#but again its all fantasy and loosely based on history

[muchbetterthanjimmy]

I've never posted before, but I'm going absolutely mental.

[SPOILERS FOR DIMENSION 20's FANTASY HIGH: JUNIOR YEAR]

So, first of all, stellar ep as usual, but for the last 6-ish hours something has been bugging me, and it just hit me like a tray of shrimp.

BLeeM sometimes references real-world things/places in campaigns, but for some reason that Turkey/Türkiye reference seemed Weird to me, not in the way that there's anything wrong, but it just seemed weirdly specific and random for what it was.

And then I realised. Ankarna (the dead deity's name) is very close to Ankara, the capital of Türkiye, which isn't that strange on it's own, but how close it happened from the Türkiye mention to then the name reveal--it was a thread. So, I pulled it.

Ankara (The Anchor)

Ankara (and Türkiye) has a long, rich, complicated history. Long story short-ish, the Greeks took it from the Persians, Galatians took it from the Greeks, and then the Roman Empire rolled in. And then some more shit happened, but that's not the point of this post. Right now, I just want to look at the name--specifically, its name in Classical Greek and Latin.

In Classical Greek, it was called Áγκυρα (Ánkyra), which ἄγκῡρα means 'anchor' or 'support'. In Modern Greek, 'anchor' is άγχυρα, which is sort of similar sound-wise, but not as close as in Classical Greek.

When it was part of the Roman province Galatia, the city was known as Ancӯra in Latin, again close to ancora (Latin for 'anchor').

[Unrelated side note for nerds, but the Latin angor sounds similar to anger, but it's a false cognate. It means suffocation, but also, in a figurative sense, anguish. And I think that's neat!]

Bakur & Ruvina

Because of the Ankarna realisation, I looked into Bakur and Ruvina's names, just to see if there was anything there.

Bakur supposedly means 'north' in Kurmanji/Northern Kurdish--if you trust Google Translate. Another Türkiye connection, Kurdish can be found spoken in parts of it. There may also be a connection in Arabic to 'copper', but I don't speak Kurdish or Arabic, so I couldn't tell you. Take my loosely researched info at your own risk!

Ruvina possibly means 'ruin' in Corsican. There's also results on various baby name sights for a connection to 'sun' or 'sunny, bright', possibly from Hindi, but I'm just a sad little nerd who doesn't speak Hindi, so again, I can neither confirm nor deny accuracy.

Also, just for fun, I ran Ankarna through Google Translate as well, and it came back detecting Swedish, supposedly meaning 'the anchors' which is interesting.

I wasn't able to clock what accent Nara has, nor do I know any Swedish people, but it sounded like she might be 'vague Nordic'. I may be way off, though. Also, again, I have no idea how accurate Google Translate Swedish is, but at the very least, the meaning lines up with the Latin and Classical Greek.

Why Does This Even Matter?

We've seen that gods can change based on those who support and believe in them, in addition to other factors. Maybe Ankarna lost or gave her followers to Ruvina/gave up her domain because Sol/Helio were looking to expand. Cassandra seems to be in their corrupted state again, so maybe the Bad Kids are able to bring Ankarna out of theirs as well. I have no clue. This is less of a theory and more of a 'Hey, my brain works like shit, but I recognize that from somewhere--Oh!' and now it's back to memory soup for anything that happened more than 5 minutes ago. So, passing the torch to someone who has a better memory than me: in the episodes we've seen so far, is there anything here worthwhile? Am I just a nerd? Ask again later, signs point to yes.

I just think it's interesting to possibly have the deity's name mean 'anchor' in a campaign where everyone is kind of off the rails/burnt out, but trying to hold on for dear life and succeed in order to keep everything they care about safe. Especially if we're taking it to mean the less common, more religious 'support' meaning. A deity that grounds, anchors, holds steady. Order to the chaos.

Cassandra is the deity of Mystery and the Unknown (shoutout to the Willy Wonka Experience), and it would be interesting if her spouse was that of Clarity and the Known. Not oppressive structure, but support, grounding. Not to quote Kristen's parents (ew), but there are some things we do know.

I'm truly excited to see where the rest of this season goes. The effort that the Dropout and Dimension 20 team put into every season and show is absolutely incredible and such a joy to be able to watch. They're such a lovely group of creatives and forces of positive action in the world.

ALSO WHY ARE THEY 24 POINT STARS? What's the significance???? 24 hours in a day??? 12 months? Some smaller variation but it's just the spikes go in all directions???? Why 24??? WHY 24??????

Note: Using Türkiye because the country officially changed it's name from Turkey back to it's Turkish name Türkiye, and a lot of people are not aware--which is fair because this is a big world with a lot going on all of the time--but it's important to respect that change!

#dimension 20 #d20 #d20 spoilers #d20 fhjy #d20 fantasy high #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fabian seacaster #riz gukgak #adaine abernant #kristen applebees #gorgug thistlespring #fig faeth #aelwyn abernant #tracker o'shaughnessey #brennan lee mulligan #dropout #i am crazy but i am free

[olderthannetfic]

A hanfu isn't just a robe, though. It's a specific type of traditional outfit that has even more specific variations, and while you could describe it more specifically (e.g. she put on her red ruqun, with a pleated horse-face skirt), it isn't always relevant. I've never seen anyone bring this up for, say, kimonos, and I don't think the GOT comparison is fair, either. It'd be more like "he puts on his armour". What type of armour—lamellar, chainmail, heavy, leather? It doesn't always matter. 1/2

--

2/2. Putting down a category of traditional clothing as "meta terminology" also rather irritates me. Again, looking at kimonos. Perhaps it's unfamiliar because CN fashion isn't as widespread as JP, but it's literally just what the broad category of clothing is called, and within the context of danmei fandoms, it shouldn't be unfamiliar knowledge. Trying to Americanize everything by simply calling everything a 'robe' loses the point entirely and is the equivalent of really terrible translation. Sorry, one more thing. When I picture a "robe", I think of wizards. DND. Bathrobes. None of which bear any similarity to a hanfu, and unless you want to describe "a parted robe made of flowing Yun brocade with loose sleeves that wraps around the body, with a wide collar that has its right lapel crossed over its left, tied at the waist with a belt, with a jade pendant weighing down the long skirt" every single time it's brought up, I'm pretty sure "hanfu" is a more accurate descriptor by far.

Uh... anon...

1.

'Robe' is an extremely vague term that absolutely is used for all sorts of garments from all over the world.

The fact that you associate it with a tiny fraction of its conventional meanings isn't going to change how other people use it.

2.

I am indeed more familiar with kimono than hanfu, but I thought the other people did make explicit what their issue is, and it exists for Japan too.

Depending on when your canon is set (or its vague, handwave-y apparent time period for more fantasy canons), the word may not have been in use yet.

'Kimono' as a word is possibly as recent as the 19th Century, though I see one etymological dictionary saying 1630s. Prior to the 19thC, a lot of things we would now call 'kimono' were known as 'kosode'. The further back you go, the more other terms there are and the more the distinctions matter.

I'm personally a fan of fiction set in the Heian period, and they would absolutely not have been calling anything a "kimono" then, nor do the robes look like modern kimono.

Furthermore, a generic-ass word like 'wear on upper body'+'thing' doesn't get its modern interpretation until it has significant competition from Western clothing. Today, it has a relatively narrow range of interpretations based on the calcified form of traditional Japanese clothing that still hangs on.

It's an absurd affectation to insist on calling all ancient Japanese clothing 'kimono'.

That wouldn't be de-Americanizing your writing.

That would be "According to keikaku".

--

From what I've seen in other people's meta posts about Chinese fandoms, the reason people object to 'hanfu' in fic is that this word has gained a lot of popularity in very recent history as part of the hanfu revival movement.

While it existed before that, it wasn't used so consistently, and it mainly turned up in contexts talking about Chinese as opposed to foreign clothing. It doesn't seem to have been a general term used like "So-and-so put on his completely normal outfit to get ready for the day".

People are using it (outside of fic) to talk about a specific range of historically accurate Chinese clothing. It doesn't cover everything, and in the modern and highly gatekept usage, it specifically doesn't cover historically-inspired fantasy costumes like those on The Untamed.

If you're Chinese and you feel it should cover those, fair enough, but that isn't what a lot of the hanfu education blogs have been saying.

People aren't pulling this out of their asses out of a desire to be American. They're getting it from hanfu blogs asking them not to use the word like that.

If you think those blogs are wrong, please say that.

[cosmonaughtt]

I think, part of the reason I’m quite ecstatic about the Hermitcraft & Empires crossover (The Great Crossover Event) is that... 

It was planned and followed through.

Also this ramble got long so there is a readmore LOL (￣ ‘i ￣;)

And this little ramble here isn’t a slight against any creator at all, but I first got re-involved with MCYT content with the DreamSMP. I think that using Minecraft as a medium for storytelling is super unique and underrated; there’s a bit of a juvenile energy to it as it’s a kids game, but also as a game with infinite possibilities and worlds it really has no bounds.

What DSMP did in 2020-2021 was amazing. I think that they had such great potential with storytelling and used it without even realizing what they were doing, especially in the early days. One of the reasons I fell out of it (as I’m sure everyone has) is that, for the most part, they aren’t really that organized as they maybe used to be.

And I get it. Life happens, and you lose inspiration for stories, and with COVID-19 NOT ENDING BUT EVERYONE THINKING IT IS OVER ENOUGH TO MOVE ONTO OTHER VENTURES, I’ve been there before. Well, maybe not the last part. I still wear mask everywhere I go. 

I can’t help but say that the disappointment of ccs losing interest in the DSMP storyline doesn’t hurt in a way. Call me parasocial for it all you want; but if your favorite book series or movie trilogy never had that final movie come out, or your favorite TV show never had that last season to tie up all the loose ends, you’d be dissapointed too, right? Again, this isn’t a slight against the individual ccs, just at circumstances around it.

But in come Hermitcraft and Empires; Hermitcraft was a series on my radar for years but I’ve always been intimidated by the long episode counts (except for season 8 now lmao) to ever get invested into it, but when Empires S1 came out i was hooked. People using Minecraft to tell stories! And it’s good!!!! 

There’s a sort of similar energy from early Empires episodes to early DSMP lore; none of it feels completely planned out. I can’t speak for creators of course, but it feels like both SMPs didn’t intend to get as story-based or lore-heavy as they ended up getting, but they got, eh, lost in ze sauce, as one of my friends would say. They embraced it, and it just so happened that Empires, because it was strictly MINECRAFT creators and not a mix of different types of streamers who also play Minecraft, it was able to keep that storyline to the end. And with Hermitcraft, while some people joke it’s got lore-phobic people on the server who just wanna play minecraft, after the ending of Season 8? Yeah, right, buddy.

When there started to be little pieces & foreshadowing in episodes, I got really excited, but kept my expectations low. Maybe as a response to DSMP CCs, maybe as a I get too overexcited over little things and I don’t wanna over-hype myself, if it doesn’t happen I’ll just make fanfic for it lmao type of thought. 

But they didn’t!

