#mothak

[kefnut-the-gweilologist]

and for comparison

#reading a very good blogpost abt ancient spartan society #helots r slaves #the perioikoi and skiritai were free farmers and artisans that were subjects of the spartan state that had to serve in the army #they like made a lot of the armor and weapons #hypomeiones were former spartan citizens and their descendants #poverty was the main reason ppl fell out of the citizen class but cowardice on the battlefield also a reason #also there was no way to regain citizenship for urself or ur family if u lost it #mothakes were the bastard children of citizens and helots #neodamodes were freed helots

[edspear]

One trinket received as a gift, lead to twelve trinkets, given as gifts over the holidays. The classic "Baker's Dozen" twelve things and one is different.

The Encouraging Plush, given as gift to Decima from Cthonic. Provided in cute pencil sketch form.

I'll perhaps update this post with any relevant tumblr blog links as they crop up.

A Plushspitter for Cthonic

Ashnod's Playset for Klaus

Yotian Toy Soldier for Xena

Basilicum D'Mastiquel for Fynn

Ink Portrait for Viktoria

Magic Eight Bhaal for Eris

Gikkusu Mask for Viorenza

The Mechanical Girl for Gabrielle

Blue Bug of Friendliness for Jovanka

Cutting Stone for Corvus

Ghaikian Sylex for Mothak

Glint-Eye Tea for Sophia

Happy Solstice or Whatever.

#trinkets #dnd #phyrexia #bhaal #baldur's gate #sylex #nephilim #ashnod #hannya #mechanical girl #cutting stone #ghaik #phyrexian language #wild beyond the witchlight #ravenloft #magic the gathering #art #decima #cthonic #klaus #xena #fynn #viktoria #eris #viorenza #gabrielle #jovanka #corvus #mothak #sophia

[brasideios]

OC Tag Game

Thank you @aro-pancake for the tag! This was fun :)

Make your OC with this game. List 3 fun facts about them! And share the last track you listened to as their current soundtrack for their next appearance in fiction!

This is my silly little guy version of Adimantos (I drew him a couple days ago here), one of my Spartan OC's that I've been thinking about a lot lately.

Three fun facts about him:

His pater (Eukleidas) was a wrestling champion, and though he tried as a young man to measure up to that legacy, he absolutely sucks at this sport.

In the earliest version of his character, he was Brasidas' mothake (foster brother). I am still trying to write this version in my og fic, Hollow Lakedaimon.

If he was transported to the 21st century, I think he'd be a teacher (probably sport teacher); and he'd get into theatre, music - probably rock mostly, I think - and he'd be one of those people who like to hang out at coffee shops.

Late edit: I forgot the music part! That would be Counting Spooks by Editors.

I don't know of many people who make OC's, so I will tag, tentatively and with zero pressure, @nemo-of-house-hamartia @ladyinthebluebox @ainulindaelynn @mini-uzzy @theinkandthesea and @findusinaweek. If anyone else out there does OCs, please let me know so I can include you next time (and I would love to see them/hear about them in the meantime!)

#Original Characters #tag game #my OC #OCAdimantos

[sorry-but-no-sorry]

The true champion of Light

Alan Mothake

@razzlefrazzum

#alan wake #alan wake game #alan wake 2 #Mothman #old gods of asgard

[hexjulia]

yes i know what mothakes are yes i visualise spartan moth boys every time

#they have powdery wings. to me.

[tlaquetzqui]

I keep seeing people get this wrong, because they mistook Marx for a historian: feudalism is the relations between liege-lords and vassal-lords. The relation between serfs and lords is manorialism.

And…stop putting on airs. American “citizens” would need to repeal every gun control law written after 1934, abolish Eminent Domain, and pass the Taxpayer’s Bill of Rights, to even consider themselves serfs. Their current status is more like Christianized helotry—nobody’s adulthood rite is “murder one without getting caught” like in Sparta, and you don’t have a whole class of half-elites with helot mothers (the Mothakes, singular Mothax), but that’s about the only difference.

#salty amateur historian

[techiecreativeworld]

Click here for recipe https://youtu.be/L6UPRmJapwQHappy Ganesh Chathurthi to You and Your Family!!

