#I WISH THERE'S ANOTHER ART THAT FOCUSES ON THE WARRIORS

[erudianokabe]

BESTIE WITH HIS TWO DADS.

Mine and @zahyou's OLD MEN AS DRINKING BUDDIES. CANON. OUR HC IS -BANGS HANDS ON TABLE- CANON!

Anyway, full pic.

HAVE YOU GOTTEN YOUR TICKETS, CADETS? If y'all got your tickets, see you at the after party~ ❤️

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Maiden and the Knight

Summary: Lucius meets a mortal girl who understands his perfection and skill in fencing. And he experiences new destructive feelings.

Lucius The Eternal/fem!Reader

Warnings: Dark romance, Yandere, Obsession.

By the Throne, how I love these hedonists and degenerates

Lucius strived for perfection, and although he loved art. But his main passion remained the use of the sword. The remembrancers admired his skill, but the Space Marine knew that it was not the same. They flew like bees from one warrior to another, continuing to create new work one after another. While Lucius continued to hone his fencing skills.

You were one of the many remembrancers on the Pride of the Emperor. Not the most famous and not the most outstanding. You could easily get lost among all the artists, composers and poets. Somehow, you not only managed to meet him in person, but also asked to become his personal remembrancer.

This didn't surprise Lucius at all. He is one of the best, if not the best, among the Emperor's Children. Mortals are obliged to praise him through paintings and poems. But over time, his acceptance of you gave way to confusion, surprise... inspiration.

You didn't just admire his skills, you analyzed them. You watched every movement, trying to catch the best images. Well, when he made special moves, you completely fell silent in pure admiration. This was usually how mortals reacted to a primarch, good music or magnificent architecture. But all your adoration was focused on Lucius's sword.

It was flattering.

In the end, he still asked you why a mortal girl like you were so interested in following the swordsman. You were so small and fragile, you never held a sword in your tiny hands. But smiling, you admitted that your grandfather and father were swordsmen. Therefore, you were given a love for the art of war, although you could not taste it.

Oh, you didn't have to. It is the job of the Space Marines to protect humanity. The Emperor's children were recognized to participate in the most brutal battles, carving a path to a great future with the sword. And you needed to capture this image. And especially the image of Lucius himself. After all, he is the best one.

Over time, you both began to communicate more and more. You told the man about fencing on other worlds, the history of the knights of Ancient Terra. About their duty and oath. Lucius never thought he could become as attached to a mortal as he is to you.

After Laeran, Lucius noticed that he began to enjoy your company even more. With your voice and knowledge about knights and swords. Unexpectedly for him, Lucius was hooked by the part about the role of women in the history of Ancient Terra. Like beautiful maidens wishing farewell to men before the war, they waited for their return. How they showed signs of attention in the form of ribbons on spears... and how knights shed blood with the name of their beloved on their lips.

The Space Marine tried to find a rational explanation for his obsessions, but could not. An attempt to ask the Apothecary about his strange condition was also unsuccessful. Halfway through, Lucius decided to stop and try to deal with these thoughts himself.

And with the way his body reacted. Every time before going to bed, when he thought about knights and ladies, he felt hot. Every time he put himself and you in their place, his throat became dry. But it would be so lovely. You with tears in your eyes, red lips wish him good luck in the war. And your gentle arms give him a ribbon. Or a lock of hair. A kiss.

You didn't seem to have changed. Despite Lucius's obvious patronage, you refused to go to the temple, arguing that you were scared. After all, quite recently dangerous xenos lived there. The Space Marine was just touched by this. That's right, his job is to fight, and your job is to be afraid and seek his protection.

Alas, your connection was broken for some time. Lucius had to fight against his brothers on Isstvan III, to protect the Emperor. He vowed to serve humanity. But the honor of Saul Tarvitz boiled his blood and he succumbed to anger. The mere thought that Tarvitz would be called heroe and Lucius would not be appreciated filled him with burning hatred. And one tiny thought that you would love Saul's skill... no, a lady should only have one knight.

He won't share.

Lucius finds you in your room. You are still as small and vulnerable, hastily wiping away your tears, trying to smile. Oh... the swordsman knew what tears taste like, but for some reason he wanted to lick them. Just the thought that he and ONLY HE evokes such emotions in you...

“I was afraid that you would die,” you gasp and come closer to him. - “I was so scared. It's horrifying. Everyone seems to have gone mad and only a few remembrancers like me are holding on. I was so sad and lonely, I-I thought”

“Kiss,” the man said in a heavy voice. Noticing your blank look, he swallowed. How beautiful. - “Kiss my sword. I killed my brothers with you in mind. Am I not worthy of attention from my lady?”

Your eyes filled with tears again and your lips trembled. And yet Lucius smelled... a strange smell from you. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew for sure that you yourself liked these new feelings. Eating and swallowing. Such delicious fear. And the fact that only the swordsman can see this... was an excitement.

Lucius carefully watches as you approach the outstretched sword. You don't even have to tilt your head. Your reflection sparkles exquisitely in the blade of the weapon and Lucius gasps as he sees your lips touch his sword. He desperately wants to plunge the blade into you, but he holds back.

After all, he must protect his lady.

[miaaao]

🔥🪷My AU of Hasashi family (ft: Union of Light Scorpion)🔥🪷 Maybe it's canon?

Since in MK1 having so many timelines, I like to share my first AU here because I'm so curious about the timelines of the Union of light and Order Of dark titans:

So my first start will be talking about Union of light Kuai Liang because he's my favorite skin of all the game and I can't stop thinking about him😞✨

🍁The Hasashi Family🍁

(I gave to Hanzo and Harumi this logo here from UOL Kuai as Shirai Ryu Logo)

In this art I'm gonna talking about them and also explain more about them.

Starting from UOL Kuai Liang 🦂.

In this timeline, Kuai Liang doesn't hold the title of Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu but instead carries the mantle of Scorpion. He is a powerful member of the Shirai Ryu, serving as second in command of the clan. My idea about his story that Kuai Liang was once an powerful assassin for the Lin Kuei, though without cryomancer or hellfire powers. His Lin Kuei clan and family were tragically murdered by an unknown enemy of the Lin Kuei. After losing everything, Kuai Liang encounters Hanzo Hasashi, the Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu, during a mission. Hanzo offers him a place in the Shirai Ryu, but Kuai Liang initially refuses, explaining that he wishes to honor the memory of his family and the Lin Kuei by not joining another clan. Hanzo then tells him that their honor and legacy live on through him. As long as he stays true to his values, his family and the Lin Kuei will always be with him. Moved by these words, Kuai Liang eventually agrees to join the Shirai Ryu. After passing rigorous tests and missions, Hanzo grows to admire Kuai Liang’s strength and skill, deeming him worthy to become his second in command. Hanzo shares part of his pyromancer abilities with Kuai Liang and teaches him how to wield it, also gifting him a pair of kama as his new weapons. Kuai Liang in this timeline is fiercely loyal and protective of the Hasashi family, despite his cold and serious demeanor (Sassy is one of them) but he always shows deep respect to the family who saved him when he had lost everything.

Here is the weapon of Kama if anyone doesn't know what kama is :

Hanzo Hasashi🔥

The grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu, the husband of Harumi and the father of Satoshi.

He leading his clan with both strength and wisdom. Unlike the tragic past seen in other (old) timelines, Hanzo’s family—his wife Harumi and his son Satoshi—are alive and remain central to his life. His leadership is not driven by vengeance, but by a commitment to honor, loyalty, and the protection of his loved ones and his clan.

Hanzo is known for his mastery of fire, a power that symbolizes his strength and determination. He imparts some of his pyromancer abilities to his second-in-command, Kuai Liang, whom he sees as a strong and capable warrior. Hanzo also serves as a mentor, guiding Kuai Liang to uphold the values of the Shirai Ryu and carry the honor of his fallen Lin Kuei family within him.

Despite his fearsome reputation on the battlefield, Hanzo is deeply loyal and protective of his family, balancing his duties as a grandmaster with his role as a devoted husband and father. He believes that true strength comes not only from combat, but from protecting and cherishing the people who matter most. His leadership fosters unity within the Shirai Ryu, emphasizing honor, resilience, and the preservation of their legacy for future generations.

Harumi Hasashi🪷

The wife of Hanzo and the mother of Satoshi.

Like any version of her (Expect Harumi Shirai) Harumi doesn't have the strength to fight.

However, she is a kind-hearted and nurturing woman, known as the beloved wife of Hanzo Hasashi and the mother of their son, Satoshi. Unlike the warriors of the Shirai Ryu, Harumi does not possess combat skills; instead, she embodies warmth, compassion, and emotional strength.

As a dedicated mother, Harumi focuses on creating a loving home for her family. She instills values of kindness, respect, and integrity in her son Satoshi, nurturing his growth and encouraging his dreams. Her gentle guidance and supportive nature will make Satoshi develop into a well-rounded individual.

Harumi is also a vital support system for Hanzo, providing him with emotional stability as he navigates the challenges of leadership. Her ability to listen and understand helps him maintain balance in his life, reminding him of the importance of family and connection.

While she may not fight on the battlefield, Harumi’s influence within the Shirai Ryu is profound. She fosters a sense of community and belonging among clan members, often hosting gatherings that strengthen their bonds and morale. Her compassion and wisdom shine through in her interactions with others, making her a cherished figure in the clan.

She also supports Kuai Liang, offering him guidance and encouragement as he navigates his role within the Shirai Ryu. Her presence serves as a reminder of the importance of family, love, and support in overcoming adversity, inspiring those around her to value their connections and strive for harmony.

She is currently pregnant with a girl, whom she and Hanzo have decided to name Miwa.

Satoshi Hasashi🍁

The son of Hanzo Hasashi and Harumi Hasashi.

Satoshi Hasashi is the cherished son of Hanzo and Harumi Hasashi. As a baby, he brings immense joy and light into the lives of his parents, filling their home with laughter and warmth. He is a curious and bright child, always fascinated by the world around him. Though still young, Satoshi already shows signs of his strong bond with his father, Hanzo, often reaching out for him and giggling whenever Hanzo is near.

Harumi, his mother, is gentle and attentive, nurturing him with all the love a baby could ever need. Together, Hanzo and Harumi treasure every moment with Satoshi, watching him grow with pride and joy. He is a symbol of hope and happiness in their lives, representing the future of the Hasashi family.

Andddd... that's all!!!

Next I will making another AU, this time is about UOL Bi-han!!

[cienie-isengardu]

What du you take shem and nagi personally were when they were alive

That is a good question.

Interestingly, Splinter’s tale in the first issue of TMNT provided little to no details about Tang Shen besides that:

both Yoshi and Nagi tried to win her heart 

she loved Hamato Yoshi from the start

Nagi attacked and almost killed her when she rejected him

she witnessed how her beloved murdered in fury Nagi

she run away with Yoshi to New York and there together they lived for more than decade, until Oroku Saki killed both

On one hand, those are very general information, never directly telling us about Tang Shen’s feelings on the matter, because Splinter’s story was focused on his master, Hamato Yoshi. On another one however, there are implications that allow us to build some theories about her as a person.

The interpretation to some degree may change, whatever Tang Shen was aware of who Nagi and Yoshi were, or was a woman with no connection to Foot Clan that was dragged into the ninja (criminal) world unwillingly. However the answer is, one way or another she learned her beloved is capable of brutal murder (even if done to protect her) and I assume once Nagi was dead, Yoshi’s connection to Foot Clan and past as assassin was no longer a secret among them. So we have a woman who willingly spent her life with a fully trained ninja and confirmed murdered (even if she didn’t have any reason to feel bad for Nagi after what happened), and not just a ninja, but A) the top Shadow Warrior from the most feared Foot Clan and B) one that dishonored himself by killing fellow member of the clan. 