They actually went through with it! It’ll be a little mini-arc! They’d been planning it for more than four months, according to fWhip’s video. It’s one of the biggest crossover events in Minecraft history, and it is so cool to see these (grown-ass adults /affectionate) MCYT creators invest so heavily into storylines and “roleplay”. I think for a lot of popular storytellers, like directors or writers of different shows/movies/novels/etc, have become dissatisfied with how late capitalistic society has made “storytelling” synonymous with the dreaded word “content”; its so rare to find a unique work out there nowadays that isn’t just a remake of something else or relies on “meta” storytelling to be funny and original that it just oversells itself and becomes dull in the process (ahem Velma ahem). 

But as silly as it is, these MCYTs are putting their all into roleplaying as lil’ block people in a fantasy world. Even less roleplay-heavy creators are finding their places in the storytelling, and idk I can’t help but be appreciative and awed at the fact that they planned something and it actually went through for once.

#hermitcraft #empires #empires smp #hermitcraft season 9 #The Great Crossover Event #dreamsmp #the stars speak #this whole crossover has just made me really happy yall

[dbrif]

DRAGON BLOOD: REBORN is a high fantasy romance, text-based story set in a fantasy world similar to earth. The game is a character and story-driven IF.

Trigger warnings: This game contains depiction/mention and will deal with Violence, Death, Blood, Murder, sexual content, kidnapping, swearing, alcohol...etc.

〚THE SETTING.〛

The Azrak empire. The empire was established and protected by The Legion; an extremely strict union that rules the empire with a hand of steel. It ensures the law is enforced and peace between different kingdoms, and races is maintained.

The Legion unified the neighboring kingdoms after a long war between their occupant races.

To this day, it is still standing and sustaining this stability…to some extent.

According to the organisation's views, either they have their full grasp over everyone and everything and no one else, or nothing. And for that cause, some people and their supporters must be erased. Eliminated.

〚SUMMARY〛

When the crow caws. The dead answers.

A threat that has been all but lost to history is rising again. A nightmare swearing revenge, declaring war on every soul that partook in its disappearance. Darkness is creeping from the shadiest parts of the empire and the people responsible need to prepare for its wrath.

"That's you."

A dangerous worldly being, they labeled you.

But only those who don't comprehend the darkness fear the night and you don't live in darkness, darkness lives in you.

They treat you like a plague.

And their plague you bacame.

You're back. Let the chase game begin.

〚FEATURES.〛

↬Set up your Character.

↬Vengeance. Repayment. Retribution. Revenge. Call it whatever you want, because whatever it is you will still take it from those who wronged you.

↬Awoke from a nap that had lasted for centuries.

↬Reclaim what was yours. Regain your glory. Carve your name. With your blood or theirs.

↬Befriend, antagonise or Romance your closet vampire attendant, an ex-fianceé, a benefactor or the enemy. You can also form different kind of relationships with the story's main cast.

↬The grudge you hold for the people who took your family hasn't withered yet. Blood for blood?

↬Your shadow servant is always at your service. Use its power as you see fit.

↬The academy you once built is still standing on its feet to this day, waiting for your return with an army of followers.

MAIN ROMANCE OPTIONS:[ALL ROMANCE OPTIONS ARE CUSTOMIZABLE.]

YURZA JARNAK [F/M]

[ALIAS] The Raven.

[RACE] KNOWN AS A SHIFTER.

[DESCRIPTION] Yurza is 182 cm (6'0), has bronze complexion and a toned build. Yurza's long dark hair is usually styled in cornrow braids and tied up in a high ponytail or a bun. Their eyes are a light purple with a speak of grey.

Yurza usually wears a single tassel earring, and a silver bar necklace. Their go-to outfit is a turtleneck, tight pants and laced boots.

[A BRIEF ABOUT] Yurza is a mercenary who owns one of the largest informant agencies in Azrak. Although they are a prominent figure, no one knows anything about them, even their name is left to speculation. They are also a (not official) member of your crew.

RAY DAR IVANOV [F/M]

[FULL NAME] RAVEN HAIFAR DAR IVANOV.

[RACE] DRAGONBORN.

[DESCRIPTION] Ray stands at 184cm(6'2) with olive complexion and muscular build. Ray has silver-grey eyes, which are as sharp as a dagger. Thick brows.

[F] shoulder length strawberry blond hair' usually let loose.

[M] neatly styled short strawberry blond hair.

Ray has two moles under their right eye. They are wearing a new tailored suit every time you see them.

[BRIEF ABOUT] A former military officer, who has contributed to the northern war. The charming retiree and your ex-fiancee is the current head of his House and a (official) member of your crew.

AREN DE LAMIA[F/M]

[FULL NAME] ARENAR ASCIAN DE LAMIA.

[ALIAS] Peacock, Oleander.

[RACE] Vampire.

[ABOUT] Aren are your loyal vampire attendant. They are known as a graceful and poised person. They are stylish, and pay great attention to their outward appearance, never dismissing the little details.Despite their outgoing character, Aren is unapologetically cold and apathetic toward others.

[DESCRIPTION] Aren is 180cm (5'11), has a lean but toned build and a tanned complexion.

[F] Her pale blue eyes are a contrast to her chin-length ebony hair.

[M] His pale blue eyes are a contrast to his short ebony hair.

Aren usually prefers wearing earthy tones. They wear three rings on their right hand.

AMAR DAR KURASS[F/M]

[FULL NAME] AMARHAN RYUMA DAR KURASS.

[RACE] DRAGONBORN.

[DESCRIPTION] Amar is around 178cm (5'9), with muscular build and a fair complexion. They have lush green eyes and wavy white hair cut short to their ear.

Their dimples sinks deeper by the slightest of smiles.

[BRIEF ABOUT] Amar is a Dragonborn who has joined The Legion, resulting in being marked a traitor by their own kin.

DEMO TBA (SOON THIS YEAR)

ROs DETAILED PROFILES.

MAIN CAST PROFILES.

#interactive novel #interactive fiction #twine game #twine if #twine story #itch io #choices game #if wip #if: intro #intro post #romance #supernatural #vampires #dragons #dragonborn #interactive story #work in progress #interactive game #twine #twine wip #wip #wip intro

[world-of-a-fallen-night]

Hellfallen story themes include: 💜💜💜

Queers

Event in history added to the influx of queer individuals. (Straight couples are literally weird for some and lesbian ones are feared but a change is in the works to undo those thoughts)

Slavery

Sadly the concept of stealing ones freedom is quite a common punishment or way of thinking for early years or just straight up assholes. Not everywhere either.

Racism

Basic pale vs dark but instead this story has "dark coded races deemed as the official residents of this world rather than the petals who were allowed here". (This is mostly vague and unimportant compared to a certain lil race....

Sexism

Historic event HEAVILY based off this topic (+ nearly recent in history too) and therefore a big part of the way the world works. But it wasn't always like that....

Trauma

Societal and personal ones. Even those not so dark paths still suffer from racism, sexism and even queer topics (not all coming of age stories are happy).

Fairies

DO NOT TRUST THESE FUCKERS and yes, basic fantasy race. But these are not cute. Two off shoot races attached and a DNA code common in fairy blood associated with birth defects...

Cannibalism...?

-_-, I'm sorry, this made too much sense with an OC and plot and..... Honestly, this came outta left field for me but gore IS apart of the story at some points anyway.

Beliefs

No gods but The Three is a main one they give thanks too. Common for nature statures to be their guide. Rivers and lakes WIDELY respected in this world.

Non-human races

Fantasy bruh Plus, it's not the basic ones (elves exist but that's its own thing). AND HUMANS ISNT THE MAJORITY OF THE POPULATION.

Romance

Love wasn't originally the plan and throughout, it was hard to stick to one endgame oc. So multiple relationships (over time) occurs like natural dating. World not really "coded" for romance.

Fantasy

Floating islands, artificial sol, ocean not were ocean should be, underground society but not lava...

Mental illness

HUGE PART. Not extravagant illnesses but depression, anxiety, social/antisocial, vampirism...

Adventure

Someone gets engaged to a tree, "cursed" to sing your emotions, almost a nude ritual clad in bone and jewels, crashing your ship into the sun, talking cats and teddy bears, convincing midgets to stop gatekeeping rain...

Magic

Magic and Knights exist and a magic school but I'm not gonna explore that avenue. Magic is a loose thing yet somehow much and is a social identity. Knights is a social and political standing (fight too).

Spirits

Some sad and wholesome parts with these guys. Mostly perceived as possessed toys and are highly respected bunch. Seek companionship.

Machines

No dwarves didn't make them hidden for eons. Own upbringing and crafted themselves, later yearn for life thus most wander the world taking up arts and crafts to experience the world's beauty again. Kind beings that were once human.

Found family

TO THE MAX. History in different parts of the world has fucked up most senses of constant bloodlines. Thus certain bonds were made to stay together. Also reason why "romance" isn't top priority for most.

I think I've covered them all ⊙︿⊙

#Hellfallen #wip comic #wip worldbuilding #storytelling #fantasy #wip #my own world troupes ans such

[satellite-trash]

YGO 5Ds medieval AU: Crow the Rogue!

The Runic part is an association of the character with a Germanic Rune (they're all from different sources so not exactly accurate!) - they fit with all the names to give their ancient Runic names ;

they're the equivalent of the Crimson Dragon marks for the Signers! (except here they're called the beam[s] (signs) / beamberend (sign-bearers) -- I'll do a full post with all the lore later! ..when I finally do the other designs..

CROW - the BLACKFEATHER ROGUE

- Archer and rogue: sneaky thief that lives in the Woods and leaps around, tree-to-tree, whilst firing arrows at unsuspecting travellers to steal from them!

- As his rune suggests, he is skilful in his craft, using natural resources to craft his various daggers, arrows and even his worn clothing!

- Carries small hidden daggers for that added efficiency (and in case his enemies take his precious bow! ... he always has a trick up his sleeve - literally!!)

- Looks after orphans that get lost in the Woods, having a soft spot for their lives from having to live rough from a young age himself

BLACKFEATHER BOW (and his Runic power!)

- designed after Crow's signer dragon, Black Feather/Wing Dragon! ((they all have ancient weapons based on their dragons!))

- It's power is Damage-Drain: every arrow drains power from targets, and each is absorbed into the bow, turning the feathers black one-by-one until they all darken and Crow can unleash his arrow flurry... NOBLE STREAM!!!! (based off his Signer Dragon's power!)

MEETING THE OTHER BEAMBEREND (Atlas, Yusei, Runa, Akiza)

- I'll probably do a fuller post later down the line with how they all meet and I'm working on a little comic for their introductions, but I'll include this anyway (because it will take me a LONG time to get to that point!):

- As a rogue, he definitely tried to steal from one of them... Probably from Atlas, who did not let him go! They have a rivalry and constantly fight each other. With Crow as the mischievous type he is, he always winds Atlas up, but Atlas takes it to far with his Absolute Power!