#festivecollection #recipies #mothak #indian recipes #food love

[jackbyrnewriter]

Another Crash?

Cambrian Airlines crash into Mothaks in Speke 1965 (Liverpool Echo)

Fifty-five years ago this week, on 20 July 1965 a there was an event that shocked the people of Speke and Garston. In a way, it was a foreshadowing of what the recession of the seventies would do to the industry in the area. In this case, it was a Cambrian Airlines plane that had technical difficulties, overshot the runway and…

View On WordPress

#garston #Liverpool #Mothaks #speke #Writer

[the-good-spartan]

WIP WEDNESDAY (On a Thursday)

Hi everyone,

I was so busy yesterday I missed my weekly WIP share so here it is, a day late :)

I’m going to be working on my non-fanfic stuff for a bit now - I’m feeling a little disenchanted with fanfic atm for various reasons - so this is from the prequel to the (non fanfic) version of the Good Spartan, A Story Set in Sparta.

One part of this story follows a variant of my OC Adimantos, who in this story is a mothakes, a non-full blood Spartan who is basically a foster-brother to Brasidas and is put through the agoge with him despite his mixed blood. [This is one theory about what an actual mothakes might have been, historically speaking, and may be totally wrong.]

Whether he remains that as this story develops is anyone’s guess. ‘Tis early days.

***

There was the hardly audible sound of bare feet upon the stones. It reminded Adimantos of the sound of gentle rain on the side of a tent. He couldn’t see the boys, but they were there, amongst the shadows of the columns and shifting olive trees.

He could hear people down on the Hyakinthian Way, their voices brought on the breeze; and in the further distance, the howling of wolves. He sighed.

‘Not good enough,’ he said gruffly, his deep voice echoing slightly in the open space of the temple. ‘We’ll try again tomorrow.’

There was no response – they’d got that right at least – and after a moment, he felt certain they’d left once more.

Nothing but a feeling of course, but one that had been bred into him through hard experience.

He walked out of the temple into the shifting gradations of moonlight and starlight, pooling shadows and shivering trees. The grass beneath his feet crackled, brittle with the long, dry summer, as he cut back to the Hyakinthian Way and on, towards the barracks.

He’d seen nineteen Hyakinthia festivals, but this was the first time real responsibility had found him. Brasidas had shielded him from that: he was always the leader - always in charge. How it had happened that it was Adimantos himself who’d been chosen to be Eirene, he didn’t know.

Yet, it had happened, against all expectation - and at the Hyakinthia a month earlier, he’d been given his group of boys, fifteen Paides, the youngest age group of the agoge. He was to teach and train them in how to be a Spartan; but to his mind, most importantly, in preparation for the initiation rites to the next age class in three years time.

He shivered with the enormity of the task, the possible consequences. If they failed, he failed. Their behaviour would reflect directly on him and his own position once he’d graduated into adulthood.

He had to get this right. They had to get it right.

#astorysetinsparta #writing #my writing #not fanfic #original fiction #ancient sparta #my oc #Adimantos #wip wednesday

[terror-billie]

In case anybody isn't aware: I really cannot emphasize enough how awful Sparta was. Sparta's population was almost entirely made of slaves who were brutally oppressed by a tiny upper caste of citizens.

Within that tiny upper caste, the women were very much constrained to traditional wife roles, but had certain rights that other women in Ancient Greece did not have. The problem is, this factoid taken alone implies that Sparta was some kind of feminist city state. That couldn't be further from the truth, if you look at how slave women were treated. There was an entire caste of Spartan society made of the offspring of slave rape (the mothakes).

Sparta was a brutal, inhumane society that was awful for everybody who lived in it. The rich men at the top were abused through the military raising system of the agoge, the rich women at the top were proud tradwife breeding stock, the vast majority of the Spartan population were slaves who are regularly culled and starved, and the rest were non-citizen castes who had few rights.

If you wish to learn about how Sparta really was, take a look at the blog linked above.

#ancient greece #sparta #rape mention #rape cw #slavery cw #history #the article doesn't flinch from the truth but is never graphic #fuck sparta

[argumate]

All of which brings us back to our big question: why didn’t Sparta act to halt its decline? The men of the gerousia of 410 must have known at their own citizen body was once more than double the size it stood in their day. The same would have been true of the gerousia of 371. Some demographic declines are so slow as to be imperceptible, but the Spartan citizen population collapses by 80% in just a century, from 464 to 371. The decline would have been obvious – and evidently it was obvious.