So, leaving Japan to live in USA, the totally different culture-wise country, while knowing of what your beloved is capable in fit of rage, what he did in the past, and that together they may be a target of merciless Foot Clan due to Yoshi’s action takes a lot guts if you ask me.

Another implication of Shen’s courage and standing her ground is refusing ”insanely jealous” Nagi in the face that no, she won’t love him just because he demands it. I mean, can you just imagine being at your own home and then forced to deal with a man that has the audacity to demand to be loved and when he doesn’t get what he wants, become aggressive? That is just a straight up nightmare, but think how much worse it would be, if Shen actually knew Oroku Nagi is a fully trained assassin, which naturally makes refusing much more dangerous. The thing is, she could try to stall the time, in hope Yoshi - or anyone - will soon show up to save her, or placate Nagi with some sweet lies and then go to her beloved and tell what happened. As Yoshi knew personally Nagi, I think it is safe to assume he would trust Tang Shen's words. But in this highly stressful and dangerous situation, she did go straight for refusal, not tolerating Nagi’s jealous (pathetic) behavior. That woman for sure had some guts and/or (reckless?) bravery. 

Another thing worth to say about Tang Shen, she lived with Yoshi in New York most likely for over a decade (both were killed by Shredder almost 15 years after fleeing from Japan, but it is hard to say how long it took them travel to the USA, considering Yoshi’s conflict with the Foot Clan. But for the sake of this answer, let’s stick to the safe assumption of at least decade).

Splinter did not mention any children of Tang Shen and Yoshi and according to him, the couple lived happily together. So, either they couldn’t have offspring due to biological problems, or decided to not have a child or Tang Shen outright refused to be pregnant. Of course, if the latter was the case, it could be grounded in trauma from Nagi’s attack (and really putting into question did he do more than beating her). If not, then it shows her independent streak and wish to not be a housewife - even if Splinter did not mention she had any job or hobby, as again, the story was focused on Yoshi’s life. As Splinter said, in New York Yoshi formed a martial arts school and prospered, so we can assume Tang Shen lived with him in a relatively comfortable life, at least from a financial point of view. However, Yoshi was still a dishonored ex-ninja, with a death mark on him, so there is a possibility both needed to live under false names - what I think takes a toll on a person's psyche due to fear and paranoia. What I assume may also be a factor why they decided to not have any child on their own.

Despite the lack of source material, there are enough scraps in Spliner’s story to think Tang Shen was pretty brave to be with Yoshi (an ex-assassin) but also mentally strong to accept how her life turned out. Like living in such a different place knowing full well that she won’t be able to come back to Japan or be a family member because of the Foot Clan. At the same time, we can’t forget that she was born and raised in Japan, decades before turtles mutated, so her native culture and social demands definitely affected her personality. The question is, how much Nagi’s assault, fleeing Japan and living with Yoshi challenged or strengthened those cultural influences on her, as a person. 

As for Oroku Nagi, Splinter described him as a competitive, insanely jealous over Tang Shen and once rejected by the woman, an aggressive person. Of course, Splinter is not an objective source, as he clearly loved his master, Hamato Yosh very much, however there is no reason to think Nagi couldn’t be ruthless and/or prone to violence. On one hand, as an assassin violence was natural to him, but losing control when rejected by a woman actually put him in a bad light. Not just in a moral way, but professionally as well (but to be honest, Yoshi too lost control over his rage when Tang Shen’s life was in danger). Did he even truly love Tang Shen or was she just a means to “score” against his rival, it is hard to determine but there is something to say how toxic was his competition with Yoshi. At the same time, I would not cross out the possibility that their competition was fueled by the clan itself. At least according to Splinter, Hamato Yoshi came out as the winner: Yoshi was the best Shadow Warrior and the one loved by Tang Shen. So there is a possibility Nagi’s jealousy was rooted more in his relationship with Yoshi than just the effect of rejected love.

Another thing that could influence Nagi’s personality is his family social position, not only within the clan but in general sense. Was he born into a powerful family, thus his self-worth fueled by the sense of entitlement? Is that why he came to Shen’s home and demanded her love, like it was something he has the right to? Alternatively, did Tang Shen’s family arrange her to marry Oroku Nagi against her wish, thus complicating the relationship between Nagi, Yoshi and her? 

However, as much as Nagi’s action toward Tang Shen paints him in a bad light, especially the physical assault toward a weaker person (no fighter as far as we know), Nagi definitely was someone important to seven years old Saki. Otherwise Shredder wouldn’t put so much effort in finding Nagi’s murderer. Like yes, the Foot Clan used Saki’s hatred for Yoshi to hunt down their ex-member, however Shredder didn’t do that for the clan's honor but for his brother’s sake alone. So I think it is safe to assume Nagi was a good older brother to little Saki, even if Shredder clung to the idolized version of him due to the great age gap between them.

At least, this is what I get from the original comics.

[theatricalfangirl]

I’m 2 episodes in to the new Avatar the Last Airbender and I’ve got some thoughts. I was cautiously optimistic about this show, and I’m still holding firm to that until I finish it.

I’m not sure how I feel about Iroh so far, I liked that he and Aang had a conversation when Zuko first captured him. I don’t know if I like how blunt he is with his nephew, he basically said “Yeah your dad doesn’t love you.” And I feel like, Iroh is supposed to be the wise old mentor and to just come right out and say that threw me off kilter.

Suki is cool if a little thirsty, I love the Kyoshi warriors costumes and makeup being so true to the original. I liked that Suki and Sokka sparred and had their cute little moments. Honestly, I can’t blame Suki for having a crush on Sokka, me too girl. I do wish they included the warriors teaching him more about their culture and educating him on why they’re “not just warriors. They’re Kyoshi warriors.”

Also! Live action Avatar Kyoshi! She was hard on Aang, but that’s exactly what I would expect of her. Lady lived 200 years as an amazing avatar only to be followed by Roku who was a C- at best and died trying to fight a volcano. Now she’s got a pacifist air bender who, unintentionally I’ll grant, abandoned the world. I’d be pissed too.

I haven’t really formed an opinion yet on Sokka, beyond I think he and Suki are cute together. He doesn’t seem as misogynistic as he was at first in the cartoon and I like that and don’t at the same time. He’s funny, but I really liked the character growth.

Katara is not my favorite right now. She’s supposed to be an angry character, she has rage, she’s emotional, she feels things deeply. She seems like they focused more on her kind, soft, “girlish” qualities than really letting her feel and act on all her feelings. I’m hoping Pakku will flip the switch and set off her feminist rage. She’s also getting waterbending really fast, I kinda like that in some ways, I feel like it’ll give us hope when she fights Pakku that she might have a chance to beat him.

Aang is a kid, and the cartoon emphasized this especially in the early seasons with his behavior. You can tell he’s a child in the Netflix show too, the size difference between him and Kyoshi makes it pretty obvious, but I feel like they could do more with it. Maybe they will, like I said, I’m not all the way through yet.

Zuko, I am living for this chaos child. Throwing a tantrum because Aang stole his diary? Iconic, I love it. Zuko as an art kid? I always saw him as a theatre kid, but I’ll accept the crossover. My boy is trying so hard, he’s consistent so far, and I think he’s my favorite.

None of what I’ve said is meant as criticism of the actors, they’re all doing amazing and even if the show isn’t the same as the original that’s okay! I know the live action will be different because they’re translating one medium to another and they HAVE to change things. These are all my opinions and you are not obligated to share them.

[gethoce]

Xandos used to be a dragon OC of mine in around 2010. Now he's a Halcandran who just really really likes dragons. He and my other Halcandran OC, Melem, are siblings.

With him I should be done with doing OC refs for a while. That is unless past versions of canon characters count as OCs, like Chiro and Lor Serjo… Oh, and technically Heiadoze's other kids should count but I don't have many plans for them yet… 

More info about Xandos under the cut.

Xandos is a halcandran battlemage who trained with the GSA of ancient Halcandra and specialised in zap magic and hand-to-hand combat. Much like his sister he dabbled into the arts of enchanting from a young age, yet he focused on armor enchantments instead of weapons. Thanks to his skills he was asked to work on Project Master Crown and immediately accepted since he knew his sister was working on the Master Sword and feared her accomplishments would overshadow his own.

His best friend, Jecra, a fellow GSA warrior, was allowed to help Xandos with his project. The Master Crown was supposed to become an artefact powerful enough to bend reality itself and was given to the leader of Halcandra's Magical Faction, Hal Photron Lor Serjo. While working with Soul Magic Jecra's soul corrupted and he went missing. Xandos still misses him dearly and had trouble living his life without him for a while.

When asked about Jecra's whereabouts Xandos would simply claim he didn't know where he was, which is technically true, yet he would never mention the soul corruption. He deeply regretted working on the Master Crown ever since and part of him wished he would have had the courage to do something about its corruptive nature like Melem did with the Master Sword and bind his consciousness to it to protect it.

After Galacta Knight was sealed away Xandos not only feared those he used to work for, but also that they'd wish to obtain the Master Sword. He was certain the situation on Halcandra was about to escalate, so he went to the GSA and suggested a plan to evacuate Halcandra, which was seemingly widely rejected.

Xandos then decided to leave on his own, but not without the sword that is his sister. He snuck into the place it was located in at night and attempted to silently steal it away from its new owner, the little puffball Chiro. Much to Xandos' surprise Chiro was not only holding onto the sword in their sleep but wouldn't let go of it no matter how hard he tried once awake. Fearing that their ruckus would wake up the people who looked after the puffball he decided to silently take the sword along with Chiro.

With his soul magic Xandos opened a portal through time to escape any potential pursuers indefinitely. Once he arrived in the future he discovered that Halcandra was in ruins. Promptly he left the planet to hide away far from home. He moved to a planet known as Silverstar which is famous for its thick fog, a perfect place for mysterious misfits to hide away from society.

He raised Chiro without ever telling them about their past. They've had their ups and downs but ultimately care for one another. Xandos created a Dimensional Cape for Chiro's comfort using his enchanting skills once their wings grew in. At first they hated it, but they soon began to appreciate everything it does and represents.

Xandos agreed to give up on the Master Sword once Chiro became a skilled enough sword fighter. They separated ways and Chiro began to go by a different name and pronouns. Sometimes the two still meet, yet the instances become more and more infrequent over time.

[rotzaprachim]

12, 17, and 18 for the asks!

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

uhhh... no one in my particular circle of people with Taste, but Jyn. not even in terms of immediate fandom disk horse, but that in the wider-off tumblr star wars cultural reception, I think that even if rogue one is remembered as that That Time SW managed to Make Another Film That Was Good, the individual characters have been kind of... swallowed up. and that's why i love her. she's such a fucking mess. she's kind of petty and mean but in the space of things feels really human and fragile and somewhere outside the sw Strong Female Character Warrior Queen thing. her introduction scene as an adult where she takes the fucking shovel and just starts swinging is one of my favorite things in sw.

i think the same could be said of a bunch of the individual characters in andor, who i deeply adore, especially cinta, vel, bix, and kleya. not that they're unpopular in the I Hate These Women Way fandom sometimes does but that you just don't really see much... about them. (i do wish things about bix's writing were different, but i am fascinated by her as a CHARACTER and the fact that not only was she part of the extremely nascent rebellion before cassian, before almost everyone we know, if you draw the lines she's probably REALLY central to the axis circuit which is.. fascinating. like because she has no reason to tell Anyone the Truth of her secret dealings, we actually know extremely little about her, and that fascinates me. also she's this woman stuck in a small town she's tied into the fabric of and that's this source of complex ennui and pain i really love seeing in genre fiction and would love to root around in some more.)

vel and cinta... HELLO... vel and cinta.... cinta and vel... my brain is always thinking about them. just a lil.

also! i think leida mothma is second only to dark vader in greatest villains of the star wars universe. she's annoying as hell and she's this generational ticking time bomb about what happens when the kids born into the empire swallow it, when they /aren't/ leia organa.