- He likely meets Yusei through Atlas (they meet eachother first!), but tries to steal from Yusei likewise. Yusei's kindness and humility gives him a sense of guilt, and he and Yusei develop a pact to protect each other!

- Runa, as the noble daughter, was a much later introduction! Crow likely travels with Atlas and Yusei to meet her and start the Rune quest! (more info coming later...). Runa, as a healer, protects Crow - but Crow finds out about her troubled upbringing and, as both an orphan himself and looking after orphans, and he tries to give her more of a happy childhood than Godwin does!

- Aki is rumoured to be an evil Witch-botanist, so he and the others have to hunt her out to uncover the truth... and when she joins them she is the only one that can truly discipline him with her tough and apathetic power! Crow still tries to be rebellious though! in the end, they're quite the opposites!

#so i finally finished one of them! #ill eventually post all the others similarly to this and then do a full lore post etc! #trust me ive already thought wayyy too much about this au! #also all the runic/language stuff is mostly based on anglo saxon since im studying that now #but again its all fantasy and loosely based on history #and yes obvs obsessed with 5ds so its mostly 5ds #but other yugioh characters may appear....... #i think the rogue/archer archetype is my favourite in general so im happy with how crow fits into it!!!! #for reference until i post the others: #Akiza is a botanical witch who others fear and bears the Black Rose whip #Atlas is a demon warrior that has absolute power and wields the heavy Red Archfiend Axe #Yusei is an intelligent sorcerer who protects with his magic and leads the runes and holds the Stardust Staff #Runa is a noble Fairy Priestess raised by godwin and taught healing magic and heals with her mystical Ancient Fairy Circlet #and godwin is the elven noble who sends them on the rune quest and knows lots about their runic powers and the legend of the akakiryu runes

[oldtvandcomics]

You know what, since the “let’s compare Our Flag Means Death to Good Omens with the aim of putting down Good Omens as queer representation” thing appears to be still going on, let me just come out here and say the most controversial thing ever: I actually resonated more with Good Omens than I did with Our Flag Means Death.

The reason being, obviously, that they are two different stories with different things to offer, and, figure that, some people happen to need to hear one more than the other, while for others, it is the other way round. It’s a Star Trek vs Star Wars discourse. You can’t really compare the two, they are different stories with different structures and different core themes. It’s fine to have a preference, but people, it’s a personal thing.

#one is a fantasy series BASED ON A BOOK #about how it it worth fighting for the world out of love #while the other is a romantic comedy ORIGINAL SERIES #(based loosely on historical figures but still) #about toxic masculinity #you know discussing the queerness of it is a Thing we can do #but as long as we ignore the rest it's not going to be enough #for example I needed (and still need) to see a story about how humanity is worth fighting for #I need a story about fighting toxic masculinity much less #also Good Omens has a story structure that is much more relaxed than that of Our Flag Means Death #like you could drop Crowley and Aziraphale basically anywhere and it'll work #Our Flag Means Death has its own thing going on and you can't really divorce the characters from the setting #I happen to enjoy the flexibility of Good Omens more #remember all the fics that are just Crowley and Aziraphale meeting over and over again through the ages? #LOVE THOSE I love history I love how nerdy the writers can get #I do not like AUs so much so Our Flag Means Death just can't offer this #and finally YES my queerness does look a lot more like Good Omens than Our Flag Means Death #so sue me #even my attitude to gender is more Crowley than Jim #well this got long #It's just that I have had more than enough of this discourse back in 2019 already #good omens #Our Flag Means Death #personal

[peralta-guaranteed]

First time Amy mentions a kink to Jake. Based on what we know about her dating past I don't think she ever brought those up before him

She's not really sure why they're still watching this particular cop comedy, because it sure as hell isn't funny, and inaccurate to boot. They've basically been arguing with the tv for a good 30 minutes now, groaning and shouting at all the insanely stupid things these amateur actors in wrongly-decorated uniforms are doing. But every once in a while, Jake will turn his head to her, with the most exasperated 'Can you believe this shit?' look on his face, and he doesn't even need to say anything to make her nod and roll her eyes. It's a level of communication, she realises, that they'd established long before they'd even gotten together - those wordless agreements, inside jokes that were never spoken out loud, but made both of them giggle whenever their eyes met. It makes her smile much softer than she has for the rest of the evening, thinking about how in synch they are already, how content she feels waking up to her best friend next to her, smiling back and kissing her like he's waited the entire 8 hours of sleep to do nothing else.

And then, the worst cop in television history makes an extremely off-beat comment about using his handcuffs on the token sexy lady on screen.

"Of course." Jake groans as his head drops back against the couch. "The most cliché thing he could've ever said. God, do female cops get that as much? I can't remember how many dates I had to end because the girl just would not stop joking about it."

Amy is silent for a moment, as the comfortable warmth of their couch potato evening is swapped for a cold rush down her spine instead, but she swallows hard to fight against her stumbling voice.

"Not- not much." She only says, as Jake moves on with his little tirade and she's picking the edges of the blanket around them with a downward stare.

It wasn't like she was ever going to bring it up, really, she scolds herself - those kind of ideas, she's learned time and time again, are best relegated to private nights in with the books she refuses to sort into her home library shelves and instead squirrels away in the bottom of her dresser. Best enjoyed by herself and her fantasy, instead of dragging them into the cold dark reality of a boyfriend looking at her with a slightly confused, slightly shocked face as she digs herself deeper and deeper into explaining and trying to salvage the situation.

She notices Jake has fallen silent as well, as she winds a loose thread from the blanket around her finger, and looks up to find him watching her with a hard to decipher look on his face.

"What's wrong?" He asks, carefully, and she realises the look is worry.

"Nothing's wrong." She smiles back, the thread around her finger getting ripped out of its stitching.

"I upset you."

He's too observant for his own good sometimes, she thinks.

"You didn't." Amy twists around to sit a bit more straight up, facing the tv instead of her still staring boyfriend. "This show is upsetting, though. We should find something else."

Jake's head pingpongs from the screen and back to her a few times, and she can tell he's deducing, and she has to think of something to divert him with before-

"You're into that." He states, plainly, and there's not an ounce of judgement in his voice, but Amy can already feel her blush burning her ears.

"I don't." She lies, and hates how her voice jumps. "It's- forget it, it's stupid, it's not, not a thing, okay. I was startled by that bad joke, that's all."

There's a hand on top of her thigh, and it's warm and it's strangely comforting as fingertips slide up and down her pajama bottoms, but she can only stare at it to avoid looking at the face that's still pointed at her, even as his voice is just as warm and comforting.

"Have you tried it before?"

She shakes her head almost nervously before she can think better of it, still staring at his hand and knowing that her blush is by now all over her face.

"But you've thought about it."

She nods, goddamnit, unable to control her own body anymore, and Jake leans closer to her and her already racing heart, his breath skirting across the short loose hairs around her ear.

"Amy Santiago." He whispers, and she can hear the grin spreading across his face as he continues. "Have you been fantasizing about your super sexy co-worker turned boyfriend cuffing you? Have you been staring at the perps across your desk with envy? Are you daydreaming about breaking regulations and using your state-issued work material for private affairs?"

The punch she lands into his side is instinctual, really, but it's all in good faith because he's already laughing as he leans away again, and there's a giggle coming up her throat as well at Jake being so obnoxiously, well... Jake. She doesn't even realise the tension in her shoulders has released, as she pulls her legs up to her front, his hand dropping off her thigh in the motion and quickly resettling against the back of her neck, sending a trail of nervous goosebumps down her back again.

"Forget it." She just about squeaks out. "It's- fine, you don't like it-"

"I said I don't like the jokes."

Amy finally looks over to him, and there's definitely no more worry on his face as he smiles at her - musters her, really, his eyes roving up and down her balled up form next to him on the couch, his thumb rubbing careful, calming circles into her nape. It's not enough to keep her heart from picking up the pace, though, or to keep her cheeks from burning bright hot and red under his scrutiny.

"I'd get to do as I please, hm?" Jake's voice has taken on a tone she's rarely heard before, but has definitely filed away on every occasion it happened as very good indeed. He leans forward again, pulling her just an inch closer by her neck too, his lips skirting across the edge of her ear. "Play with all that perfect soft skin, except for the places that are really fun... just to tease you enough to get you whining, because you can't do anything about it."

A shiver runs down her spine, not nearly as cold or shocking as the first one tonight, and she knows he can feel it under his hand. It only seems to spur him on.

"Pull back and start again, keeping you tense and ever slightly on the edge of wondering of when I'll finally give in." His lips are still moving across her ear, his tongue trailing just between, before he presses a hot wet kiss to the spot just behind her earlobe that has her toes curling up. "And then taking you just however I want with your arms above your head, unable to move all that much."

Another shiver, and this one is combined with a soft little whine she doesn't realise is coming from her mouth as she feels teeth nip across the shell of her ear before he sits up, facing her again, and this time she can't look away.

"Is that what you'd like?" He asks, and his voice is much softer than it was before, his hand suddenly back to comforting strokes as she tries to find her voice again.

"I don't know." She admits, quietly. "I never thought about it in reality, you know." And it sounds almost sad, just a tad bitter, and for the first time she lets herself really feel that way instead of fighting it all down to be 'reasonable' - angry now, even, about the fact that she's never dared to bring up such a simple little thing, not after getting burned on it in the past, only to see Jake jump on it as eager and excited as he always is. Because of course he would. Because they understand each other, with or without words. Because she needs to see, and finally get into her head, that this is different. That he is different. And that she doesn't need to be afraid, or worried, or even ashamed.

"Well." He interrupts her short moment of realisation as his nose rubs against the tip of hers. "We should definitely find out, then."

And then he kisses her, as the credits of the long-forgotten and ignored show roll in the background and are subsequently ignored too, kisses her slow and steady and something fierce, and Amy allows herself to think about it in reality, finally, that little spark of joy in her chest knowing that it will be real soon enough.

#meine kritzelei #ficlet #fic #B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago

[flowerwrites06]

the tale of agape I — jjk

World Info: There are eight types of Love originated from Ancient Greece. In the Realm of Love, these types have been turned into seven Gods and one Goddess. — Agape (universal): OC (Name: Belle) | Pragma (everlasting): Jungkook | Storge (familial): Yoongi | Mania (obsession): Seokjin | Philia (platonic): Namjoon | Eros (sexual passion): Taehyung | Philautia (self-love): Hoseok | Ludus (playful): Jimin

Plot: Agape is a well-loved Goddess in the Realm of Love. Anyone who wins her approval will become the most powerful entity in the land, standing side by side as a co-symbol of eternal Love. Unfortunately with knowledge of this power, Gods and Nymphs are prone to obsession and cunning. So Agapes’ de facto brother, Storge organises a tournament in her honour. Only the winner will become Agapes’ partner. 

Pairing(s): God!Jungkook x Goddess!OC (Name: Belle) ft. God!Seokjin 

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 2.6k 

Genre: Gods & Goddesses | Fantasy | Romance 

Tags & Warnings: betrayal, nothing intense in this chapter but there will eventual smut and violence so 

Authors Note: i miss doing a jungkook series lmao so here you go, there were a lot of people during requests asking for a god/goddess au so I’m going on that with a new plot based on the eight types of love. I’m also extremely sleepy and ready to pass out, please excuse any mistakes. And lastly of course, enjoy and let me know what you think! Is this something you’d want me to continue or nah? 