We know it was obvious because Cinadon points it out, c. 390 (Xen. Hell. 3.3.5). We know it was obvious because we can see the sad half-measures to arrest the problem: the creation of classes of freed helots (the neodamodes) to serve in the army and the increasing prominence of mothakes and hypomeiones in the years leading up to Cinadon’s conspiracy. In short, we know it was obvious because we can see our historical subjects observing it. Why couldn’t they arrest this decline?

presumably for the same reason as us.

[thatsouthernanthem]

I uh, got inspired to write something soft and baby-centric for Kassandra and Brasidas. It’s just...mostly an exercise to get back into the brainwaves of these babes. Anyway: 

title: for we are bound by symmetry  pairing: braisdas/kassandra characters: brasidas, kassandra, alexios, ocs, a baby

He’s enamored before he ever meets them. All he can feel is the swell of his wife’s belly, the push of a foot under the skin, the ripple of a flip when the child grows restless. All he knows is the groan of Kassandra’s discomfort as she presses her fingers into her lower back, desperately trying to stretch her spine; the tossing and turning as she tries to get comfortable now, in her last months of pregnancy. 

He’s never been happier. 

There are moments in his life, when he looks at the farm, at the helots turned mothakes that he trained in Messenia, on that fool’s errand of a mission in Amphipolis, that he is certain he should have died there. It’s a festering seed in the pit of his stomach that whispers to him as he surveys the good in his life, at the men and families around him in Helot Hills, that he helped free, a cold voice that tells him: you should be dead. Deimos wielded your spear and it should have been your end.

Even so, the flash of Kassandra’s smile, the murmur of love against his neck as she curls as close as she can in their bed, separated only by the growing child inside of her. Her hands chase away his fears, his worries, running them along his arms. “You’ve a tan,” she whispers, grinning at the swath of skin paler than the rest, where his chiton covered him. “A true farmer.”

He never thought he’d be anything but a soldier. He thought he would live and die for Sparta, and yet, this woman beside him showed him a world that was better: a world in which he could love, freely, and be loved in return. Where he could reap the benefits of what he literally sows: beans, pomegranates, wheat, vegetables. Where the people who work for him call him philoi, not kyrios. 

Overcome and unable to say what he means, Brasidas drags Kassandra closer, his hand possessive at her hip, his thumb stroking the swell of her stomach, and he kisses her with everything he has in him. 

“You should be inside,” Brasidas is telling his wife as he leans against the hoe he’s struck into the earth. He squints at her, the sun blinding and he refusing to wear a hat. Kassandra does, though, her braid swept to the side and the wide-brim of the straw hat shading her face. She’s tanner too, now, after months of readying and planting and perfecting the farm’s landscape. Sweat drips down her neck, another reminder of Lakonia’s scorching summers and he frowns as she shakes her head. 

“I’m waiting for Alexios,” she replies, her hand resting against her stomach and he can’t help himself--he reaches forward and covers her hand, his smile soft as their child presses against them. Kassandra turns her hand, capturing his fingers with her own. “He sent word earlier that he was coming by. I think he’ll be heading out on the Adrestia again soon.”

Brasidas nods, humming his agreement. Alexios has withdrawn from them again, as he often does before turning to the Adrestia in the middle of the night and asking to be taken away. He’d demand, Brasidas is sure, if Odessa would be swayed by that sort of talk. But the woman merely stares the boy down, and he relents. 

Now, if only Brasidas could master this sway over Alexios. It would save the time spent in awkward, stilted silences or the arguing. He tries, so hard, for Kassandra, but there is still an undercurrent of distrust between the two men--and who can blame them? For Brasidas, he faces his near death in the guise of brother-in-law, and for Alexios, Brasidas is a constant reminder of what if. 

He’s saved from answering, and pulled from his own mind as a figure appears on the road and the workers call out to him in greeting. Kassandra smiles, joy and relief radiating from her as it always does when she spies her brother. Brasidas can’t help but smile at her in return, her joy infectious. 