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

instead of twitter misogyny i would like to see jyn/bix also jyn/bix/cassian. nothing will save us but bi threesomes.

AU's where cassian drove the van for the aldhani rock group's cringe death metal band (or, if we're placing SW into the 1970's, the aldhani group's 60's scottish folk band.)

honestly extremely attached to any kind of thing where jyn and cassian have a deep connection to each other that isn't laterally a hallmark greeting card. like i actually really find the extremely close FWB vibe with them during the rebellion era to be tremendously interesting, and i don't think fandom does enough with the whole fact that maybe a 70's space-futuristic leftist army /might/ not have the same ideas around social organisation and intimacy as a a netflix rom com OMG ARE YOU GUYS LIKE TOGETHER TOGETHER???? (like i'm sure the goss on echo base was insane but i'm also not sure it might have been That.)

Anything which recognises the Real Fact that Rogue One AU's should be set in the 1970's and everyone should be wearing 70's fashions and there should be way more oblique mentions of bellbottoms and paisley. except arguably andor might be set in the 60's. in which case they should be wearing 60's fashions.

This might be summoning snakes into my house but... you know all the stuff i said about kidfic aus? turns out what i really dislike are bad kidfic aus! because they thing is is that i think jyn and cassian's narratives are profoundly focused on the question of What It Is to be Someone's Child, and sw in general is really interested in the questions about what it is to be someone's parent and someoen's child in extremity (how well they carry this out ESPECIALLy with women is debatable) and there's a lot of room to do some seriously interesting character study work and post-war How Do We Break These Cycles work if it's something aside from the kind of bioessentialist hey guys woman's purpose Fulfilled because she's had biological children/ narrative OR the you can tell how Healed jyn and cassian are and how Over the War is cause they have two (2) biological children in space!suburbia called lyra and galen scenario, which proliferates in fandom. basically what i'm saying is there's no weird indie movie about rey climbing into cassian's car at the Jack-Q service station to steal his potato chips and him being like WHOSE KID IS THIS i have to RETURN you so this isn't KIDNAPPING [terrible flashbacks] and rey being like nooo mister and then they go on a loopy roadtrip to find her parents when of course the answer is in the journey. also nobody's written the scenario of Ye Classic Space!Road Trip to The Beach and the kids in the back seat are like BISCUIT BARON BISCUIT BARON and cassian is squinting over the top of the steering wheel because he thinks he missed the turnoff and pulling ye old Hay Comida En La Casaaaaa but Jyn's just like actually every single Biscuit Baron in the galaxy is closed, just for today, and the only thing they sell is black coffee.

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

not to be like people would Care if they were white men BUT the amount of press and buzz and fics there would be if velcinta were white men like literally shut up about white war criminal superhero x white war criminal superhero when there's antifascist lesbian guerillas shooting fascists AND wearing twee hats in the highlands while they feed sheep in their lil space!scottish brokeback moutain moments. i think they're slept on as individual characters and as a ship especially when Cinta is one of the only women of color in the modern star wars and vel's story is on some level literally about queerness, being a queer woman in a conservative society (always hiding, always changing.)

jyn and cassian's matching magical girl anime moment soulmate chrystal kyber necklaces

still boggling over the fact that cassian and jyn's Rebellion Kidnappers/Dads canonically are people with History, c'mon guys, there's an infinite amount of stuff to do with saw and luthen accidentally setting their kidnapping victims/adoptees/proteges up together. (also i'm just extremely fascinated by saw and luthen as characters, up there with Guys Fandom Sleeps on.)

[rooftopvibes]

🎃Books i read in October🎃

Madeline Miller / The song of Achilles 🏹

(368 pages)

Greek myth and queer love. Patroclus gets exiled from his kingdom, meets Achilles, develops feelings and their relationship grows stronger. War starts, Achilles the great warrior wants to fight, wants to be famous and remembered so Patroclus joins him. There is also stuff going on with Achilles mother (a god, complicated relationship), other greek gods and so on. The novel is written in Patroclus point of view.

I read the book in english (2nd language) and found it difficult to read at times especially at the beginning i didn’t know what was going on. After some time i got into it and it was easier to understand but it definitely took me some pages. The novel has beautiful paragraphs and is well written but i can’t say that i love it. If it wouldn’t have been for the queer love story, I wouldn’t have even read it so I was kinda disappointed that it was more about war and the queer love story wasn’t a big part of the book, you barley get to read about Patroclus and Achilles conversations, most part is about how Patroclus is obsessed with Achilles because of his blonde hair and his beautiful body. Some scenes were kind of unnecessary in my opinion since they didn’t add much to the story like the stuff Patroclus had going on with the women. There were chapters i liked more, the beginning i liked the most also the part where they are with Chiron but when the war was starting, that wasn’t too interesting for me. Also I wished to get more information or longer chapters about specific topics like Patroclus killing the boy, how Achilles and Patroclus sleep in the same room and talk, Achilles and his relationship with his mother, Patroclus and his feelings about being exiled… since these topics have a lot of potential for a good story. I feel like i didn’t get to know any of the characters well and they were only being touched on the surface. Regardless of that I totally understand that this book is loved by many.

Albert Camus / The Myth of Sisyphus ☕️

(174 pages with afterword)

In this essay Camus introduces his philosophy of the absurd. He is influenced by philosophers like Kierkegaard, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche. He writes about absurd people, to give examples of people living the absurd, like Don Juan, an actor and a conqueror. In the third part of the essay Camus writes about philosophy and literature (the absurd artist), Kirillov (a character in Dostoevsky’s novel Demons) and finally about Sisyphus, following a chapter about the absurd in Kafka‘s work, which originally had to be removed from the novel (since Kafka was a jew and it was 1942 in Paris) and was meant to be there instead of the chapter about Kirillov (I‘m very glad that he included both!!)

Since it’s an essay it obviously isn’t read like a novel and I don’t read many essays so at times it was kind of difficult but I would say that it’s still a work that is relatively easy to understand in comparison. It only has 174 pages but i couldn’t read the book as fast as I would read a novel since you may want to reread certain paragraphs and you need to be focused to understand. It was my 2nd time reading this. The first time I read it 1,5 years ago. This time I feel like i understand it way better since I read more works that are being talked about. Still I think this is an essay you can never read enough times because you‘ll always come to new conclusions also with life experience and as you grow older, you‘ll have a different perspective on life, this means you‘ll also read this book in a different way and be able to understand it from another perspective. I found the first chapters more difficult to read than the later ones. My favorite chapters were the one about Kirillov, Kafka, and the one about the absurd artists. I found it very interesting since I make art and it made me question my work. Overall i find this essay so interesting and think about it a lot, it changes my perspective about suicide and life. The Myth of Sisyphus is truly a masterpiece and always a pleasure to read.

Franz Kafka / Der Verschollene (Amerika Roman) 💼

(320 pages)

What the novel is about: 16 year old Karl gets sent to america by his parents because the maid got pregnant by him (which seems not content and brutal). Surprisingly he meets his uncle on the ship to america (which was the funniest part of the book, it was so random). So he gets to stay at his uncles house but only for a short period of time because his uncle also throws him out of the house since he met with a friend and stayed there overnight which was absolute horror and the house gave me Dracula vibes. So now he meets two people in the hotel he‘s staying at, they are also looking for a job and invite him to come with them. He joins, he gets betrayed, he leaves his „friends“ to work at a hotel, he was getting food at. A lot of drama is also happening there, he gets fired. He meets his friends again and is a maid (slave) for the wife of one of his friends where he’s staying and sleeping on the balcony. The novel ends with Karl fining a job at a circus and an additional chapter about how he was brining Brunelda (the friend’s wife) to some man, basically „freeing“ her.

Unfortunately the novel remained unfinished so the end is kind of a mystery to me and i really wonder what is meant to happen. Kafka has this talent to not make me question anything while reading the novel and viewing the things that happen as „normal“ so after i looked through the phrases i underlined and reread some paragraphs I was so sad about the amount of abuse and sadness there is. I just love how the characters don’t have a reaction when something bad happens and are just like hm okay this is how things are and never question anything so it kind of leads the reader in this direction too. Somehow Karl was the only one who realized how messed up things are and stood up for himself but at the end of the novel it seems a little bit like he lost that energy but i might be wrong. It’s the typical thing you read in Kafka’s work: the hierarchy, the no escape which was not only a feeling but also a moment where Karl literally couldn’t escape from Brunelda’s room. Karl always gets rejected and betrayed it’s heartbreaking. To me the novel also screamed pleasing your parents/people. It also has fragments of Kafka‘s relationship with his parents since his father was not proud of him and scared him. I really see why Kafka makes the parents send Karl away even though it seems like he was abused. It’s just brutal. The rooms/locations that are being described make me claustrophobic, sometimes i even have to take a break from reading because i can feel like tight floors, full rooms and breath the bad air. There is so much to say about this novel. I could write a whole essay about it.

E.T.A Hoffmann / Der Sandmann | Fräulein Scuderi ⚗️

(47 | 77 pages)

I have a hard time summarizing these two short stories since so much happens. They both revolve around mysterious topics, and you always get the sense of this atmosphere. The sandman (engl. title) is about Nathanael, telling his brother about his childhood memory of Coppelius/the sandman who visits his father to they do alchemistic experiments. Coppelius appears as a mysterious scary figure. Later on he believes to see Coppelius again and he drives him insane.

Mademoiselle de Scuderi (engl. title) is taking part Paris. The city is in fear by thieves that steal jewelry and murder their victims. Lately there were also many attempts to poison people. Scuderi meets one who is believed to be a part of the group of thieves, but she believes in his innocence. He tells her the whole truth at the end.

I had to read the sandman some years ago for school and I just remember it making me feel scared and also disturbed. Now years later I still remembered what will happen so it didn’t surprise me too much when i read it again but still it didn’t lose it’s mysterious atmosphere and i loved how the sandman was being described. I think the story is up to date even though it was written in the 18th century. Especially that part when Nathanael falls in love with this pupped made me think of today and how we now have AI and things like this and this is something that can happen in the future.

I was really tired when I read Mademoiselle de Scuderi so i was slightly confused because there were so many characters in very few pages. I again liked the atmosphere a lot.

If you like Kafka, you will also like E.T.A Hoffmann. I read some articles about both of them and how they create a similar kind of atmosphere and I also saw the similarities.

Stefan Zweig / Schachnovelle ♟️

(75 pages)

The royal game/Chess story (engl. title) is Zweig‘s last and most famous novella. Here we also have an anonymous narrator like in his other novel „Amok“. The story takes part on a ship. One of the passengers is the world’s best chess player. Through this passenger the narrator meets another person Dr.B who happens to watch them play chess and interferes. He was imprisoned by the Gestapo and punished with the treatment of nothingness. He lived in a hotel room with no one to talk to and nothing to do. One day while he was waiting in a room to get interrogated, he was able to steal a book about chess. After getting bored by the book he played chess against himself and lost his mind as you can imagine. He ends up in a hospital and didn’t have to be imprisoned again. So he sees these people on the ship playing chess and they want him to play against the champion which he agrees to. The doctors told him to avoid chess since he could get ill again, but still he plays another game and he starts to get ill again.