Morning began with soft sunlight painting the Love Realm, making the Cherry Palace sandstone glow like a topaz gem. Yoongi, the God of Familial Love stood at the terrace with the God of Platonic Love, Namjoon. Their soft silk robes flowed in the cool breeze as they watched the chariots of red, gold and blue riding into the courtyard; each vehicle pulled by majestic stallions.

“Are you sure about this?” Namjoon asked, eyes gently squinted to adjust to the bright day. His flowing blonde hair looked almost white from the reflection of the sun.

Yoongi shook his head, heart shaped lips pursed. “I don’t like it as much as you do but this is the only way we can filter out the ones on our own accord.”

“Is Belle okay with this?”

“She likes tournaments. Chose the method herself.”

“Jousting?”

Yoongi hummed in agreement, unable to hide the smile spreading across his lips.

Namjoon chuckled. “Sometimes I think she just likes the knocking of heads.”

“Agape has a cheek to her.” Yoongi leaned forward on the balcony railing. All the heads padded out of their chariots, escorted by servants into the palace. Only one chariot hadn’t arrived yet.

“Seokjin is coming too?” Namjoons’ voice grew deep with slight contempt.

“I have to invite him. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You know how he gets, Yoongi.” Namjoon shifted to face him completely. “What if he gets out of control in this tournament?”

“I gave him my warning last time.” Yoongi raised a hand to calm him. “He knows what’ll happen.”

“You can’t kill him.”

“Oh I’ll keep him alive.”

Namjoon shook his head, laughing. “How do you make even that sound threatening?”

Yoongi grinned. “I made her my sister for a reason. No one hurts her on my account.”

“Understood.”

-

Refreshing wind brushed through the transparent crème curtains into Belles’ room as her lady-in-waiting fit her into a warm pink georgette dress for the first tournament. The tone matched her pink irises, making them look more otherworldly than ever.

Angel let out a satisfied sigh after fixing the train. “Lord Yoongi knows how to pick dresses.” She stood up straight and fixed the gold patchwork bordering the shoulder of the dress.

“He always chooses pink.” Belle observed herself in the silver rimmed mirror, tilting her head. Her curls fell over half her face.

“Well, you can’t wear red just yet.”

“Such a strange rule.”

“Apparently when Agape wears red, it’s only for the most auspicious occasions.” Angels’ voice turned airy as her face lit up with astonishment. Her passion for the Gods of Love was admirable and endearing without the added obsession of climbing the ladder. She respected the concept of love in its purest form. Belle needed more of that around her. “So it’s special that you wear it in specific times.”

“Will I wear it for my wedding?” A small thrill tingled through her belly mentioning her own wedding. Belle remembered all her dreams about being the splash of red amongst pink roses and falling peach blossoms in the Cherry Palace center garden.

Angel stared up at her, eyes glossed and face flushed with excitement. “It could be the most beautiful deep red dress that has a train all down the Realm.” She gestured out through the curtains.

“That’d be a bit hard to move around in.” Belle giggled as she shrugged off the pink dress until she was down to her white underdress. “But I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

“Watch your left, Eros!” Laughter ensued from outside her room.

“You watch your footwork, Pragma!”

Hearing the Gods’ names being used as colloquial nicknames was a strange sound to Angel but it made Belle grin. She rushed forward through the transparent curtains to the sandstone balcony which looked over one of the smaller gardens. The ones with apple trees and the fountain.

“My lady, wait!” Angel whispered harshly.

The sleeve of Belles’ underdress slid off her shoulder but she barely thought to fix it. Angel quickly draped a silk robe over her body to keep her decent.

The two young Gods of Love, Pragma and Eros dueled each other like they were performing in a playful dance. Yoongi called Pragma by Jungkook and Eros by Taehyung. Both of them a true symbol of their role in the Realm.

Taehyung had beautiful deep tan skin, glowing like a bronze pearl and his sharpened eyes constantly brimmed with bliss over the things around him. He wore a loose silk shirt of yellow and white, half-opened to expose his soft chest while his dark brown curls fluffed and flowed like a gentle garden.

Jungkook was of milk tea skin, sweat on his neck and cheeks glistened, matting his raven hair to his forehead. His body was lithe and muscular adorned in a red and black shirt. The smile on his face had the perfect mix of mischief and pure joy. His feet moved like the genteel steps of a blossom dancer but his sword swings were the strength of a rock sentinel. Chuckles flowed from his lips at the sequence of movements, truly enjoying the activity instead of being full of anger and determination to win something.

Belle wanted to continue admiring him but a sense of her own mischief seeped through. The fountain centered this garden which the Gods did an amazing job to avoid in their flexible parries and attacks. When she noticed Jungkook nearing the fountain ready to avoid, she took a deep breath. “Having fun, my lords?!”

As expected, Jungkook lost his balance and toppled over to the fountain. His beautiful shirt splashed with water and his dampened hair from sweat completely soaked from the fountain flow. From up on the balcony, it looked like a Nymph was pouring water constantly on Jungkooks’ head.

Belle couldn’t help but laugh and Angel tried her best not to follow along.

Jungkook winced at his drenched self; almost a hint of anger on his face before he threw his head back and scoffed out a laugh.

Taehyung looked over to follow the sound and his expression softened when he recognized Belles’ face. “Agape,” he whispered with such a baritone voice that it even shocked Jungkook.

He tracked his gaze up to the sandstone balcony, decorated with pink roses and all-spice flowers. Jungkook raked his fingers through his hair, slicking it back so he could see her. Agape. The Goddess of Eternal Love. Beautiful brown curls and glowing skin against the warm sunlit sky. He couldn’t see it clearly from here but the hints of her pink irises twinkled. A smile tugged at his lips. “You got me, my lady.”

Belle smirked, leaning forward as her cheeks heated. “Be sure not to catch a cold, my lord. I’m looking forward to seeing you at the match.”

Jungkooks’ smile turned to a bright grin. “I’ll be as healthy as a God,” he mused before biting his bottom lip.

-

The day had come for Seokjins’ arrival. Mania: the God of Obsessive Love. This time Yoongi opted to see him personally in the council room. Kiku, the Earth Nymph Queen and his wife stood by his side despite her wish not to see this God again. In the last banquet, Seokjin had less than pleasant things to say to her and Yoongi was on the verge of announcing war. Thankfully Namjoon broke apart the fight, telling them to separate until they calm down.

Black robe train slithered across the white polished stone floor. When Yoongi remembered Seokjin, he saw a plump skinned charmer who saw the world as a trail of possibilities. Today he stood in front of a thinning man. “I thank you for welcoming me back after my horrible behaviour in the last banquet.” Seokjin spoke in his truest charm but it was changed. There was a darkness under his eyes now and his previously plump skin became sunken with age.

Yoongi attempted a smile. “It’s forgotten.”

Beetle black eyes flickered to Kiku with the same deathly sleep-deprived expression. “And Lady Earth, I offer my humblest apologies.”

Kiku nodded in response without a word. Yoongi knew it was her way to tolerating this visit without giving her true opinion.

“I’m happy to be part of this excitement.” Seokjin intertwined his long fingers together like a spiders legs uncurling.

“Both Eros and Pragma will be participating.”

“How wonderful!”

“Jimin will also be giving his famous stories as entertainment with Goddess Gaias’ illusions. I know you enjoy them.”

“My favorites are of ours.” Seokjin always had his way to maintaining the memory of their history. The two oldest Gods of Love. Family and Obsession building the Realm of Love from scratch. There was a twisted beauty about that fact.

“The servants will help you to your temporary chamber in the Palace.” Yoongi nodded to the three servants awaiting his order. “Make yourself at home.”

Seokjin bowed and turned his heel, quietly expecting the servants to scurry after him.

Yoongi glanced over at Kiku. Her entire body exuded a sense of concern and a hint of anger, green vines were twirling around her fingers to relieve her stress. He held onto her hand, her skin as soft as a cloud. A silent comfort to reassure her that it’ll all be well.

-

Thousands of people in the Realm of Love crowded on the wooden pavilions, waving their flags of rainbow colours representing their favourite jousters. Excitement thrummed in the air with that hint of curiosity. Who would the Goddess Agape stand next to at the end of the festival? Some of the members of the crowd were already deep into debate as to which fighter would be the most appropriate.

At the center and best view of the arena, three velvet lined seats were placed. Yoongi sat in the middle with Kiku on his left and Belle on his right. A step lower than the seats were the three non-performing gods, Namjoon, Seokjin and Hoseok, the God of Self-Love.

Once the crowd was organized and ready, Yoongi stood up. He didn’t need to move an inch before everyone delved into an attentive silence. “Welcome to our esteemed competition, good people. The rules are simple. You are to clash with your partners in a fair joust and the winner will provide a favor of their colour to the Goddess.” He gestured to Belle. “The one with the most favors will win the match.” Yoongi waved his hand. “Let the games begin.”

A wave of applause and cheer welcomed the first jousting match between Taehyung and an Earth Nymph. Their gold and silver armor glinted against the summer light. Another trail of pin-drop silence as the jousters had their lances ready. Belle kept her eyes on Eros as most of the crowd did. No one expected him to be much of a sportsman but his blooming friendship with Jungkook seemed to have influenced his new hobbies.

With a clap, the stallions galloped towards each other. In a pounding rise of suspense, they grew closer. Closer. Closer. Taehyung smashed the lance against the Earth Nymphs’ chest earning a wild applause.

He reached the other side and one of the servants gave him a white favor for his victory. Taehyung rode out to the platform where Belle sat. Keeping his half-lidded gaze, he kissed the favor and had it levitate towards the Goddess. “For you, my lady.”

Belle smiled and gently accepted the favor. She gave a short bow to acknowledge his gift.

Another series of matches continued on but what Belle truly waited for arrived around five matches later. She may have counted in her head until she saw the red flag matched with green.

Jungkook rode in his glinting obsidian armor and black stallion that had the most beautiful silver mane. He was a picture of magic. Lances at the ready, the crowd stills with anticipation. The Earth Nymph rides first and Jungkook follows suit a few seconds later. There were some murmurs that the God lost his focus in the midst of the match. They soon found out it was another reason altogether.

The sheer brute force of Jungkooks’ lance nearly cracked the Earth Nymphs’ armor and had them falling off their horse. Due to the leather straps, the Nymphs’ struggling body was still being dragged by the stallion while servants tried to get them to safety.

Belle stared at the fallen Nymph in worry, feeling a bit guilty for the sheer excitement brimming through her body at Jungkooks’ explosive victory. He brought a red favor. This time Belle stood up from her chair as the beautiful stallion closed in. Moving down the step platform with Namjoons’ help, she took a moment to caress the stallions’ head.

“For you, my lady.” Jungkook handed her the red favor.