Alexios looks grim as he comes closer, his arms full of a bundle that Brasidas cannot discern from here, but Kassandra stiffens as her brother’s steps bring him forward. Then, with sudden clarity, Brasidas realizes: the bundle is moving, squalling. 

A baby. 

Alexios’ face is tight with anger, but his hands are gentle as he steps up to them, as he presses the bundle into his sister’s arms, pressing closer to kiss her cheek. There are words murmured between the siblings but Brasidas cannot hear them, and possibly, he would not hear them, for he is enamored and worried and terrified as he takes a look at the baby pressed into his wife’s arms. 

She is tiny, her little tan face reddened with the force of her cries, hunger and fear in every single wail she produces. Kassandra rearranges her, cradling her close and shushing her in a way that seems to frighten and shock her but she continues, bouncing slightly to calm the child. 

“Where?” Brasidas croaks, his finger brushing the tiny foot that has escaped the blanket she’s wrapped in. It’s softer than the lambs he raises, softer than silk on their bed. His heart skips a few beats. 

Alexios glances at his sister and then back to Brasidas, his jaw tight. “Let’s go inside. It’s hot and she’s uncomfortable.” 

Leaving the hoe struck into the ground, he follows Alexios in, stopping to let Kassandra pass before him, watching as she stares down at the infant in her arms, finally quieting when she lets the baby suckle at her pinky. His mind is blank, shocked perhaps, at the gift his brother-in-law has given them. 

Because, he already knows, staring at Kassandra as she lifts her gaze to his, that this child will be theirs, just like the one growing in her belly. 

She settles on the kline, murmuring to the child quiet nothings and Brasidas, at a lack of what to do next, moves into the kitchen, toward where he knows the former helot Arisbe will be. Maybe she’ll know how to comfort a hungry child. 

And it’ll give Alexios a moment to unclench. Perhaps it will be easier for him to tell the story of how he came to possess an infant if only his sister is there in the room. 

Arisbe is kneading dough for flatbread when he walks in, humming a tune he’s not heard before. She glances up at him as he walks in and he can see the process of her mind run across her wrinkled face: deference for her kyrios, remembering she is free and that Brasidas is not her master, then the schooling of her face into a smile that is warm and true. He wishes she could just skip to the end every time but knows the woman spent most of her life a slave and that the undoing of that torment may never happen. 

“Brasidas,” she murmurs, reaching for some spices to sprinkle across the dough before folding them in. “No snacking, I’m making dinner.” 

He grins at her, all of the tension and worry he holds within him disappearing at her joking tone. “Ah, if I were to snack, Arisbe, I’d do it in the fields where you cannot see me.”

She tsks at him, narrowing her eyes as her gaze flits over his face. “You’re burnt. You should wear a hat.” 

A constant battle, one he will undoubtedly lose one day, with both Arisbe and Kassandra on his case. But it can wait for today. There’s no easy way to ask, so he goes for it: “Arisbe, how does one feed a newborn when their mother is not around?”

Panic fills her eyes and then leaves as she rounds on him. “I assume this is not about Kassandra. I doubt you’d be standing here as you are if something had happened.”

“No! No, I don’t know what happened, but Alexios found--”

A cry rises from the andron, half explaining the situation for him. Arisbe moves to a lower shelf, pulling out a pitcher of goat’s milk from the morning’s chores. She fills a small cup and gestures for him to follow her. 

In the other room, only the baby makes noise. Kassandra is staring at her brother with a heat in her eyes that would spell out certain doom for anyone else. Alexios keeps her stare within his, his eyes filled with the cold fury that is his constant companion. The cold fury that turned him into Deimos, the cold fury that still haunts Brasidas’ nightmares at times. He shudders, moving to the side as Arisbe steps between the siblings, reaching for the child. 

Kassandra’s arms tighten instinctively around the babe, but Arisbe is resolute, tugging the child from her arms, rearranging the baby in her own as she sits on a chair, bringing the cup of milk up to the baby’s lips. It’s a messy, slow process, but the child quiets, gulping down little bits at a time. Arisbe glances up at Kassandra, then down at the swell of her belly. “You’ll be able to feed her yourself if you wish. I give it a day, maybe, before your body reacts to the cries of the baby, and readies itself to feed her.”