It surprises me that this is Zweig‘s most famous works since i liked his other works more. But i can understand because it is a great work and historically relevant too. It amazes me how you can see deeply into the mind of Dr.B and have such a clear picture of how he suffered in his hotel room. Him going insane is a totally understandable process and it was like i felt his emotions and i knew what he was talking about since i had times where i played card games or thinking games and they really did something with my mind so i feel like it wasn’t only because he split into two different personalities (black and white chess players) but also because of the game itself. I also found this form of punishment interesting since it is something that is very likely to drive you insane so Dr.B thought he found something to save him, it ended up driving him insane but also saved him in a way since he could escape. Another thing that I love is this anonymous narrator and how Dr.B tells him about his life because I feel like it’s important that the narrator is anonymous, otherwise he would‘ve been more districted especially if someone already has an opinion about you. So this is really freeing and the whole atmosphere of being on a ship and confessing your life story in some kind of way is very freeing. Overall it’s an amazing book and I would recommend it to everyone since it’s only 75 pages and you can read it in one day.

[zealouscanonindeer]

12. Hell Hath no fury

Series Masterlist

Emily Cartwright:

"You're a beautiful woman, Mrs Baker," the words oozed out of Timothy Fairfax's mouth, perverted into something grotesque in my ears, "You look so… pristine. Untouched. Virginal."

Virginal? What did he mean?

"It's no business of yours, Fairfax," I growled in the sort of tone that generally made even the dimmest of my would-be suitors pause. However, Fairfax was lost in his own musings.

"You remind me so much of Cordelia when we were first wed, just over eighteen years ago."

He glanced vaguely at Alexander as though regarding a nearby stranger who has just passed gas.

"Ever since then, I've been trying to find that purity again, like a man who sees the first snowfall of his life and then despairs to see it churned up and dirtied underfoot."

He suddenly focused on me again, a frightening spark of madness in his eye.

"A woman touched is a woman spoiled. Alexander knows that – so he tries to spoil as many women as he can before I can find them."

The spark had become a hungry flame, and I backed away from him, even as he advanced on me like a predatory cat.

"Clarissa," he purred as if he had any right to such familiarity, and then forced his mouth onto mine, as he pinned me to the wall.

My emotions fled. Fear, despair, revulsion, all gone, along with, for the moment, conscious thought. As I felt his hands on me, the thing that had chased them all out of my brain reared its head. To call it merely anger would have done it a severe disservice. History, legend, nature – all these are peppered with female warriors. Boadicea of the Celts. Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. A she-cat defending her kittens from a bear. It seemed as though all these and more lent me a portion of themselves. No, I was not angry. I was furious – enraged! - and every fibre of my soul seemed to burn with a seething white-hot flame. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, so spake Shakespeare – and Timothy Fairfax was about to taste mine! I bit down hard on his lower lip, bit until I tasted blood, and kept biting until I was certain I'd nearly bitten his lip off. He howled in surprise and pain and tore himself away, not quite escaping as my balled left fist collided satisfyingly with his nose, followed shortly by the fingernails of my other hand clawing at his eyes.

Of the cousins who had shared my girlhood, the oldest – Benjamin to absolutely everyone else from the day he turned eighteen but always Benjy to me – had taught me how to fight, schooling me carefully in the fine art of hurting the other chap as much as possible before one was pulled off one's adversary and dragged home for supper and a good scolding. Of course, due to the voluminous petticoats required by feminine fashion, I could not with any great efficiency get my knee up into what Benjy delicately called a man's "anatomy". However, the same fashion laws that had cursed me with petticoats also blessed me with an alternate weapon.

While Fairfax tried to get his equilibrium after my barrage, I reached up to my hair, to the single pin with which Cordelia – poor Cordelia, if she had to deal with this man for eighteen years! – had artfully secured my coiffure, and drew it out. Of course, "pin" seems an overly dainty word for what generally amounted to a very thin ladies' dagger. The hatpins used by fashionable ladies tended to measure in the vicinity of six inches long, with the "social" end decorated with beads and jewels to go with one's outfit. It was a weapon that had served me well in the past, and now as Fairfax advanced upon me, intent upon his planned mayhem, I held it low and prepared to give him something to consider if in the future he wished to try anything like this again.

Sherlock Holmes:

I was halfway back to the house when I heard a ghastly scream. It was strangely distorted, quite unlike any scream I'd heard before, and it was oddly shrill. I cursed myself for another oversight and made haste through the snow, not even taking the time to remove my snow-covered boots as I followed the sounds of mayhem downstairs, reaching the corridor in time to hear another thin, strangled shriek, cut off by the sound of a piece of furniture breaking.

I burst through the door and saw Alexander Fairfax, face badly bruised as though beaten with a one-handed attack, holding half a chair, Timothy Fairfax curled insensible on the floor amid a scattering of wood fragments, and Emily Cartwright, her hair loose about her shoulders, the neckline and one sleeve of her dress torn, her face white but for two spots of colour on her cheeks, blood on her mouth, and bosom heaving as she tried to regain her breath. She clutched something in her left hand which I gathered to be the erstwhile fastening for her hair. As I watched, her face – which was initially distorted with outrage – relaxed into relief. Her mouth trembled as though she wished to say something and her eyes glistened with impending tears, but in the end she did neither. It appeared that the constrictions imposed by her corset were not conducive to sustained aerobics such as might be found in fighting off an attacker. It was likely a small miracle that I was able to catch her as her knees buckled, and – with a glance at Alexander and a nod in reply – lay her on the lad's bed.

"She fought like a right fury, Mr Baker," Alexander volunteered, still clutching the broken chair like a drowning man might clutch a piece of driftwood, "Father tried to do something awful to her but she wasn't having any of that." He looked apologetic. "I didn't think to do anything until just before she stabbed him in the… the… well, manly bits. With a bloody long hairpin. You married a real spitfire, sir. You better treat her right – if only for your own good." He offered me a wan smile, showing me the source of the tooth I'd found in the bedroom.

I was about to instruct Alexander to gather together the other players in this drama when Mrs Fairfax, apparently alerted by the same sounds that brought me, appeared in the doorway. He looked very small as she glanced down at her fallen husband, then over at the bed where lay Emily. From the look on her face, she had already figured out what had happened – which did little to make the scene any less shocking.

"Master Fairfax," I said levelly, "go and fetch the others in here at once. On your way, kindly bring back a small quantity of brandy for your mother to settle her nerves." He hared away. I turned to Mrs Fairfax. "Madam, this young lady has fainted." I did not need to mention the whys and wherefores. "Would you be kind enough to aid me in reviving her?"

She looked baffled for a moment. "You need to loosen her clothing, Mr Baker. Especially the corset, just a bit." Oh, God – not that again! "This happens sometimes, when a lady gets over… overexcited." She faltered momentarily, but recovered admirably. "Didn't you know that? You're her husband after all."

"A medical friend of mine has in the past advised me of such, but I possess neither the knowledge nor any right to do so." I forestalled her question with an upraised hand. "I shall explain all in a moment. In the meantime, would you please aid her? Ah – here comes young Master Fairfax and the rest. Madam, I suggest you take a few sips of that. Good." I turned to the rest of those assembled and cleared my throat."My name is Sherlock Holmes," I commenced, "I see some of you know the name. I was called in to investigate reports of a Ghost haunting this establishment, and as you can see, I – and my assistant on the bed yonder – have found him. Or, more to the point, we have discovered the Ghost and the reason for his haunting." I glanced in Emily's direction and saw her beginning to recover, her clothing, ahem, duly loosened to allow her to breathe, with Mrs Fairfax still at her side to ensure that she was okay and also, to some degree I expect, to preserve Emily's modesty from any other eyes. I turned back swiftly to my audience. "Miss Emily Cartwright's bravery ensured that the Ghost was unmasked, along with, I expect, the true danger lurking in this house." I glanced over again and saw Emily's dress now firmly buttoned up (though of course the problem with the neckline could not be helped.) "I shall allow her to tell her tale." She glanced up at me, met my eyes, and smiled briefly at the honour I had conferred upon her.

Emily Cartwright:

What a sweet, arrogant git he could be! I couldn't help but smile all the same – he must have heard the commotion and leapt with the intent of aiding me, to judge by the fact that he hadn't even shed his snow-covered boots.

I stood, declining Cordelia's helping hands, and stood beside Holmes as I prepared to relate the extensive timeline I'd pieced together from my own observations and from conferring with Holmes(making sure my voice projected enough to reach even Mr Hammond's ears).

"I am about to relate a rather sordid tale in mixed company, covering some rather touchy topics. Some of it is merely conjecture – don't look at me like that, Holmes – but all of it is based upon what Holmes and I found, what Alexander Fairfax told me of what he knew, and Mr Fairfax's own words to me shortly before I had to defend my honour from him, with the results you see lying on the floor. This whole mess probably started not long after Alexander's birth it seems. As Mrs Fairfax's condition grew obvious, Mr Fairfax lost any husbandly desire for her and apparently reached his conclusions about the innate beauty of 'untouched' and ...virginal women. " I quoted Mr Fairfax's exact words.

I saw Holmes' expression shift, very subtly, through a number of possible results, one of which may have been mild discomfort, before resuming its original state of studious neutrality.

"It is not unreasonable to assume that Mr Fairfax pursued his newfound 'hobby' at every opportunity. Clearly his desire for 'untouched' women is strong enough to override any checks imposed by social mores. His son Alexander related to me his own observations of his father's attitude towards likely-looking women in town – probably when he was purchasing his gardening supplies for his work here – while at the same time maintaining a façade of a happy marriage. It must have been quite a coup for him, then, when the Hammonds decided to rent out the spare room to guests… especially given that most of their guests were newly-wed couples. He had ready access to the women he so desired, without having to hunt for them.

"But then how to make sure that he was not caught? Holmes found a book in the study on various medicinal plants and herbs – including a particular plant from which can be made a rather effective soporific and muscle relaxant. He would slip some of this drug into the coffee in the evening and everyone would sleep like the dead, unable to fight him off."

Holmes broke into my narrative at this point. "He kept the tools of his 'hobby' as Miss Cartwright called it in the hothouse, where I found them while I went for my walk. Clearly nobody else ever went in there; otherwise he would have concealed the evidence better."

"But Mr Fairfax is not, strictly speaking, your Ghost," I said, gently regaining control, "You see, Alexander followed his father on one of Fairfax's nocturnal visits and saw what he was doing. Alexander told me that when he discovered how far his father had sunk, he had to do something to defend future guests from future attacks. He couldn't be certain if anyone would believe him if he told them what he'd witnessed. The Ghost was born. His aim in this was hopefully to wake the women before his father arrived, or at least to make them seem 'spoiled' in his father's eyes. His intentions were pure, at least, even if the means were frightening. In the end, however, Holmes and I have concluded that Mr Fairfax is the man who should be arrested in this whole plot, not Alexander. The beating I gave Alexander last night when he visited will be penance enough, in my opinion."

In the end, of course, the police were called (and arrived while faithful Cordelia had patched up her mongrel of a husband) to take Mr Fairfax away.

Holmes put in a good word for Alexander, whose only crime was to be the son of someone like Fairfax, and the lad was questioned about his role and ultimately released with a severe warning. To expect any less would have been a pipe dream. Holmes and I gave our statements to the police, of course (though I had to give the officer a brief lesson in manners before he would listen to me), and turned over the evidence we'd uncovered (including the means of Alexander's ingress to the room). Afterwards there was nothing left for us but to pack up and go home. Holmes declined payment for his services in this instance, which didn't go over terribly well with the Hammonds, who felt obligated to give us something. They finally convinced him to take away a plant from the hothouse. He chose the valerian flower as a keepsake – how droll.

[fallenrain40]

@thearoaceshark I've seen Lilith shipped with Steve, and I thinkkk there are some who ship her with Darius. Out of all the aroace characters I think I've seen her shipped the least, but it's still very annoying and personally bothers me, especially as characters of other orientations don't appear to get this level of disrespect.