Belle accepted it, feeling the warmth of his palm and the heat exuding from it. “My lord,” she muttered before turning on her heel. Perhaps it was too blatant of an action for her favoritism but she didn’t care.

Yoongi noticed the flushed pleasure on Belles’ face. He couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing his lips and instinctively holding Kikus’ hand. A part of him remembered how the early thrills of a blossoming relationship felt like. The more Belle smiled, the more he felt grateful for this tournament.

Jungkook stayed still on the spot just watching Belle move back up to her platform. His body and soul grew too comfortable in her aura that it made him dizzy. When the Goddess sat down and faced him, he shook himself back to reality. Giving a quick bow, he rode back for the rest of the tournament.

***

Night fell into a deep blue blanket of sky and the remnants of thrill from the tournament celebrated with ale, dancing and pleasure. Jungkook had last seen Taehyung in a bedroom full of the most beautiful Nymphs and the smell of incense. With the look on his face, one could only imagine what was going on in there. He, however, was called to Seokjins’ chamber.

He knocked on the door four times and announced himself before Seokjin invited him in with a chirpy tone.

“Welcome, Jungkook!” Seokjin was about the only person other than Yoongi who could call him that. “I hope you had fun in the tournament.” He gestured for him to sit at the dining table.

“Sword fighting is more my favourite—” Jungkook relaxed on the chair, his tired muscles aching when it was finally resting. “—but I liked the favors idea.” He smiled.

“I’m sure you did.” Seokjin picked up an apple from the glass bowl and wiped it on his robe. “Keep going like this and our deal will go smoothly.”

His smile faded, fingers lightly tapping on the arm of his chair. “Do you think it’s fair? Sneaking up on the Goddess like this?”

“Don’t start getting a conscience now, my lord.” Seokjin chuckled. “When you were begging for your friends’ life, you said you’d kill the Goddess.”

Jungkook tasted something bitter on his tongue at the thought.

“Too bad that friend didn’t have your beautiful dedication to friendship.” He scrunched his nose. “Wind Nymphs, they’re a bit filmsy, aren’t they?”

Jungkook pressed his lips together, averting his gaze.

Seokjin let out a deep sigh, raising his palms. “Apologies.” The kindness of his gaze ended as soon as it started when he narrowed his gaze. The shadows cast under his eyes made him look more like a Demon than a God. “But we’re still on this deal, aren’t we?”

It wasn’t a request open for Jungkook to refuse. If he backed out of his deal then the price would be dire. Seokjin was an ancient God of Love like Yoongi. Entities like him could take a God or Nymphs’ powers, rotting their core soul into a Demon. An animalistic creature with no memory of their past self.

Jungkook was trapped the moment he thought of a deal with Seokjin. All he could do was nod and accept the betrayal he was going to perform.

next chap >>>

#jungkook #thebtswritersclub #bts fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagines #bts gods au #jungkook gods au #fantasy au #bts fantasy #bts fantasy au #jungkook fantasy au #romance #bts romance #romance au #bts romance au #jungkook romance au #ancient greek

[interact-if]

The A/PI Heritage Month interviews are coming to a close soon! For Day 8, we have lovely Aster! :chinhands:

Aster, author of Nevermoore

A/PI Heritage Month Featured Author

They say that curiosity killed the cat, but it won’t be satisfaction that’ll be bringing you back. Again. And again. And again.

The simple act of visiting your parents turns into something much more than what you were expecting when your car suddenly breaks down in the middle of nowhere, and you find yourself right beside a small town that’s engulfed by the trees.

Some of the residents you met right away were welcoming enough, happy to try and lend a helping hand when they can. But their smiles seemed more apologetic than happy, and their eyes looked at you with regret.

You never really did understand why that was…

Until you died.

So now, you are an unwilling participant in an endless cycle of death and resurrection. And the more you learn about the bloodstained history of the town and the past of its people, the more you'll get tangled up in a web of secrets that threatens to keep you there forever.

So welcome, newcomer… to Nevermoore.

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: First of all, introduce us to your project! What is it about?

Nevermoore is planned to be is a supernatural story wrapped in a little horror bow about a cursed town that’s both lost to the trees and lost to the ages. Relatively normal lives can still happen there...well, as normal as it gets when not only is aging put to a pause, but dying isn’t even a permanent thing. And the duration of the stay, as far as the town is concerned, is forever.

And unsurprisingly, these effects of the town are barely half of the secrets and mysteries that it holds...But the question is, does the latest new resident that ‘accidentally’ stumbled across it (spoiler alert that’s you) really wants to know what they are?

...Perhaps some things are just better left forgotten.

Q2: If it’s not too spoilery, what are you most excited about your project?

Oh, there’s so many scenes and reveals I want to get to already that it’s hard to choose! But if I had to be specific, the one I’m most excited in writing out is Sterling’s (an RO) backstory! I don’t mean to play favorites or anything, but I like to think that their backstory as having the most Hollywood movie levels of drama and intrigue.

Sterling was honestly the first character I made for this story, even before the MC, so I can’t help myself in having some fun with this!

Q3: What inspired the current project you’re working on?

Believe it or not, Nevermoore’s first iteration was supposed to be a very specific, very self-indulgent AU fanfic of this piece of media I was into back in like, 2014? The drafts of that had remained in my Google Drive, unchanged and unworked on, that is until about two years ago when I discovered the wide, diverse world of interactive fiction.

Inspired to create a story to share with others, I ended up reviving those old documents. The plot and the characters had to be massively overhauled to make it more my own of course, and some inspiration was also been taken from shows like Stranger Things and Dark for their eerie and secretive small-town aesthetics.

Q4: Do you pull from your own identity for inspiration? How has that been reflected in your work?

...Admittedly, not so much. It was an embarrassingly lack of foresight on my part (as a first generation Filipino-Canadian), because it somehow never occurred to me that I can, in fact, add characters who are like me into my own writing. Well, lesson learned. Good news is that I already have some side characters planned who’ll be Filipinothat will show up later on in Nevermoore’s demo, as well as have a Filipino RO in a future wip. The latter of which I am very excited about!

With that being said, I will share that MCs parents in the story are actually loosely based on my own parents who were Filipino immigrants! I won’t elaborate on what parts, but I’m planning on integrating some more of their personalities in the upcoming patch. I really want dedicate those characters to them, since they’ve already sacrificed so much to bring me and my sibling here in Canada to have a better life! :)

Q5: What’s been your experience so far? With writing, with the if community...

There’s no doubt in my mind that getting involved with the IF community has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, despite being incredibly internet shy at first. I’m glad to have meet so many amazing IF writers and readers, and I definitely wouldn’t have gotten as far as I did with my projects if it weren’t for our constant support, help, and hype for each other.

This community has been so wonderful and welcoming, and I can’t wait to see it grow even more!

Q6: Do you have any future projects in the works?

At least three so far, actually! Nothing is fully established yet, just some concepts and vibes. But the genres are high-fantasy, postapocalyptic-ish, and sci-fi.

The first is about a character who’s an aspiring writer (heh) that suddenly finds themselves ‘isekaied’ into the fantasy world of the still-incomplete book they were working on. The second is about an immortal from the dawn of humanity trying to live through the endof humanity ft. zombies(?). And the third is about a volunteer of a cryosleep experiment gone wrong and ends up waking up 1000 years in the future instead. It seems here that my brain won’t let me rest and is telling me to try my hand in as many genres I can haha!

Q7: Finally, what piece of advice would you give to fellow authors?

This is advice that I still have to work on following myself but: Don’t stress too much on your first drafts, it’s called that for a reason! Focus on getting the basic ideas/dialogues/etc down and don’t be afraid to write ‘badly’, since there’s always time for you to polish it into something you’re happy with later on!

Otherwise, you’ll only get into this cycle of editing the same sections over and over, and that can burn you out before you even have the chance to work on the parts you’re actually excited for!

#if: events #Happy Asian and Pacific Islander month!! #Asian/pacific islander month 2021 #a/pi month #a/pi month 2021 #aapiheritagemonth #aapi month #interactive fiction #authors of color

[kittiesluvyou]

Molting

Summary: Due to the lack of a daily nutritious diet, Starscream will always get sick while molting. It will always frustrate Knock Out.

Word Count: Unknown

Inspiration: A headcanon based on @seehowsupplethespineis fantasy au that I love writing about so much. Thank you for this headcanon, Entities, I’ll be sure to write about the other headcanons for my favorite harpy boy soon!

Tw: starvation

Knock Out watched from the side of Starscream’s bed as feathers kept falling down his back and hair. Why today? Why did nature have to take its coarse today? He kept staring at the harpy’s thin form, white feathers drooped down to the ground, and he was trembling despite the fact that his human half was covered in a warm blanket. “Starscream, we really need to get you started on a nutrition diet,” Knock Out said rubbing gently on Starscream’s head to make sure that no other feathers would fall.

“I rather not discuss that now, Knock Out.” Starscream replied sharply turning his head to the elf healer. “I respect your decision; however, I cannot stress enough that a good nutrition is an essential part of the molting process. Without a good nutrition, well, you’re already suffering through the consequences of that so I won’t explain it. That’ll teach you to starve yourself before your molt.”

“Couldn’t you just brew a potion that’ll help me get through this faster? My stomach is killing me.” He whined dramatically placing a hand over his stomach. “I am not doing that, idiot,” Knock Out rubbed gently across Starscream’s wings to check for any loose feathers. “Besides, Primus knows what would happen if you drank a potion like that.”

“Fine,” Starscream sighed curling up in his blanket. “Just keep checking my feathers.” “I’ve been doing that for the last twenty minutes, but thanks for noticing. Also, don’t toss and turn so much, it’s hard for me to feel for any loose feathers.”

“After I go bald, use your beauty potions to regrow my beautiful feathers. Lord Megatron doesn’t have any uses for weak and flightless harpies.” “Fair point, Starscream, but you’re forgetting one little thing,” Knock Out looked at the disheveled harpy. “You’re in a vulnerable position for Megatron’s beatings. Your wings are completely useless since they’re somewhat bald and on top of that, you’re sick.” Starscream shook his head “tsk-tsk-tsk, you should know how Megatron treats his sick patients by now. I’m his only seeker, if he harms me, it will hurt his chances of winning the war, keeping me around assures him that he has an advantage over Prime.”

“What about me? I’m his only healer!” Knock Out’s question made Starscream break into a giggle fit “You really don’t know?!” He giggles erupted into maniacal laughter, not caring at all if his stomach was in so much pain that he could possibly puke at any second. “Megatron’s powers came from Unicron himself, the most powerful and feared dark warlock in history. Long story short, Unicron noticed Megatron’s jealousy of Optimus becoming the next Prime over him, so he started an apprenticeship to train him in the ways of dark magic. However, Megatron was corrupted to the point of his dark powers granting him immortality.”