Her face pales even as Kassandra nods. His wife reaches for him, and Brasidas sits as close as he can to her, their legs pressed tight against each other’s. “Alexios found her,” she begins, her hand closing on his, “at the Taygetos foothills.”

Abandoned. Left for the elements. There’s plenty of reasons why any Spartan family may do so: deformity, too many mouths to feed, simply because she is a girl. Plenty of reasons and none of them good enough. Anger boils his blood, and when he makes eye contact with Alexios, the younger man almost flinches--a mere tightening of the skin around his eyes, but that is enough. 

“Despicable,” Brasidas spits, his voice harsh. It startles the baby, who hiccups and wails, and earns him a deserving glare from Arisbe. He aches to move, to stand and find whoever did this, to make it right, but Kassandra’s hand keeps him still. “We haven’t fucking changed a thing, have we?”

Kassandra moves her hand to his neck, a solid and comforting presence as she strokes his hair, the braid that marks him Spartan. A mark he wants to be rid of at this moment. She reaches her other hand out for Alexios, and he takes it, immediately, his hesitation only showing when she drags him closer to the pair of them on the kline. His hesitation to be nearer to Brasidas. 

“We will take her in?” Her voice lilts, in a question. 

“Of course,” Brasidas nearly snarls, his hands tight on his knees. 

In front of them Alexios sags, slightly, as if he was worried he’d have to find someone else to take the child. His eyes train on the baby, then out the window. “I’m setting sail in two days.”

“I know,” Kassandra murmurs. “I mean, I knew it would come soon.” She falls silent, fiddling with Brasidas’ hair before leaning into her husband. “At least we are prepared. You have built a bed for our child, and now we can use it for this one. We have cloths and blankets. Alexios--”

He turns to her, the cold rage in his eyes gone and replaced with a sadness that makes Brasidas shiver. Kassandra’s lips thin into a straight line before she pushes herself up from the kline to wrap her arms around her brother. He grips the back of her peplos immediately--his actions for his sister always immediate and without hesitation, as if he’s worried any pause will cause her to forsake him. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, just loud enough for Brasidas to hear. “For bringing her to us. She will be loved, I swear to you.”

Alexios’ answer is muffled in his sister’s clothing, but his fingers tighten at her back before pulling away and walking straight out the door. Through the window, Brasidas can see his sagging shoulders as he makes his way across the fields toward the little house they made him, the little house he calls home. 

Inside his own home, Brasidas watches as Kassandra takes the now silent baby from Arisbe, carefully arranging her in her arms. He watches as her finger strokes the bridge of the tiny nose, smoothing out the wrinkled brow. “She’s tiny,” she murmurs, moving to sit beside Brasidas again. “Perhaps they found her wanting in that regard.”

Anger, quick as lightning, flashes through him again. He takes a deep, calming breath in through his nose, eyes closed. They open again in a near panic when Kassandra presses the bundle into his arms and his breath catches when the baby opens her eyes to blink up at him. Her hair is wispy, golden--rare in Sparta where dark hair and eyes are readily found. Her eyes are dark blue, but Brasidas knows that may change--he’s seen enough barn kittens born in the last two years to know that, let alone his workers’ children. 

“What will we call her?” He whispers, smitten as the baby brings her tiny fist to her mouth, sucking on it. 

Kassandra hums, her hand smoothing her peplos over her belly. Idly Brasidas realizes they’re alone, that Arisbe has disappeared. “Well,” his wife murmurs, “we have names picked for this one, and that only took us the last four months to decide. So I assume we’ll have a name for her in the next year?” 

Grinning, Brasidas lifts the baby onto his shoulder, patting her back like he’s seen the women on the farm do. It feels right--it fills him with warmth that threatens to burst out of him. He can’t stop smiling. “Phaedra, I think.”

“Kretan princess, daughter of Minos, wife of Theseus,” Kassandra recites, then rolls her eyes at Brasidas’ raised brow. “Barnabas is rubbing off on me.” She falls silent for a moment, then: “Phaidros. It fits. She is a brightness, will be.”

Leaning forward, Brasidas kisses Kassandra, sharp and quick, careful not to jostle the child--Phaedra--at his shoulder. “Can we handle two children at once?”