As for Mousefur, the response the author (well, one of the authors) gave on her was to a question. (side note: honestly the question was extremely ableist)

This feels as clear as it can get without directly stating "she is aroace". I have a feeling the authors just... weren't aware of what it was called. Mousefur had a close bond with Longtail but was not interested in becoming mates with anyone and never expressed the slightest interest in it either. She is somewhat a background character however so it's not like we had a whole lot to see. Still, I kind of wish this was acknowledged more by the fandom.

I also love talking about aroace characters so while I'm at it, I'm going to bring up one of my FAVORITE characters (that i can't believe i forgot to mention in my tags), from one of Erin Hunter's other book series, Survivors (its basically warrior cats but dog version). There aren't a lot of people in the fandom and tbh I just forget to engage w the fandom 90% of the time so I have been dying to talk about this character.

Storm. Now, Storm is a very OBVIOUS aroace character to me. She consistently, expresses confusion, disinterest, and slight repulsion towards the idea of having a partner. However, it is also clear to me the authors intended it to be seen more as someone who is "still too young and just wants to focus on work", but it seems more as though it was written from a view of how unaware allos SEE aroace people, without knowing they are aroace. If an allosexual alloromantic person didn't know what aroace was or that it existed, and saw a young aroace person, they likely WOULD assume said person was just "young, confused, and focused on their job". So I think Storm was unintentionally an aroace character due to being based on people that likely WERE aroace, without the writer actually being aware of that fact. I don't know if that made any sense, I hope it did lol. It's been a good minute since I read the series so I don't remember every instance perfectly, but I do remember the first thing that stood out to me was how when she stumbled upon two dogs in her pack who were cuddled up together, she was extremely confused as to why anyone would want to be that close together and seemed a bit repulsed by the idea. The second thing I remember is that she went to an older dog in the pack at some point asking something along the lines of "why would you want to stay with one dog your whole life? wouldn't that get boring?" and the older dog- Moon- laughed at her and told her something very close to "you'll understand when you are older". Which is. A very bad thing to say to an aroace person especially since STORM WAS FULL GROWN- I mean, yes she was a young adult, but that's an adult regardless. (this is another reason why the writer probably didn't knowingly write her to be aroace- if they had known, I doubt they would have made Moon act aphobic towards her... even if her being aphobic is sadly very realistic.) And of course, Storm just felt more confused afterwards becuase no, we will not ever feel differently, implying we will magically one day understand and feel attraction is so annoying. When the series ends, it's implied she will become the next leader of the pack in her future. There is no one that she ever seems to be interested in romantically at all, at any point. And the funny thing is, I don't actually know of any Storm ships. They probably exist somewhere, but I haven't engaged with the fandom enough to know for sure. Still, I have seen aroace pride art of her! So, I'll take it as a very good sign. sorry for this huge rambling jhgfhvg i also love talking about aroace characters. it also just personally bothers me a whole lot to see aroace characters getting shipped as well, becuase it makes me feel like people won't respect my identity irl as a loveless, sex-repulsed aroace.

"But aro/ace people still can date" THAT IS NOT A VALID EXCUSE, MUCH LESS IF THE CHARACTER SHOWS REPULSION TOWARDS THAT TYPE OF RELATIONSHIPS.

"But the creator said we could ship him with whoever we wanted, it won't be canon anyway" OF COURSE SHE DOESN'T BOTHER THAT YOU SHIP HIM BECAUSE 1: IT BENEFITS HER BECAUSE IT ATTRACTS SHIPS FANS. AND 2: SHE DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE COMMUNITY.

"We have not deleted the representation, it is still there, it is canon in the show. We just want to have fun, the things the fandom does do not have to be faithful to the canon and do not affect the canon" SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN. IN THE FANDOM THERE ARE PEOPLE FROM THE AROACE SPECTRUM AND IT ANNOYS US THAT WE CAN'T ENJOY A CHARACTER THAT REPRESENTS US JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN'T BELIEVE THAT YOU CAN ENJOY THE CHARACTERS WITHOUT SHIPING THEM. ALSO IF YOU CAN'T WRITE CHARACTERS OR RELATIONSHIPS THAT ARE NOT ROMANTIC/SEXUAL OR THAT ARE NOT FAITHFUL TO THE CANON THEN LET ME TELL YOU THAT YOU HAVE A VERY CLOSED MIND AND YOU'RE LACK OF IMAGINATION. THERE ARE ALSO MANY CHARACTERS THAT ARE NOT AROACE THAT YOU CAN SHIP, WHY DO YOU CHOOSE THE ONE WHO IS AROACE?!! US AROACE PEOPLA ALSO WANT TO HAVE FUN, WE ARE ALSO IN THE FANDOM, AND WE ENTERED THE FANDOM EXPECTING TO SEE THAT THEY RESPECT THE ORIENTATION OF THE CHARACTER AND REFLECT OUR OWN EXPERIENCES IN HIM, BUT WE FIND OUT THAT THEY DON'T GIVE A SHIT, AND WE FEEL BAD WHEN SEEING THAT YK. IT'S THE SAME SHIT AS MAKING A GAY CHARACTER STRIGHT.

"I'm dating someone who is ace/I'm on the aroace spectrum/I'm ace/my partner is on the aroace spectrum and in my opinion there's nothing wrong with shipping him" ...REALLY? JUST. REALLY?! LOOK AT ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME YOU'RE NOT A TROLL, BECAUSE SERIOUSLY. FOR THE ARO/ACE PEOPLE WHO ARE MAKING THESE COMMENTS LET ME TELL YOU THAT YOU LOOK LIKE THOSE HOMOPHOBIC GAY WHO INSULT THEIR OWN COMMUNITY FOR THE APPROVAL OF STRAIGHT PEOPLE.

"If they want representation so much, why don't they make their own content and their own shows with Aroace characters?" ...YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS EITHER. YOU ARE A TROLL, RIGHT? AND IF YOU'RE SERIOUS... DO YOU THINK IT'S THAT EASY TO MAKE CONTENT (BOOK/COMIC/TV SHOW/MOVIE/ETC)???

Edit:

OH AND I FORGOT THE WORST ONE, SORRY.

"Aro/ace people can also want and be in a romantic/sexual relationship, you are erasing people from your own community just because you don't want us to ship it" ...FIRST OF ALL DO YOU THINK AROACE PEOPLE WHO ARE IN THOSE RELATIONSHIPS FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH YOU USING THEM AS A CHEAP EXCUSE? YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT THOSE PEOPLE, YOU JUST CARE ABOUT YOUR DAMN SHIP, STOP USING THEM AS AN EXCUSE. AND SECOND, I THINK YOU HAVE A VERY ALTERED PERCEPTION OF REALITY, BECAUSE THE ONE WHO IS ERASING AND DISRESPECTING THE AROACE COMMUNITY IS NOT US, IT IS YOU DAMN IT.

End of the edit.

PEOPLE ON THE SPECTRUM GET VERY EXCITED WHEN WE SEE A CHARACTER THAT REPRESENTS US, AND I THINK WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO GET ANGRY IF WHEN WE ENTER THE FANDOM WE FIND THAT PEOPLE DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE ORIENTATION OF THE CHARACTER AND SHIP HIM, AND TO GET WORSE THEY GIVE US SO BAD EXCUSES OF WHY WHAT THEY ARE DOING IS PERFECTLY FINE. LOOK, DON'T YOU THINK THAT IF AN ENTIRE COMMUNITY IS UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THOSE SHIPS THEN THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG? NO? HAVE YOU NOT THOUGHT ABOUT IT? THEN YOU NEED TO CHECK YOUR HEAD TO SEE IF YOU REALLY HAVE A BRAIN!!! IT'S SEEMS YOU HAVE IT OFF BECAUSE IT IS NOT WORKING.

AND YES I'M TALKING ABOUT HAZBIN HOTEL AND ALASTOR BUT THIS ALSO HAPPENS WITH MANY OTHER AROACE CHARACTERS (UNFORTUNATELY). AND IT'S SO FRUSTRATING. DO YOU SERIOUSLY THINK THAT REPRESENTATION HAS TO BE JUST THE CANON OF THE SHOW? DON'T YOU THINK THAT AS A FANDOM YOU SHOULD MAKE THE PEOPLE OF THE COMMUNITY WHO ARE IN THE FANDOM FEEL COMFORTABLE BY RESPECTING THEIR ORIENTATION AND MAKING FANFIC AND FANARTS ETC THAT REPRESENT THE CHARACTER AND HIS IDENTITY?

(AND THOSE OTHER CHARACTERS I MENTIONED ARE NOT CANONICALLY AROACE, BUT THEY ARE EVIDENTLY CHARACTERIZED AS SUCH, BUT THE FANDOM MAKES THE EXCUSE THAT "THEIR ORIENTATION IS STILL NOT CANON" TO SHIP THEM EVEN THOUGH IT IS EVIDENT THAT THEY ARE AROACE AND THEY REPUDIATE SEX AND LOVE. AND NOW THAT WE HAVE A CHARACTER CHARACTERIZED AS AROACE WHO IS CANONICALLY AROACE AND SHOWS REPUDION TOWARDS SEX, THEY CONTINUE LOOKING FOR EXCUSES. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL?! IS IT SO DIFFICULT TO RESPECT THE AROACE COMMUNITY??? )

[unicyclehippo]

how about 'horns' for supercorp?

she stands in the doorway. kara really doesn't know how to linger or lean or drape herself over furniture the way seduction often requires so it's fortunate for her that the mere sight of her standing there, graceless, solid, strong, is more than enough to have lena's knees buckling.

'what do you think?'

lena licks her lips. 'ah. lovely. what context?'

kara frowns. 'halloween?' she says, like it should be obvious. like she didn't just open her bedroom door standing in a red leather corset and matching pants. and horns. like she hadn't obviously been waiting for lena to arrive to do so.

lena makes a small sound. she hopes it sounds like understanding. she's been so fucking good for her whole and if there is anything like karma, like good deals in her cosmic bank, she is cashing in every one of those gold coins now - whether the coins are going to the get my brain in gear check or the let her stay in this for another hour, she isn't sure. kara's words click in her head and the confusion fades, along with a vain hope she's been harbouring.

'the devil? for halloween?' she holds up a hand to stall. this is kara. she never does anything without research. 'which devil?'

'liz hurley. bedazzled. duh.'

'you think you're liz hurley from bedazzled?' lena laughs. it's not meant to be unkind but she has to backpedal quickly when kara's expression drops. 'darling, i just mean - if you are anyone, you're - oh, what's his face.'

'brendan fraser.'

'sure.'

kara frowns. 'i want to be liz hurley. i was rick o'connell -'

'who?'

'his character from the mummy. i went as him two years ago. if i go as another of his characters, alex will make fun of me.' she braces her stance, folds her arms over her chest. a formidable frown settles across her brow, undercut somewhat by the fact that lena is trying so hard not to look at her chest that she barely sees the frown.

'alex always makes fun of you,' lena says.

kara clicks her tongue, throws up her hands. 'that's not the point! why can't i be this?' she gestures at herself again. lena focuses on the costume obediently. for a very long moment. 'lena?'

'hm?'

'it doesn't suit me, does it?' kara's shoulders droop.

'i didn't say that.'

'you're not saying it does suit me. and you're usually pretty up front about that stuff.' with a pretty pout, kara pulls the horns off her head, tosses them behind her. winces when something crashes to the floor. 'i look stupid, huh?'

'kara, no, you don't look stupid. you look...' lena bites her lip. 'different.'

'okay, i took highschool art, i know that different is just nice talk for bad.'

lena laughs. 'you don't! you don't at all, you look gorgeous,' she insists, because of course she does the very second she's not thinking about keeping it in.

kara's expression softens from where it is somewhere between uncomfortable and upset. 'you think?'