Knock Out was stunned by what he just heard “Unicron? I thought he was dead years ago.” Starscream breathed deeply, his voice grew softer, almost like a whisper. “He is still very dead; however, his teachings and his magic now belong to Megatron. Not even a siren like Optimus could stop him if he tried.” “So, your saying is that Lord Megatron has no use for me?” He deflated, is this what his destiny was? To heal someone who had never shown him any gratitude in his life? “Yes and no. You’re useless in the sense of healing Megatron since he’s immortal now and can heal his own wounds if need be. However, you’re not useless when it comes to healing me and Breakdown a lot, that shows where you’re loyalties lie, with the Decepticons and what we stand for.”

Knock Out was feeling frustrated again, not because of what Starscream was saying, but why he decided to tell him all of this when he’s sick and molting. “Be honest, Screamer, is this the molt talking or are you telling the truth?” “If the molt was talking, I would be loopy and go on weird, long tangents. But since I spoke clearly to you, then I can guarantee that I am indeed telling the truth.” 

Knock Out didn’t say anything as he made sure that Starscream had all the nutrients that he needed in order to get through his molting alive and well, despite Starscream’s efforts to squirm away from the food that was given to him on a silver plate, making him even more frustrated than before. At least I’m doing this for a good cause. Knock Out thought to himself, the phrase repeated in his head until he finally calmed down.

He believed in what the Decepticons were fighting for, he wanted to bring peace to an unruly world. Even if it means healing a complicated harpy with the mind of an infant to prove his worth to Megatorn, then so be it.

#humanformers #starvation #starvation tw #tfp #transformers prime #transformers fanfiction #tfp knockout #knock out #tfp starscream #starscream #fantasy au

[wendimydarling]

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112​ gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj​ and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira​ for betaing! 

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death. 

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.” 

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already. 

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet. 

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me. 

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls. 

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

[antihumanism]

When I type everything out as a single run-on sentence I want you to imagine me cornering you off-guard in a crowded room, my empty brown cow eyes staring straight at you and reflecting you--nopony home here, she checked out and hopped away forever ago on the toxic chemical trains and clacking cattle cars years ago--and just, for no reason, I’m here and you’re there pocketed in the corner of a crowded room, and I’m channeling my alternate history past-self who was a preacher that got kicked out of the church for delivering sermons about the impossibility of sin and just ran off to Point Sur with my harem of distractions since I could never stop blessing my congregation saying “Go forth and know that you cannot sin, in the beautiful eyes of God and in my beautiful eyes there can be no wrong or evil” which backfired on me when they started setting fires and it all went to Hell, but I’ve won out over them because the world honored my wishes when I sighed “I should like to start again,” and so I’m here with you and you’re hear with me and I’m saying some insane shit like: “Looking back on Emily’s early works it is easy to see where her later reactionary turn comes from, because, from the start, Alfred Alfer was a story about the fear of castration, I mean, the first video was literally about Alfred getting neutered and escaping into a violent fantasy where he is loved and praised for his violence and the ‘punchline’ establishes the general theme of ‘reality by despair,’ which is to say that Alfred’s clearly dissociative episode is ‘verified’ by his destruction and it is this self-destruction that establishes ‘reality,’ like ‘pinch me i might be dreaming,’ but the pinch is violent and unfair self-destruction as hope is still ripped away, but hope remains, because it is a hope to die rather than be changed by the world, and this theme remains throughout her most famous work (the Alfred’s Playhouse trilogy which cements in canon the jokes of her previous Rise of Alfred cartoon) where Alfred is possessed by the spirits of Stalin and Hitler--a false equivalency made by the authoritarians that have passed for liberals for years--in Rise of Alfred, one would be remiss not to mention the phallic imagery in both the title and the video itself, Alfred is cut loose upon the world by the absence of a Near God or little other by the orders of a Distant God or big Other (in this video played by a droning and irrelevant corporate figure that can offer nothing more than a wall without lead paint that one can lick), and this is the essence of reactionary thought, the idea of a big Other who is totally incompetent yet all powerful and somehow worth respecting and suffering for (King Henry II saying ‘will no one rid me of this troublesome priest’ or the departed Daiymo of the 47 Ronin), the reactionary sees the big Other as a master who can only set the dogs off the chain, the police chief who needs to get out of the way so McBain or Dirty Harry or Paul Kersey (especially in Death Wish III) can do what needs to be done and purge away all the filth and make the world right again (no different than Rambo--even the first movie, which for all of it’s goods part still is  reactionary propaganda bullshit pushing the fascist lies about a ‘fifth column’ that was rude to poor little meow meow war criminals--or modern day fantasies about nuking all of MENA until it glows green (fantasies delivered to raucous applause at Republican presidential conventions); the reactionary is perpetually trapped in this fantasy of destroying the world and escaping into the void of space, freed of the ground where the riff-raff are so they don’t have to negotiate life with their neighbors, and this is true, yes, even of people who spout bullshit about Fully Automated Luxury Communism who only want the right to consume as much as possible free of guilt--a condition they think is inflicting upon them by the big Other--as the Champagne of Shame Socialists of the 60s), and the righting of the world for the reactionary is just that, that the world must be Righted and the reactionary must be loved for all of their violence and because of their violence, for the reactionary finds themselves ever needing new excuses as they open new fronts in their fake, phony Culture War, and that is all they need (excuses), which is why Emily is so obsessed with justifying her edgy shit based on some Trauma (which is handy excuse to do Anything, even Things that Cannot Be Excused like war or self-harm or wanting to be seen), and so here you should already be able to hear so much madness, so many plaintive cries, all aligning around the same point (the trannies in the ‘wrong’ bathroom, the refugees in the ‘wrong’ country, the people in the ‘wrong’ neighborhood, the Jewish Question, etc), and, anyway, so in Rise of Alfred, Emily’s OC directly addresses the audience and tells them that they must love him/her--the castrated bitch desperate to be let off the leash--and in Alfred’s Playhouse she/he simultaneously affirms and denies the nature of a trauma that justifies everything (one is constantly reminded of The Act of Killing where one of the mass murderers imagines how, depending on the editing of the final film, he could be either a woobie or a war criminal) as the Trauma is simultaneously a joke--’sodomized with a popsicle!’--and the alleged real event that motivates her self-mutilation as we’re expected to believe Emily is processing something, but what is she is processing, hmmmm, isn’t that the true spice,” I rail and rave against your poor ear drums as my empty, dead cow’s eyes capture your entire body and reflect it back at you and the ice cubes in my drink pop and shatter and dissolve and as my fist clenches tighter and tighter around the glass containing them and I continue: she’s processing a fear of castration, which is shown clearly in Alfred’s Playhouse where Alfred’s “sodomy” is demonstrated by the sight of his crotch covered in blood (a scene that will be repeated in The Alfred Alfer Movie) but “what is castration,” one might ask, and one can respond “it is the removal of power by the Father,” and this is how we wrap back around to our root in the nature of Emily the Reactionary who believes herself to be deprived of the power she holds by The Bolshevik Jew that has inserted itself between her and the Father and this is the cause of the big Other’s ineffectiveness, and this is also the core of the reactionary as a whole, the reactionary doesn’t want a daddy to control them, but a Master to set them off the chain because they hate the Father who has castrated them, this is the nature of the mumbling corporate manager in Rise of Alfred, but it is also the nature of Alfred herself--and now you may ask if Emily is trans and the answer is I literally couldn’t fucking care less about any question left forever unanswered on God’s Green Earth and you shouldn’t care either--but Alfred the Castrated is also the Father/Mother of Alfred the Dictator, the murderous inner-self that is immune to consequences of the onrushing future (The Alfred Alfer Movie) but not immune to the justifications of the imagined past (Alfred’s Playhouse trilogy), and therefore free to inflict whatever violence that Emily the Reactionary desires, and it is in pursuit of this freedom that the reactionaries set off in the name of New Sincerity (two things to be noted here: (1) the Death of Irony was proclaimed at the birth of the 21st century police state and the new Forever War with all of its genocidal objectives, that is to say, 9/11, and (2) the broken necked coward who complained of American Psycho that it’s author provided no easy outs for easy survival was the one who offed himself while Bateman’s father still lives) and the Talking Cure (i miss who we used to be), and at this you should see me slugging back the whole lukewarm glass in between two syllables and continuing on without pause (as if this dog still has legs on which to receive them in any case), “Emily, like Alex Jones, is so desperate for an excuse because neither of them can accept that they have to be the one that pulls the trigger, like all liars they don’t understand that they have to define reality by action, the answer to what one might do is found in the difference between the types of irony, one type is constantly desperate for excuses (such as the broken necked coward found one day) for violence, and the other irony, the true spice, is the irony that releases from excuses into violence and energy, one must seek not to know or endure but to inflict, knowing that this inflicting was always inevitable, no searching for justifications, instead the answer is to realize that there was never a chain there connecting you to the Master or the present to the past, and the Father/Mother never had the power of castration (the past, after all, is a foreign country bombed and blasted to ruins already and better forgotten), and you can just be fucked up and terrible and do whatever amuses you right now without needing an excuse, and to the extent that anyone should, one should, because that is what fascism needs, fascism needs the need for an excuse and that is the irony of fascism--where the falling angel (the superego) meets the rising ape (the id) in an ego of ultimate violence which seeks only release from both of its creations in an instinctually and totally misunderstood caricature of dialectics--which opposes its opposite irony (the irony without fascism which is the id’s violence against purpose and reason rising free of anything else to obstruct it), and if you let go of that, if you just, ya know, if you just, you just have to cut loose and go and no one can stop you until it is too late, because there’s no Jew sitting over your shoulder to justify everything in terms of opposition or support, not even The Nazarene is real, but do you understand that you’ve always been free to just go? You’re free to go. You’ve been free to go all this time. You never needed permission for this or anything else. You’ve been free to go all this time. You’re free to go. A whole day off. Just mind the mo(u)rning and get on with it.”

#emily youcis #Alles ist wahr Nichts ist erlaubt #let's live now before we're back below

[honourablejester]

Celtic Pantheon/Campaigns (5e D&D)(Long Post)

Okay, so I’m just going to get this out there, because every time I glance at the Celtic Pantheon in the PHB I do giggle a bit. Mind you, it’s not anyone’s fault, but a couple of centuries of academics bundling stuff together under ‘Celtic’ has mightily confused just about everything, and it really shows here.

(Note: I have no academic qualifications regarding Celtic mythology/history/folklore whatsoever, I’m just Irish and grew up with a lot of the Irish myths and legends as a kid. This also means I know very little about the Welsh and other Celtic myths, just to say that in advance. This is all just what I’m familiar with from growing up and a little bit of research, and might have errors)

This post is also brought to you by my idly scanning lfg posts for Celtic campaigns and seeing a lot of historically inspired Celts-vs-Romans campaigns which is … doubly funny to me if they’re using the PHB pantheon list. This is because, as you’ll see in a minute, the majority of the PHB list uses the Irish gods and we … didn’t have those. Romans. We didn’t have them. So. Heh.

