important.”

Syd rolled his eyes and laughed as Henry stooped down to scoop them off the sidewalk. “Nice going there, big guy.” He joked. “Careful you don’t bring the pole down too.” Henry didn’t respond; instead he slowly stood up, clutching a white flyer and staring down at it. Sydney felt his smile fade when he saw the dismayed expression on Henry’s face.

“...What is it?”

Henry swallowed hard before handing Sydney the poster. The white paper was crumpled and soft from being left outside, showing signs that it had been there a while. A photo of a man with a goofy grin and a buzzcut holding a balding cat was in the center. The words were in bright red at the top of the page as he read them.

MISSING PERSON

Jeremiah Lee Kaminer

Also goes by ‘Jerry’

19 years old, blue eyes, blonde, slim build, 6’0”

Last seen November 27th wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans, and brown hiking boots. If you have seen him or have any information of his whereabouts, please contact the Denville City Police.

“Henry,” Sydney glanced up from the page. Henry was fidgeting in place, avoiding making eye contact. “Is he...?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, staring at the ground. “It’s our oldest brother. He’s been missing for over a year. Went into a bar one night for a drink, and just…. Never came out.” A cold gust of wind sent the remaining flyers drifting down the sidewalk as they caught the breeze. Henry’s hands tightened around the poster, creasing the paper before he folded it into a square. “Whatever. I gotta go.” He turned and started heading down the street, leaving Sydney alone.

Syd watched him walk away, wondering whether he should call out or not. Deciding not to, Sydney went home, ignoring the icy loneliness that had begun to creep back.

#writing #creative writing #writing prompts #horror #ocs

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