'always. and in a corset?' lena raises a brow. rakes her gaze over kara's chest and fans herself dramatically. smiles when the gesture makes kara laugh. she wishes she were a little braver, that she could convince kara that she looks - good, very good - in a way she couldn't dismiss as a joke. 'you're hot, kara, if you want to go as liz hurley's bedazzled devil then you should.'

'but?'

'but heels hurt if you wear them longer than ten minutes and leather gets hot.'

kara smiles because lena's tone is joking but her eyes are curious. 'i've worn heels before and i don't really get hot. which you know. what's the real reason?'

lena purses her lips. 'i don't mean this unkindly.' kara braces for it like a superhero, all unfairly broad shoulders and square jaw. 'you're not what i would call...seductive.'

something flashes across kara's face, too fast to pin down.

lena hurries on in case it was hurt. 'it's not a bad thing! it's just that you spend half your life trying to go unnoticed and the other half as a -' she struggles with finding the right word because warrior is true and so is good but warrior forgets that she has to be unnoticed as supergirl too, not too strong, not too frightening, not too other and good makes it sound like seduction is wrong and it isn't, it just isn't one of the tools that kara or supergirl make good use of, and so she settles on '- paragon for the city, for all of the city, and i've yet to see you talk down an enemy through flirtation,' she jokes.

kara doesn't laugh. her hands drop to her hips, one finger alternating between tapping against one of the knotted laces and stroking it, fidgety in the way she gets when she's thinking hard.

'oh,' she says finally. 'okay.'

'you're disappointed.'

'a little.' kara lifts a hand, brushes back strands of hair. the muscles of her arm bunch, the truly golden skin that covers her - all of her? - ripples.

lena's mouth goes abruptly, utterly dry. why on earth would kara need to learn seduction? why did she say any of this?

'lena?'

'hm?'

'you're good at it,' kara says, face open and earnest.

'me?' lena smiles. drops her handbag - finally - onto kara's couch and, with all the languid grace kara lacks, sits on the arm of the couch. one heeled foot drags against the smooth curve of her calf. one hand braces against the back of the couch, pushes up her own chest - not that she can compete with a corset but it's the purposefulness of the action that counts in this case. 'i don't know what you mean.'

red-faced is a good look on kara. even when she's already dressed head to toe in red.

'right, of course you don't,' she drawls. actually drawls in that midvale accent that only comes out now and again. 'will you teach me?'

her heel drops to the floor. she kicks off the second one, pretending it was on purpose.

'pardon?'

'well, i've already got the outfit and winn is going as elliott -'

'is he now.'

'- and it's only a week away which really isn't enough time to get new costumes.' kara hurries out of the doorway and stops in front of lena, stoops to collect the hand on her knee. she holds it, hands so warm, eyes so warm, boobs so propped up and obvious and right there in front of lena's face. 'please, lena, you can help me learn how to be all -' she pops her hip out to the side in a bad imitation of lena's boardroom stance and lena can't help but smirk. kara grins down at her. 'please?'

she collects herself. she collects her hand, pulls it back; she collects her eyes, removes them from kara's chest. she sighs as though she is a very put-upon good friend who has only a little time to spare and hopes that kara never finds out that the goodness of her heart has nothing at all to do with this. there are only two ways this turns out. one - kara can't learn how to be seductive and decides last minute not to go as the bedazzled devil and she pouts through halloween. two - kara learns how to be seductive the same way she learns everything else - extremely quickly and effectively - and lena never knows peace again. either way, she's doomed.

[eyelessdoll-y]

Special Thanks of 2021!!

Waaa 2021 finally end, and here comes the beginning of another year, a new cycle!! ❤️❤️💗💗 And even after we go through a lot hard things like the good indomible warriors that we are, I venture to say that more good things have happened too!!

I will not forget the new friendships I have built this year, the new colleagues I have met and the kindness of all to me this year! Everyone is so sweet and understanding!! 💗❤️❤️

I will not tagg because the real ones I know who they are, they also know very well❤️❤️ Besides that, thanks are focused for everyone! I wish all the best for everyone!!❤️💓💓

What about the 500 followers!!

Thank you all so much!! This year— I never thought I'd get to this number!! From the full anonymity in 2020, to all this number of people... I don't even know what to say😭😭 I mean, just wanted to draw your ocs and publish rotten memes, I really didn't realize i'd make so many friends there😭❤️❤️❤️

Everyone are precious to me, each drawing I made for each of you is and will always be kept in my heart 💞💕💖 Without a shadow of a doubt, my biggest source of motivation to expose the art that I so hid started here!! If I ever reach my goals and objectives, I will give special thanks to each of you!

Now the special!!!

💝 In celebration of the end of the year and the +500 followers, I will leave my ask box open for requests for drawings! 💝 Yes!!! As in the old days!!

I know it's always been open, but now you can ask me to draw whatever you want!!

However, I'll let you know in advance that I won't accept oc or nsfw requests, okay??

Again, thank yall very very much for everything!! I thank you from my heart my beloved ones!!!

[memecucker]

idk if you've already talked about this but what do you think of the idea of cultural appropriation when it comes to closed practices? like when white people wanna wear war bonnets or claim they're doing voodoo

So the issue here isn’t “cultural appropriation” as people use the term but rather respect of particular practices. For example war bonnets have been given to non-Natives as formal gifts from, during WW2 the Indian Confederation of America voted to gift war bonnets to Joseh Stalin as well as Dwight Eisenhower and Douglas Macarthur. The NY Times article in particular is interesting because it talks about how it was a Mohawk war bonnet that was in the possession of a Mohawk chief named Fallen Trees and that it was originally planned to be given to Major Gen. Alexander Repin who was in charge of the Soviet military mission to the US and it was felt that since obviously Stalin couldn’t accept it in person another man who was himself a war leader could accept in his place. However Repin had to abruptly return to the Soviet Union and the Indian Confederation of America did not wish to hand it off to a subordinate officer because only another leader of warriors should accept in in place of the ultimate recipient so instead they modified the ceremony and handed it to the civilian Edward Carter of the Russian War Relief charity group and presented not as Carter “accepting” it but rather being tasked with the role of a “messenger” who would deliver it to Stalin (rather than if Repin was still in the US in which case he’d accept for Stalin in abstenstia with a ceremony looking more like the ones for American generals rather than a more low-key handoff). The reason I focused on that for a bit is that it shows how the ICA wasn’t just some random group that handed out war bonnets to random famous people as favors but was an organization of native people that took these cultural traditions very seriously and specifically the act of gifting it to an outsider was part of it and came with its own set of rules.

If your intent is to be respectful of other cultural practices then this involves understanding the rules, not making up and blankety applying them which is what contemporary CA discourse does. My issue with the way “closed cultural practice” (and especially “closed culture”) is often used is that it’s assumed it’s only a “do not touch” sign like in a museum when in fact there are particular rules and traditions and oftentimes competing ones. So in the above example the war bonnets were given to non-natives but after a process of deliberation and decision by a group representing various tribes from the northeast. This is important because CA discourse has a habit of focusing on the what’s styled as the “transgressors” and I remember weird articles with titles like “How To Know If Your Comitting Cultural Appropriation” which tends to focus on the “intent” of the (implicitly white) reader rather than understanding the particular rules that go into a culture because it puts all the “rules” on the outsider and doesn’t emphasize that if your intent is to respect traditional customs then you learn what the traditional rules for the custom in question is (thus you get kimono and henna discourse which have never had any kind of rule about outsider wearing but people wanna distract you from that).

Another example i often use for this sorta question is Whang-od of the Butbut tribe of the Kalinga people and the last surviving master of traditional indigenous Kalinga tattooing. Traditionally the tattoos have been reserved for members of the same tribe (not simply “reserved for other Kalinga” as ive seen some people say, or even worse “reserved for other Filipinos”). The reason for this closed practice wasn’t “just because” but because of the particular meanings conveyed by the tattoos. Tattoos whose art designs are intended to represent ones ancestry in the tribe don’t make sense for outsiders to have because designs signify lines of ancestry within the tribe so if you aren’t descended from the tattoo artists tribe those don’t make sense to have. A large eagle tattoo was among most prestigious tattoos only to be given a brave warrior of the tribe who killed and decapitated an enemy and Whang-od not only doesn’t do that for outsiders but no one because she believes the design is reserved specifically for warriors who either participated in or defended the tribe from head-hunting raids rather than a general idea of a brave soldier but the traditional Kalinga practice of headhunting ended decades ago (IIRC the last confirmed headhuntting raid was in the 1970s) and thus the meaning the tattoo conveys has fallen into disuse and thus it is no longer to be given. However Whang-od did open up other designs to people not of the Butbut tribe if they’re willing to make the long difficult trek to her village and undergo the long and painful process of traditional tattooing. The designs she uses with outsiders aren’t things that relate to being a member of her tribe but rather other designs that convey a magical meaning. So for example a tattoo that’s meant the bless the bearer with fertility/virility or to ward off evil spirits.

So are these “closed” or “open” practices? I think that’s a bad framework to approach the issue from the outset. It tries to encourage respect but without encouraging learning first.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Constellations

Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1250

Warnings: Smut. Incredibly fluffy smut. 

A/N: For @deanwanddamons​ 2K Challenge! My quote was “I want to play a game.” Thanks so much for letting me join in on this, and congrats! 

Her fingers graze his skin, trailing up his shoulder blades, skating over the knobs of his spine, and Dean smiles into the pillow.  

“What’s the game today?” he asks sleepily. There’s no rhyme or reason to the touch that he can tell. Sometimes she traces words into his skin, spelling out secret messages just for him. Sometimes she tries to guess the stories behind the scars — she always kisses them afterward, sweet and reverent.

“Making constellations,” she answers. “Stay right where you are for a sec.”

“Don’t think I could move if I tried.” 

He loves this about her. She plays games and sees beauty in his skin, and she marvels at the tiny everyday wonders: freckles, sunsets, coffee. She always points out wildflowers on the side of the road. If they’re walking through the woods she’ll stop and turn over logs and exclaim at every salamander as if she’s never seen one before. She compliments strangers and makes faces at children and always sings in the shower. 

Dean didn’t have that innocent, childish sort of wonder in his life — not until he met her. Face down enough gods and monsters, you start to get a little jaded about the everyday things. Spend too much time focusing on the darkness in the world, you start to lose sight of the light that shines through. 

She rummages through something on the desk, for a second, and then she comes back, straddling his hips again. She leans forward, draping herself over him, breasts and stomach soft against his bare skin. It’s such a random touch, and there’s nothing inherently sexual in it, but Dean has yet to find a way of making contact between their bodies that doesn’t turn him on. 

“This one here, we’re going to call it Impalus,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. The ink is cool on his skin. “According to ancient myth, it was the mighty chariot of warriors. Instead of sending its broken pieces to the scrap yard, Zeus hung them from the heavens.”  

“Feminine ends in A in Latin,” Dean mumbles. “Still just Impala.” He’s no Sam, but all those years of reciting incantations and poring over spell books have taught him a couple things. 

If he was in her place, he’d make some snarky comment about that, call him a geek, but she just hums in agreement and brushes her lips over the patch of skin. 

The marker tickles as she draws another new constellation on his shoulder. Dean doesn’t mind. 

It seems appropriate: connecting the dots, taking scattered pinpricks of light and weaving them together, giving them meaning, turning them into more than they were. 

Dean has always tried to hold onto scraps of joy, snatches of family dinners and the moments when the perfect song comes on the radio, but sometimes he used to lose track of the good memories. Sometimes they got swallowed in the darkness. 

These days, it’s different. She draws his attention to the joy, and now he can’t stop seeing all these little sparks that illuminate his life. This morning alone: the smell of bacon when he woke up — the smile on her face when he wrapped his arms around her — the way her voice echoed off the tile as she stood pink-cheeked in the steam — and this, right here, right now: lying in their bed, his legs tangled in sheets, and the fact that they smell like her, because she’s woven herself into every part of his life all the way down to the cotton fibers that brush her skin at night. 