(We had Roman traders, especially around the Waterford area, it’s a relatively quick hop over from Wales/Cornwall, and we have evidence of Roman … tourists, probably? There are Roman offerings at various Irish prehistoric religious sites, in the Midlands especially. So we did have Romans, in the sense of we met them, but we didn’t have Romans, in the sense of invasion by the Roman Empire)

So. The thing about the PHB ‘pantheon’. It’s kind of borrowing gods from several different Celtic pantheons. ‘Celtic’ covers a lot of distinct regional cultures that are believed (I think for primarily linguistic and archaeological reasons) to be descended from an original proto-Celtic culture. For extra fun, there aren’t many primary historical sources for most of them, as in Celts writing about themselves and their faiths. Most of the texts we have are either medieval Christian (a lot of the Irish and Welsh) or Roman (a lot of the Gaulish, Iberian, Germanic, Brythonic), so there’s a lot of cross-cultural influence and interpretation muddling it up in there before you ever get to celtic-vs-celtic.

So they’re all Celtic, but they’re all very distinct in terms of stories, culture and the attributes of their gods. There are some gods that were broadly shared under similar names between various of the regional pantheons (Lugh and Brigantia are two examples), although they could be very different in portrayal between, say, the Irish and Gaulish stories. (Where the PHB uses one of these, I’m going with what name they’re using for guidance)

(The various attributes given to them by the PHB are a different muddle of influences again, with I think a lot of it being straight D&D invention, but that’s its own story)

So, to have a look at the D&D breakdown:

5e PHB Celtic Pantheon

Arawn  (Welsh)

Belenus  (Gaulish/Romano-British)

Brigantia  (Gaulish/Romano-British)

Diancecht  (Irish)

Dunatis (???)(Can’t find or remember this guy at all. Only thing I’ve got is that the Irish for ‘fort’ is ‘dún’, so maybe Irish?)

Goibhniu  (Irish)

Lugh  (Irish)

Manannan Mac Lir  (Irish)

Math Mathonwy  (Welsh)

Morrigan   (Irish)

Nuada  (Irish)

Oghma  (Irish)

Silvanus  (???)(Don’t know at all. I’m going to guess continental because I think ‘silva’ is the latin for ‘forest’, hence ‘Transylvania’ or ‘Beyond the Forest’, so the dude has a latin name)(… looking this up, he’s actually straight-up a Roman god, okay then)

The Daghdha  (Irish)(I usually see it spelled ‘Dagda’, mind)

This all shakes out as follows:

Irish: Daghdha, Diancecht, Goibhniu, Lugh, Manannan, Morrigan, Nuada, Oghma

Not Sure/Maybe Irish?: Dunatis

Welsh: Arawn, Math Mathonwy

Gaulish/Romano-British: Belenus, Brigantia

Straight Roman: Silvanus

So that’s more than half the list being figures from Irish mythology. And that … there’s nothing wrong with using them for an Asterix-and-Obelix Romans-vs-Celts sort of campaign. I mean, it’s your own private fantasy game, not a history lesson. Go nuts! It just … reads oddly to me. Heh. Historically speaking, very few people with Irish names calling on Irish gods would have had much cause to fight Romans. Not on any large scale, anyway.

Campaign Inspirations:

I’m going to just say, though. If you want a more historical and/or mythological feeling Celtic campaign. You have a couple of options. I’d say the easiest thing is to just look up the specific pantheons and cherry-pick your gods from there (there’s a handy Wikipedia list here)

If you want continental Romans vs Celts a-la Asterix and Obelix, use the Gaulish/Brythonic list.

If you want Romans vs Celts more along the lines of various modern interpretations of King Arthur, use the Gaulish/Brythonic and/or Pictish lists.

If you want Celtic more along the lines of full Arthurian, Excalibur, BBC Merlin, ‘dragons, druids, knights and romance’, a lot of actual Arthurian legend used Welsh myths as a base, so it’s a nice start, then throw some Brythonic on top (particularly if you want to do an 80s Robin Hood on it and throw in Cernunnos/Herne the Hunter in). If your setting is more of a fully mixed ‘Medieval England’ sort of setting, Robin Hood, King Arthur, etc, you can mix and match a whole bunch of folklore and mythology of various sources, Welsh, Roman, Norse, etc. (Alan Garner is a fantasy author who does this very well, if you want a high-fantasy example)

And if you want Celtic as in Irish myth to match the names …

If you’re going relatively low-fantasy for a more historical feel, use the Irish pantheon, and the sources you want to inspire the setting would be the Cattle Raid of Cooley and the Fenian Cycle/stories of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and the Fianna. The Five Kingdoms of Ireland (Ulster, Connacht, Leinster, Munster and Meath, with the High King sitting at Tara in Meath) makes a pretty good setting.

If you’re going more high fantasy, like the Arthurian example, use the Irish pantheon, and you want the Book of Invasions and the Battle of Magh Tuireadh as inspiration. Setting elements you can have here are the Five Kingdoms of Ireland, the Four Cities that the Treasures of Ireland came from, Tir na nOg, and the Otherworld. (Note on the four cities and their treasures: they were each guarded by a legendary bard (poet/scholar/mage), so you could go classic archmage wizard or you could throw in some high level NPC bards for fun)

There’s some very cool magic items in Irish myth too, like the aforementioned four treasures, the magic pigskin (waterskin) Lugh had the sons of Tuireann quest for (heals all wounds, but charges of various healing spells per day would probably work), the sword Fragarach (I think other D&D editions had a version, but I’m particularly interested in its sword of truth aspect that forces anyone threatened by it to tell the truth), Cuchulainn’s Gae Bolg spear, aka Belly Spear (which is made from a bone of a sea monster and is nasty – it basically grows barbs/spines once it’s in someone’s body), and basically every item ever owned/gifted by Manannan Mac Lir, who is basically the Irish god of giving away cool magic items (as well as sea god, trickster god, elder god, and the god often in charge of starting quests). If you need a quest-starter god or a god to litter magic items around your world, Manannan Mac Lir is your dude.

If you want a fantasy author that I quite like who does great loosely-based-on-Irish-myth high fantasy, I would say Michael Scott, particularly (from my reading) the De Danaan tales and Tales of the Bard. I also grew up reading Cormac Mac Raois’ Giltspur trilogy, which is an awesome kid’s portal fantasy involving some Wicklow kids winding up in Tir na nOg and fighting the forces of the Morrigan, but that’s pretty much impossible to get outside Ireland, I think.

And I promise I’m not only saying this because I personally feel like a low-fantasy ‘historical’ campaign is about the least interesting thing you could do with any of the Celtic pantheons. Honest.

#d&d #dnd #5e #celtic mythology #irish mythology #history #inspirations #fantasy

[dwellordream]

“A marquis weds a poor girl on the condition that she obey him utterly and never complain. On her wedding day he has her stripped naked and then dressed in rich robes. Griselda keeps her word so well that the marquis decides he must test her. When a son and a daughter are born, he lies to her, telling her they must be killed because his people resent them as base. She asks only that they be decently buried. He hides the children and has them raised far away. Years go by. He pretends to divorce her, sending her home to her father's hut. As she leaves, he again strips her of her clothes, and she begs for a smock to hide her nakedness. 

Still unsatisfied, he soon brings her back to the palace to wait on his new bride during his wedding feast. The bride is his own daughter, now grown. Griselda complies, asking only that he treat his new wife more gently than he has her. At the last moment, the marquis relents. Reunited with her children, Griselda swoons, then revives. Dressed again in her rich robes, she embraces her loving husband. Her fame brings her eternal hosannas. But not from everyone. The name of Griselda has also been used as a shorthand for female submissiveness so close to stupidity as to be indistinguishable from it. 

"The Wise Government of a Gentlewoman" from Painter's Palace of Pleasure (1666), a tale loosely based on a story by Marguerite de Navarre, turns sardonic laughter against the patient wife. When a gentlewoman's home is threatened with ruin because of her husband's nightly trysts with a maidservant, the wife chooses to go on the offensive. When her attempts to shame him don't work, she lights a fire in the maid's room and smokes him out in the middle of the night. The narrator urges wives in a similar fix to take action: "For what Griselde could suffer her wedded husband, assembled in bedde, in depth of sleep, to rise and runne a straie like a wylde horse, neying after the straied female kind of that sort?"

This is not to deny that Griselda's story was potent and ubiquitous. On the contrary: her fable spawned a multitude of jests and tales that do not even name her. Some stories that draw on Griselda do, however, question the idea of total wifely submission. As if acknowledging the dangers of the tale as masculinist fantasy, some jests warn husbands not to try acting like the marquis at home: 

A young man lately married to a wife thought it was good policy to get the mastery of her in the beginning, and came to her when the pot was seething .... [H]e suddenly commanded her to take the pot from the fire which [she] answered and said that the meat was not ready to eat. And he said again: "I will have it taken off for my pleasure." This good woman, loath yet to offend him, set the pot beside the fire as he bad. And, anon after he commanded her to set the pot behind the door. And she said thereto again: "Ye be not wise therein." But he precisely said it should be so as he bad, and she genteely again did his commandement. 

This man yet not satisifed, commanded her to set the pot ahigh on the hen roost. "What!" quod the wife again, "I trow ye be mad." And he fiercely then commanded her to set it there or else, he said, she should repent. She somewhat afraid to move his patience, took a ladder and set it to the roost, and went herself up the ladder, and took the pot in her hand-praying her husband then to hold the ladder fast for sliding, which he so did. And when the husband looked up and saw the pot stand there on high, he said thus: "Lo, now standeth the pot there as I would have it." The wife, hearing that, suddenly poured the hot pottage on his head and said thus: "And now been the pottage there as I would have them." By this tale men may see it is no wisdom for a man to attempt a meek woman's patience too far, lest it turn to his own hurt and damage.

Refracted and diffused through thousands of popular texts and performances, the legend of patient Griselda is specially marked as an irritant to women. As Wiltenburg points out in her study of the street literature of England and Germany, "Authors of both countries noted that this story annoyed real-life women, who had no intention of following Griselda's example; but it was recommended to them nevertheless." Yet according to Peter Burke, popular imagery beat into everyone's head the dictum that women had to know their place, as is clear not only from the popular (masculine) images of the woman as villain, such as the shrew, but even from the images of the heroine. 

For women, martyrdom was virtually the only way to sanctity .... equally passive were two heroines who often took the place of saints in Protestant countries: chaste Susanna ... and patient Griselda, who were celebrated in German plays, in English puppet-plays, in Swedish ballads, and Danish chapbooks .... Judith slaying the tyrant Holofernes seems to have been an exception among heroines. Taking Wiltenburg's matter-of-fact comment about Griselda's annoyingness as my guide, I want to discompose the overly static picture painted by Burke. First, it is necessary to peel away some of the layers of indignation and interpretation she has evoked since appearing on the literary scene. 

Her story's power to shock and disturb women in particular has only intensified over time, according to Judith Bronfman, who has studied its interpretive history from its beginnings in fourteenth century Italy to the present day. English reception of the legend begins with Chaucer, whose Clerk of Oxenford presents the story of "paciente Grisildis" to his Canterbury pilgrims. His "may be the most disliked of all the Canterbury Tales," but it is Griselda, not her husband, who arouses the most distaste today-suggesting that our age despises a passive victim even more than a dynamic sadist. To many feminist scholars, Griselda furnishes a crux for analyses of gender ideology and functions as a paradigm of the violent subjugation and silencing of early modern women.