“We’ll have to,” she shrugs. “Your newest strategic puzzle, strategos. Keeping two children and a farm happy.”

Carefully, he rises, walking toward the bedroom off the andron, the one he and Kassandra have made their own. He lowers Phaedra into the cradle he built, the wood sturdy and safe for her. She looks tinier in the bed--maybe with a sibling, she will look safer. Turning, he smiles tiredly at Kassandra. “And a wife. Keeping two children, a farm, and my wife happy.”

“That one is easy,” she moves into the room, grabbing his hand and placing it against her belly where his child stretches under her skin. “Just be you, strategos, and I am delighted.”

#homestead au #kassidas #kassandra x brasidas #brasidas/kassandra #kassandra #brasidas #ac odyssey #ac odyssey fanfic #my stuff #writing #oh man it's weird posting again lol #i hope y'all enjoy this random one shot #a week later kass gives birth to sophia #and welp there's the not twins

[manteeskitchen]

KOZHUKATTAI AND MOTHAK RECIPE | BANANA LEAF KOZHUKATTAI | POORANAM KOLUK...

[lordofmyland]

🏛 Sparta was a prominent city-state in ancient Greece. In antiquity, the city-state was known as Lacedaemon, while the name Sparta referred to its main settlement on the banks of the Eurotas River in Laconia, in south-eastern Peloponnese. Around 650 BC, it rose to become the dominant military land-power in ancient Greece. . Given its military pre-eminence, Sparta was recognized as the leading force of the unified Greek military during the Greco-Persian Wars, in rivalry with the rising naval power of Athens. Sparta was the principal enemy of Athens during the Peloponnesian War (between 431 and 404 BC), from which it emerged victorious. . Sparta was unique in ancient Greece for its social system and constitution introduced by the almost mythical figure of Lycurgus. He configured the entire society in order to maximize military proficiency at all costs, focusing all social institutions on military training and physical development. Its inhabitants were classified as Spartiates (Spartan citizens with full rights), mothakes (non-Spartan free men raised as Spartans), perioikoi (free residents engaged in commerce), and helots (state-owned serfs, enslaved non-Spartan local population). Spartiates underwent the rigorous agoge training and education regimen, and Spartan phalanx brigades were widely considered to be among the best in battle. Spartan women enjoyed considerably more rights and equality with men than elsewhere in classical antiquity. . Sparta was the subject of fascination in its own day, as well as in Western culture following the revival of classical learning. - #lordofmyland https://www.instagram.com/p/B5iniQWlTh-/?igshid=1wu3j1k19w3z9

#lordofmyland

[m-o-kasi-king-blog]

#THROWBACKINZIMBYO #MOTHAKING

#mothaking #throwbackinzimbyo

[ao3feed-assassinscreed]

Tradition be damned

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2H0sy8x

by Madoking

“You deserve a gift, even so,” my uncle continues and I don’t hear the danger in it until it’s too late. “Kassandra, stand for me.”

No.

My eyes are still on Brasidas as he turns to me, squaring his wool covered shoulders. I stand, unwilling or unable to resist a direct order from my King.

“Come forward, I’ve made my decision.”

A prized pig brandied about to the highest bidder. My eyes cast low as my dread is replaced by fire.

“Brasidas, my niece’s hand for your victories. You’ll wed in Gamelion, Hera’s moon. Many blessings.”

I can’t look up. I can’t face it.

The fire goes cold, barely knowing warmth within my chest.

Brasidas doesn’t touch me, perhaps knowing that I’d snap his wrist if he tried.

Words: 4827, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Kassandra (Assassin's Creed), Brasidas (Assassin's Creed), Alexios (Assassin's Creed), Myrrine (Assassin's Creed), Pleistarchus

Relationships: Brasidas/Kassandra (Assassin's Creed), Alexios & Kassandra (Assassin's Creed)

Additional Tags: Arranged Marriage AU, kassidas - Freeform, Enemies to Lovers, myrrine's brother is king, No Cult AU, strategos brasidas, helot!brasidas, mothakes!brasidas

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2H0sy8x

#ao3feed #fanfic #assassin's creed #assassins creed