There are so many tiny everyday wonders that Dean never would’ve noticed before, and then there’s her, tying it all together, taking the scattered fleeting moments of joy in his life and turning them into a story. She makes it all mean something. She shows him pictures in the stars when he’s forgotten to look for the light. 

She’s tickling his ribs, and Dean laughs, tries to buck her off, rolls over onto his back. She straddles him, naked, eyes lit up with mischief, and Dean tickles her right back. 

It’s playful until it’s abruptly not, and isn’t that always how it goes with her? One moment she’s batting away his hands, shrieking with laughter, and the next moment he’s resting his palms on her belly and reeling with the enormity of what they’re doing. 

Then she’s kissing him, soft sweet mouth plush and eager on his as she laces their fingers together and pins his hands to the pillow, and — 

“God, that’s —” he chokes out, as she rolls her hips. 

“Fuck. Dean.” 

— and then she’s squirming, rocking until he’s pressed right between her legs, slotted in against slick heat, teasing the length of him without letting him in. Her mouth is open and red, and she’s still pinning him, so he can’t capture her lips, but he strains against her grip, leans up and gets his mouth on her nipple to tug it between his teeth. She makes a dirty desperate noise and lets go, reaching down between them to guide him into her, and as soon as his hands are free he wraps his arms around her and pulls her down, running his hands over every part of her he can reach. 

He crushes her to his chest as she squeezes around his cock and gasps into his mouth, and it feels so good he’s seeing stars. She grinds down on him, hips swiveling, clenching hot-wet-tight like her body is trying to suck him in deeper as she works herself up. 

He loves the way she looks when she doesn’t give a fuck how she looks. He loves the way her muscles shift, the way her tits and ass bounce and jiggle, the way her skin shines with sweat — it’s art. Dean wishes he could paint or sculpt or do anything that could capture the agonized, ecstatic look on her face, because it’s art. She’s art. 

She’s moaning, rough and filthy. Her cunt is silky-soft and dripping as she squeezes around him, and she curses like a goddamn sailor: “Motherfucker — so fucking close, Dean — don’t you fucking dare stop — fuck, I love you.” 

Sacred and profane all at once, like the best art is. 

Dean has a fistful of her soft hair and a ribcage full of this hammering swollen thing that used to be his heart, and he’s so in love with her he can’t think straight. 

She’s close, close enough that all she can do is move, less coordinated and more frantic by the second. Dean rolls his hips, grinding into her, and then she shudders and shouts as her orgasm hits. The living heat of her body ripples and spasms around him and sends him over the edge, and the world dissolves into white light, bright enough to blind him. 

Dean’s seen miracles in his time. He’s seen things that shook the earth and rattled the heavens, and somehow the biggest miracle is the fact that he made it through to this moment: cradling her close, stroking her skin, imagining the microscopic spark of life inside her as the last faraway star completing a massive constellation… Dean can’t see the pattern yet, can’t figure out what shape it’ll all take, but he knows she’ll be there to help him make sense of the story. She always knows how to connect the dots. 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

[harlots-n-history]

So I'm reading The Scythians: Nomad Warriors of the Steppe by Barry Cunliffe. He links together two traditions of ritual cannibalism, a tradition of drinking the blood of a warrior's first kill in a battle, and the blood brotherhood ritual from my pinned post where they drink wine mixed with each other's blood; all described by Herodotus. Cunliffe chalks this up to a vague concept of absorbing power through the consumption of a person's meat or blood. He also goes into decent detail on Scythian continuum (Scythian as in the broad cultural group, not just the Pontic Steppe Scythians) animal art, much of which focuses on motifs of predators and prey. One of the most common motifs is of two predators (often a feline and bird) fight over prey (generally a stag). Cunliffe suggests an interpretation of the stag as the source of life, sustaining a world locked in conflict. The stag, especially in a recumbent position, appears very frequently in Scythian art (examples included at the end), and there were also ceremonial horse trappings resembling antlers found in the Pazyryk kurgans (also pictured below) - these images persist across an area spanning modern western Mongolia to Ukraine, over a period of at least 600 years, so by all accounts the stag was an incredibly important symbol across the cultural continuum.

According to Herodotus, elderly men of the Massagetae (A Scythian confederation or tribe of the Sakā (I think?) culture in central Asia) would be sacrificed along with cattle. The flesh would then be boiled and eaten. Herodotus says that "those who end their life in this way are considered the happiest", saying it is poor luck to die of illness before one can be sacrificed. He also describes another Scythian group, who he calls the Issedonians, mixing the flesh of a recently departed man with sheep's flesh cut in the same manner and consuming both sheep and man. Both rituals involve mixing the flesh of humans and livestock before consuming both as a death ritual, however it seems as though among the Issedonians only the livestock are sacrifices, made after the man's death instead of sacrificed alongside him.

DISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPH IS MY OWN THEORY WHICH HAS NO SUPPORTING EVIDENCE, PLEASEEE DONT SPREAD IT AS RELIABLE INFORMATION!

So my thinking is this: could the consumption of Massagetae elders and the Issedonian represent or be linked more specifically to the concept of the stag/prey in Scythian art? Possibly the blood-drinking as well? Burial and the afterlife were very important to the Scythians, as attested by the nobility's great kurgans and one Scythian king's assertion that the only way for the Persian emperor to force a battle with the Scythians that they would not simply evade was for him to interfere with the tombs of their ancestors - and in the case of the Massagetae, Herodotus at least seems to believe that this sacrifice is seen as the best ways for an old Massagetae man to die, which implies greater meaning to the cannibalization strong enough to make its subjects wish to be sacrificed and cannibalized. Clearly there was some greater religious or cultural meaning to this ritual: and we already have evidence of culturally significant consumption of bodies in the form of motifs of predators consuming prey. The stag, which seems to have generally represented prey in many of this art, is found everywhere from stone carvings to goldwork to priest's scepters to tattoos to arrowheads. So I guess my question is: was the ritual consumption of the flesh of Massagetae elders viewed as providing the same nourishment and acting in the same role as the sacred prey depicted in art?

Obviously my thoughts on this aren't much more than a hunch, and the evidence required to support or disprove them probably never existed. Plus Herodotus's information on people as far east as the Massagetae can be sketchy, and there are no known Scythian sources which can elaborate on the meanings of predator-prey motifs and ritual cannibalism. I mostly just wanted to write my thoughts down somewhere so I remember why I thought them. I'm not adding citations to this post because I feel I've been very clear about where I got the information I'm talking about, but if you want them let me know somehow and I can add them to the bottom of the post. Cunliffe discusses Scythian animal art in section 6 of chapter 10, and while I think he briefly mentions ritual cannibalism at other points in the book he engages with Herodotus's writings on the topic in section 9 of chapter 11.

Reading this book is my first real foray into Scythian history. It is long and can be dense at times but I find Cunliffe's style enjoyable and the book is very informative. If you're interested in the Scythians I highly recommend it as an introductory read - though I will warn other trans people that he doesn't go into much detail on the Enaree/Andrieis, the transfeminine priestesses everyone on this site has heard about. He does devote a decent section to Agrimpasa, who is often viewed as the Scythian equivelant of Venus/Aphrodite, who Herodotus says the Enaree worshipped. Also, as with any history book: if it's too much of a slog and you're reading for personal interest, skip to the parts you're most interested in and don't feel bad about it. I can't speak to the physical edition, but on the Google Play epub the index is clearly titled with working hyperlinks so hunting down a specific topic is a breeze.

I may take a break from the Scythians to read about the period before and after them in the history of the Eurasian Steppe, but I will be coming back and researching Scythia more thouroughly, and I will be doing a full deep dive into the Enaree with everything I learn.

I've included recumbent stags, stags topping scepters, as well as a drawing and a photo of what seems to be either a recreation of these ceremonial horse antlers or something very similar. I got these pictures off of pinterest so I don't know who photographed the artifacts, but the drawing was attributed to the National Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg and the photo of the recreation was posted on twitter by @lifeasmisse. Most Scythian artifacts are in two museums, one in St. Petersburg and one in Kiev. I'm not sure what happened to the Kiev collection with the outbreak of war, but if anyone who finds this does know I'm eager to hear.

Edit: I threw a goldwork and some leatherwork examples of the scenes of predators attacking prey that I mentioned in with the other images. Better examples of the competition I mentioned exist, but that's not what's crucial to this point.

[thong-in-the-twist]

Chapter: Gwangju

//Gong Yoo (Kim Shin) x you

Summary: To atone for his sins he is forced to wander the Earth searching for her before it’s too late.

Prologue: Silla Goryeo Joseon Tamna March 1st

It's been three years since I updated this last. Exactly three years and 9 days, and I'm glad to be posting it. God it’s been so long I no longer remember how I used to format my entries. I don’t even remember my tagging system. A word of warning: modern Korean history is heavily marked with suffering and for the purposes of this story I needed "her" to go through... A lot. But there is only one chapter left, so hopefully, we won't be suffering a lot longer.

***

It was obvious to him that she was going to be reborn immediately. It worked like that for centuries, why this time it would have been different? So he started searching for her immediately, anxious. His land was crying, his people were suffering.

Forests were being cut down to fuel the new age, the industrialization age. Instead, the land was being converted into fields: rice, cereals, cotton. Colonizers were laying new roads, tarmac was flowing down the peninsula so similarly to cold mountain streams. All to fuel the new age, all to feed the great Japanese Empire.

Mines on the peninsula were running day and night, long shafts filled with exploited bodies. Names were being changed to Japanese sounding ones, men were forced to cut their hair, celibate Buddhist monks were forced to marry, kids were banned from learning Korean in schools, papers were censored, farmers forced out of their lands, his people were forced to worship Shinto, and to see the Emperor as a god.

Shamanistic rituals were even scarcer than during the reign of the Lee dynasty. People were no longer openly calling for him, but their thoughts thrown into the ether were reaching him. Pleas and begging, prayers and threats, all were filling his mind and heart. The burden was heavy. Not too heavy to carry, but it seemed harder than the sword he was carrying in his heart. It seemed heavier than the last memories of his other life, than the image of red on white stone.

She found her. Young girl in the seaside village, barely 20 kilometers north from the village where she was born as Binna, centuries ago. The village tree was still alive even if the village itself didn’t exist anymore. Kim Shin didn’t know what happened to it after he saw her sacrifice herself back then. Were it pirates, or wars, or famine that drew people out? There was no way of knowing it.

She was four when he found her. Back in Joseon she would have been found just in time, he’d have two years to convince her parents not to give her away. And then 11 years until she had to be wed. Her village was far off the beaten path. It was far from the capital and far from Japanese shores. People were hardened and down-to-earth but it was a tightly knit community. It was as safe as it could have been in that age and time.

Kim Shin spent his days under the Holy Tree, now surrounded by forest. He remembered the village square and colorful ribbons. He remembered tax collectors and their cart. He remembered Binna’s clothes and hair, and sword splitting her throat open.

Kim Shin visited her house by night. He hid in the shadows, not ready to be seen by her nor her parents. He watched her as she slept in the same room as the rest of her family. He watched her wondering what woman she would grow up to be. He hoped that he’d be able to shield her from any hardship that she was destined to face in her life.

While watching her sleep, he was reminiscing about her previous lives. Her bravery, her tenacity, her pride and her selflessness. The lives that were lived and ended for his people, the lives that were ended for him, the ones that were ended because of him.

Kim Shin was restless. He was used to waiting. He learnt to be patient after centuries of waiting and slowly working towards his goal. And yet, he was restless. Sitting by the Holy Tree he was restless and anxious. Her last life was sacrificed for the country. For this land, and for the people. And here he was waiting idly for her to grow up. She was safe.