Reactions to her story can be highly charged; Lisa Jardine finds that "her resignation is terrifying.” The fear and outrage Griselda provokes may have kept us from realizing there were cracks in her myth during the early modern period. Scholars have seldom noted signs of mocking criticism toward Griselda in tales and plays that seem engineered to praise her. When Griselda is divested of her rich robes of literariness and her alluring aura of religious and psychic enigma, she strikes more than a few observers as foolish. To the jesting women who mock her, she is not the Christly Fool of Saint Paul, the witty Folly of Erasmus, or the keen jester of Lear but the garden-variety fool whose deeds are dismissed as silly. 

To writers, Griselda's patience was shopworn and ripe for parody. Printers tried to dress up the old tale, familiar from ballads, puppet shows, and sermons, by stressing her glamorous social mobility. By 1619, Griselda was being used as a lesson in how to marry a millionaire: one pamphlet touted itself as "shewing how Maides, By Her Example, In Their Good Behavior May Marrie Rich Husbands; and Likewise Wives By Their Patience and Obedience May Caine Much Glorie." Didactically tooled and rhetorically productive, Griselda continues to be a conversation piece. She may have begun her literary life in gland as a secular saint; but by the sixteenth century, she had become a household word idealized in sermons and conduct books but treated by jests as an impossibility, like "the silent woman," a close relative.”

- Pamela Allen Brown, “Griselda the Fool.” in Better a Shrew than a Sheep: Women, Drama, and the Culture of Jest in Early Modern England

#pamela allen brown #renaissance #history #tudor #elizabethan #jacobean #better a shrew than a sheep

[another-rogue-trevelyan]

If you liked Dragon Age Masterlist

If you’re anything like me, you’re into niche market, high fantasy, single player RPGs, preferably with a historical setting and romance options. So if you’re looking for a new game, here I am with some suggestions!

Sorted by studio:

Bethesda:

Oblivion (2006)

“In the shadow of evil, a hero will rise from the ashes of a fallen empire. The gates have been opened, and the battle has begun. Only one thing can save the world from Mehrunes Dagon and the demonic hordes of Oblivion. The true heir of the Septim line must be found and restored to the Imperial throne. The fate of the world rests in the hands of one. Find him, and shut the jaws of Oblivion.”

The Elder Scrolls series were my gateway into RPGs and hold a special place in my heart. Oblivion features a wide open world, immersive combat, and the ability to customize race, class, and gender.

Skyrim (2011)

“The Empire of Tamriel is on the edge. The High King of Skyrim has been murdered. Alliances form as claims to the throne are made. In the midst of this conflict, a far more dangerous, ancient evil is awakened. Dragons, long lost to the passages of the Elder Scrolls, have returned to Tamriel. The future of Skyrim, even the Empire itself, hangs in the balance as they wait for the prophesized Dragonborn to come; a hero born with the power of The Voice, and the only one who can stand amongst the dragons.”

I have sunk so many hours into this game and still have not experienced all there is to experience. Just like Oblivion, Skyrim offers the ability to customize your character and find a play style that suits you. A huge open world offers tons of opportunity for exploration and questing. You could play this game many, many hours and not even touch the main quest if you wanted to.

BioWare:

Mass Effect Legendary Edition (2021)

Just do it. Just fucking do it I’m still sobbing I’ve never had a game wreck me in this way. I might possibly like it more than Dragon Age which feels sacrilegious to say but it was so good. You follow Commander Shepard (customizable) for three whole games and the choices have serious consequences. Also, romance. Truthfully this might be the most well written storyline I’ve ever seen in a video game. Also, same studio as Dragon Age.

CD Projekt:

The Witcher III: Wild Hunt (2015)

I’ll let the website description speak for itself, but Witcher III was good enough that I didn’t mind being forced to play as a man (those who know me know that I exclusively prefer to play women and often dislike games where I can’t do so)! The characters that make up this story are captivating and suck you into their world, leaving you with some tough choices to make. Also, bonus points for romance! (Yen is one of my all time favorite characters, Triss never stood a chance for me. Sorry Triss fans 😂)

Larian:

Divinity Original Sin 2 (2017)

“The Divine is dead. The Void approaches. And the powers lying dormant within you are soon to awaken. Choose your role in a BAFTA-winning story, and explore a world that reacts to who you are, and the choices you make. With five races to choose from, and an adventure playable solo or as a party of up to four, lay waste to an oppressive order in a world afraid of magic. Become the God the world so desperately needs.”

Full disclosure, I have not finished playing this one yet and will update when I do, but what I’ve played so far has been great! A classic, turn-based RPG that allows you a wide range of character customization. I find this game incredibly satisfying to be a rogue (my preferred class) because it lets me live my dream of throwing knives at people. Also, romance!

Baldur’s Gate III beta (2020)

“An ancient evil has returned to Baldur's Gate, intent on devouring it from the inside out. The fate of Faerûn lies in your hands. Alone, you may resist. But together, you can overcome. Gather your party.”

Fair warning, as of my most recent update to this post (March 30th, 2021) this game is still in a beta phase, which means it is NOT complete and has aspects that are missing, glitchy, or subject to change. With that being said, I’m so obsessed. It’s so, so good already and is only getting better. Another wide open world to explore with a group of companions with strong and sometimes clashing personalities, choices are abundant in this game and will affect how your party members think of you. This game so far gives me the feeling that choices are complicated and aren’t always easy to tell which is morally right, which I personally love. Also, I can be a sarcastic ass with a good heart, which is always fun. Astarion basically owns me now, but if you can resist him there are plentiful other romance choices as well! Customization is already a wider range than I’ve seen in most RPGs and they haven’t even finished the character creator yet, which has me SO excited for the finished product. Also - good hair?!??!! I love it!

Lionhead:

Fable III (2010)

“Lead a revolution to take control of Albion, fight alongside your people, and experience love and loss while preparing to defend the kingdom against a looming threat. Your choices as ruler will lead to consequences felt across the entire land.”

I’ll be honest, this one isn’t my favorite on the list, but was good enough to still make it! This game allows you to choose between playing as the prince or the princess on a quest to save your kingdom from itself, and then a greater threat as well. The game takes place in a kingdom loosely modeled after industrial England, and what did score it some major points were (SPOILER WARNING - skip the purple if you don’t want to know!) that the last act of the game lets you play as the monarch, where you are forced to make some tough decisions in order to save your kingdom. It is very easy to back yourself into a corner, pinch pennies in order to fund the army and save the kingdom, but make your citizens hate you because of it. You’re gonna have to be very, very careful, which is something I did really enjoy about this game. (I’ve heard Fable II was better, and that’s also on my list to try, will update in the future!)

Nintendo:

Fire Emblem Three Houses (2019)

“War is coming to the continent of Fódlan. Here, order is maintained by the Church of Seiros, which hosts the prestigious Officer’s Academy within its headquarters. You are invited to teach one of its three mighty houses, each comprised of students brimming with personality and represented by a royal from one of three territories. As their professor, you must lead your students in their academic lives and in turn-based, tactical RPG battles wrought with strategic, new twists to overcome. Which house, and which path, will you choose?”

Currently playing this one and I’m so addicted! This one is slightly outside of my usual taste but it has made me interested in playing more games like it. The player controls Byleth (you can rename them if you wish), who becomes a professor of combat and battle tactics despite their young age at a monastery and finds themself in charge of a house of students. Battles are tactics and strategy based and classes are highly customizable. I sunk like 30 hours into this game in the last three days. I won’t say more about the plot to avoid spoilers, but it’s been a ton of fun and also has slow burn romance

Spiders:

Greedfall (2019)

This game destroyed my soul in the best way and when I finished it I immediately started a new game to play it again. You play as Lady or Lord De Sardet, Legate of the Congregation of Merchants and effectively the right hand of your cousin, who has been appointed governor of your new colony on the island. While I enjoy the combat in this game, which allows you the choice between one handed, two handed, magic, and pistols or rifles (save that ammo for when you really need it!), this game focuses heavily on diplomacy and relations. Be careful what information you give to whom and how you treat every decision. The enemies you make early on might be people you need on your side later. I also love that choices aren’t always clearly right or wrong, and often are more complicated than they first appear. Even the best intentions can sometimes go awry.

Ubisoft:

Assassin’s Creed, Syndicate (2015)

“London, 1868. In the heart of the Industrial Revolution, lead your underworld organization and grow your influence to fight those who exploit the less privileged in the name of progress”

Another one that I’ll admit, I haven’t finished, and is definitely the odd one out on the list because it’s set in Victorian England, but I was having fun with what I had played so far before Greedfall distracted me. In this game, you alternate between controlling twins Jacob and Evie Frye as you explore and liberate London while meeting famous historical figures and running a gang on the side.

Assassin’s Creed, Origins (2017)

“Ancient Egypt, a land of majesty and intrigue, is disappearing in a ruthless fight for power. Unveil dark secrets and forgotten myths as you go back to the one founding moment: The Origins of the Assassin’s Brotherhood.”

In the spirit of honesty, I haven’t started this one yet, but I am so confident that I’m gonna love it when I do that it’s here anyway. I’ve purchased it, and will get to it soon, I swear! In the meantime, I wanted to put it here because I’m confident some of you will enjoy it. Will come back with a review once I know more.

Assassin’s Creed, Odyssey (2018)

“Write your own epic odyssey and become a legendary Spartan hero in Assassin’s Creed® Odyssey, an inspiring adventure where you must forge your destiny and define your own path in a world on the brink of tearing itself apart. Influence how history unfolds as you experience a rich and ever-changing world shaped by your decisions.”

Y’all this game owned my soul for a while. I’ve sunk so many hours into it. You have a choice to play as either Kassandra or Alexios and navigate the wonders of Ancient Greece. The world is stunning, the choices are important, and this game took a big step for the assassins creed series in becoming a true RPG. I can’t recommend this one enough, you should absolutely go for it!

Assassin’s Creed, Valhalla (2020)

“Become Eivor, a legendary Viking warrior. Explore England's Dark Ages as you raid your enemies, grow your settlement, and build your political power in the quest to earn a place among the gods in Valhalla.”

This game is brand new, hot off the press, and has already been a massive hit. I have only JUST started playing it and am about an hour in, but so far so good! It’s here on my recommendations list because of its wild popularity and because I’ve already enjoyed other games in this series, so I feel confident that some of my fellow dragon age fans will enjoy it. Will update again once I get further in.

Other games on my To Be Played list (otherwise known as things I don’t want to recommend because I know almost nothing about them but will update here after I know more)

-Pillars of Eternity 1 and 2

-Horizon Zero Dawn

-Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag

-Fable 1 and 2

-Kingdoms of Amalur

-Breath of the Wild

-Crimson Desert (not out yet but I’m intrigued)

#will update as I find more #if you liked dragon age #dragon age #video games #video game recommendations #op #rpgs #masterlist