The Holy Tree was old but strong, with new springs and bright green leaves. It was magnificent even without ribbons and paper talismans. It was safe, far off the beaten path.

Their people were not.

And yet, he was idly waiting for her to grow up and take away his burden, while sitting under the Holy Tree.

While their people were desperately begging for help.

She was safe. And he had time. He had enough time to present her the liberation of their people as a wedding gift.

And thus, Kim Shin was off once more.

*

Koreans were fighting on the peninsula, yes, but there were fighting abroad as well. Kim Shin supported the Provisional  Government of Republic of Korea in Shanghai, and aided students in Japan. When the empire invaded Manchuria, he was there fighting them off. He pleaded and negotiated with Chinese diplomats for them to move against the assailant before it was too late.

But the Central Kingdom waited too long, they were undecided way beyond what was safe. And thus, the Japanese attacked first.

The war that broke out drained the Korean peninsula even more. They were the ones to bear the brunt of feeding and supplying soldiers. And then, when Kim Shin was sure it couldn’t be worse, European war came to their lands, merging with the already raging Sino-Japanese conflict and bringing more players, more arms and more death into the equation. His people were forced into the Japanese army, forced to fight far away from their home – living and dying in China, Indonesia, Philippines.

He went where they were. It wasn’t their fight. They were farmers, artisans, teachers, workers – they weren’t warriors. He was. Kim Shin was back in the field, once more fighting for his homeland. Once more he took upon himself to be the most faithful agent of death. Immortal and determined, with unfamiliar weapon in his hand, but oh so familiar scent of blood, tears and fear clinging to him. The art of war changed through centuries but principles reminded the same.

But now it was harder to understand the purpose. It was harder to face dying foes. Every soul in his wake had hopes, and dreams, and dedication, and destiny – and yet he was invading the realm of the Divine, deciding who was to live and who was to day. What he did was to slaughter.

 But he was also fighting for his compatriots, forced to lay their lives for the occupant. He fought to save them and to bring them back to their land. He helped them escape, he cleared camps, he dealt with Japanese officers.

Japanese defeat was what they were hoping for anyway.

It was in Perek that faced his hardest encampment. It was in Perek that among Japanese officers and soldiers, and his people forced into ranks, he found others. It was in Perek that among male voices he heard female pleas.

It was in broad daylight that he marched through the camp, taking in the tents and appraising layouts and main locations. Where to get food, where to get supplies, where were the blind spots. It was in broad daylight that he heard a plea so similar to one he heard centuries ago in the Song Dynasty’s capital. So earnest and so broken plea of death.

After the first one came another, hurried and repeated like a mantra, like a prayer. And another, and another.

And another.

So familiar. So heartbreaking.

Here, so far from his homeland, he heard her begging for death. For an escape.

But she was safe. She was safe back in her village, on the shores of Eastern Seas. She was safe back in her village, so close to the Holy Tree.

And yet, it was her voice, strung thin and wavering, but unmistakably hers.

A taste of bile invaded his throat as he zeroed on a dilapidated building. Better than a shack only in the name, with dark walls and dirty windows barely containing the horrors inside. His surroundings seemed to disappear, sounds of the encampment dying out, the building his focal point.

He took his time. Waiting itself was horrible, pleas constant, it would have been so easy to just end it. End all of it, all of them, all of the oppressors, just raze the  camp to the ground. But he was afraid. Afraid of going inside and seeing that was happening, how they lived. It was easy to guess, and hard to understand. Justified rage was clawing his insides, not only for her, but for all of them. It wasn’t human to do, not that the occupant was ever human.

His fear was their prolonged suffering.

He fulfilled every one of their pleas. Every single one. Some wished for death, some wished for death for their oppressors. Some wished for health, some wished to never remember. Some wished for another chance in life, some wished for one last meeting with assailants and sharp object to meet them with. He did it all.

She wanted a knife. Sharp, and easy to conceal. She found it with glee and fervor. She wanted for her doors to be open and for night to be dark. She wished for rain, heavy and obscuring. She wished for that man to fall. To suffer. To know. To fear. To never forget.

Kim Shin watched her as she sneaked out of her room. He watched her back as she sneaked through the building, chastising himself for ever believing she was safe. It wasn’t even 15 years since he saw her last. He watched her as she found her prey. He watched her as she made sure that man would never do the same thing to another woman ever again.

His screams were muffled by a gag she made out of her sad excuse of a blanket. His blood was mixing with the falling rain, that matted her hair to her face. Her skin was ghostly, blush and looked paper-thin.

Once again he watched her as she raised her blade against herself. She was sure and focused,  and emanating finally found peace. She was quick and efficient, and he barely had time to catch her before she fell down. She was smiling when her head hit the cradle of his head and her open eyes were staring lifelessly at the rainy clouds.

Kim Shin sat there in the rain, holding her body, obvious to now quiet whimpers coming from the man laying a few steps away from him. Once more her life was filled with suffering. Was her childhood good? How did she grow up? How long was she here?

He didn’t cry – feeling like he did not deserve to. She wasn’t the only one of his people that went through this, and something was telling him that there were countless more suffering now.

*

Finding her was important, but making sure that the world she was being born into was better became urgent. Kim Shin knew he couldn’t deal with her suffering. All recent lives he witnessed ended in a tragedy. Queen trying to protect freedom, young girl fighting for it, and the one that saw it in death.

She deserved freedom, all of his people did.

And freedom came with pain, tears and even more death. Foreign powers fought over his land, influencing its growth and stagnation once again. His land was sold and divided even after its occupant lost the war. Both red and blue powers abhorred giving Koreans back their land and their freedoms, forcing their ideologies upon them.

And thus the greatest conflict shook the land once more. June 25th, the day when brother went against his brother. Three years. Three years of fights, civil war raging on the peninsula destroying what was left after 35 years of the occupation.

And even that conflict ended because outside powers decided so. Every death, every lost soul – it was all because foreigners decided to settle their differences right there on Korean soil. The wound left by the war was painful and still suppurating. Peninsula was divided into two, one nation was split and the border between them became a wall that separated families and broke people’s spirit.

He saw fourteen hundred years of conflicts and changes, and ups and downs, but the last hundred years were far the worst he had seen. For the first time in his long life he wasn’t sure how to go about finding her. If he even should. Every time he found her, he lost her just as quickly. She suffered so much.

But if he didn’t search for her, he was sure that the Divine would find another way to punish them. Like giving her knowledge of his existence and urging her to wait for him.

By now Divine schemes were somewhat readable. He’d find her where he’d least expect her – where she was supposedly the safest, yet in the biggest danger. People in the south were struggling, famine and corruption was rampant. North was getting help from other communist states and plotting expansion. And he couldn’t find her.

Just like when he found her on Tamna, she wasn’t here. She wasn’t within the borders of both Korean states. And that’s what horrified him. He looked in China, so many of his compatriots lived there. He looked in Japan among those who stayed after occupation. He searched in South East Asia among those who stayed after the second world war. He visited the United States of America, hoping to find her there. And yet, as if the Divine was shielding her from him, he couldn’t find her.

In Germany he saw the Wall. The Berlin Wall dividing one nation into two. The blue state and red state, just like his homeland, was divided. The Wall was fresh and imposing, newly built. A palpable sign of schism. A knife in a wound, cutting it more open with every breath. It wasn’t as protected as the inter-Korean border was but it served as a reminder of similarly painful division.

As Kim Shin walked by the Wall, on the western side of the border, he heard a cautious ask. Barely audible, fleeting.

The person was asking for a haircut. If he wasn’t over fourteen hundred years old, he’d dismiss it as an auditory illusion. What would be a Korean doing behind the Iron Curtain – asking for a haircut?

Kim Shin knew better. Kim Shin knew: she was there.

*

Finding his way into the USSR was easier than he thought it to be. As a citizen of the communist, neighboring nation, he was more than welcome. He travelled from Korea, surprised by the sheer numbers of Koreans on the USSR's eastern lands. But the closer he got to Europe the fewer they got. By the time he left Moscow, his head was clear and free of usual prayers. It was in Poland that he heard one more plea – a different voice, exactly the same ask.

Children. Who Kim Shin found were children. From 5 years old to 16. War orphans being cared for by people so vastly different from them.

She was among them, one of the oldest kids, happily chatting in weirdly hard language.

It took him quite long to understand why all the kids kept praying for a haircut. Their hair was neatly kept, just like their clothes, their rooms. There was something of military efficiency in the way they were being brought up, and Kim Shin understood that it was due to a few Korean supervisors that came here with kids.

Kids were cared for, but not exactly loved. That’s why they thought so fondly of getting haircuts. Hairdressers would pat and massage their heads – that was an extent of warmth they were getting.

*

She and the rest of the kids were sent back to Korea a few months later. She drowned in a river when she tried to escape back to her European orphanage for the third time. Yalu River was her undoing, just like those centuries ago cold waters of the sea took her away.

So much death. So much suffering. What for?

As the North's situation was getting worse, the South started fighting for its economy. Authoritarian governments in both Koreas were similar in goals but different in execution, and slowly their fates were changing. South Korea was coming out of poverty, just as North Korea started spiraling into it.

With newly found resources South Koreans were finally able to think and want – and what they wanted was freedom. Freedom through free choice and democracy. Assassination of general Park, southern dictator, seemed like a perfect opportunity – but before democratic movement could raise its momentum it was brutally squashed.

***

“If we all go, they won’t be able to hold him! We need to get him out!”

Every frantic sentence is met with loud approval. You weren’t surprised when they formed a new government without looking back at people. You weren’t surprised when Chun Doohwan took over KCIA while still holding his position in the Korean Army. Of course he would. Even martial law wasn’t a surprise. But a few hours ago you heard that they arrested Kim Daejung.

Kim was an oppositionist. He was fighting for democracy in your country, and what was more important he was from your region. Rumors said that he was being held on charges of instigating demonstrations.

What a bull…

You were there all because you wanted to be there, and wanted better for your country.

“They are closing the university!” The shout could be heard above the other voices. Suddenly the thirty of you fell silent. You focused on the man that shouted it. You knew his face, you might have seen him once or twice in the library.

“What…?”

“Chun declared universities to be dangerous to society!” The roar that follows is deafening. There is no more “inciting”, all of you immediately walk to the university, gathering other students while marching.

The road leading to the main entrance is long, which gives you a perfect view of army vehicles parked in front of it. Soldiers organizing were also visible, moving with purpose or watching you with caution.  Your group wasn’t big. Maybe two hundred souls. You weren’t sure what was the plan – but the goal was clear – to show that you wouldn’t take it lying down. They couldn’t take it all. Freedom, Kim Daejung, universities.

You weren’t sure who threw the first stone. It was all a blur. There was shouting, screams and orders, flying stones and falling batons. The students’ group dispersed only to form back, and to scatter once more but this time closer to the Provincial Office.

This time soldiers were wearing riot gear.

*

“You know well that I am going back out there!”

Your mother's eyes are filled with tension. The same tension pushes her lips into a thin line drawing her wrinkles out. She won’t back down, but neither will your brother and you.

“Mom, it’s what we have to do. They killed Gyeongcheol,” says Chanhwan. He is a high school senior and his goal was to get into your university.

“His poor mother,” whispers your mother as if against herself. That was something she said every time this was mentioned. Soldiers in riot gear killed Kim Gyeongcheol as he was passing by protesters. It infuriated the city and their protest was gathering momentum, but every person counted.

They needed to pay. For Gyeongcheol and for those who were killed yesterday.

What you wouldn’t tell your mother is the fact that you got guns. Yesterday you raided one of the military warehouses. It wasn’t an usual protest anymore, it was an uprising. Chanhwan told you that he heard that folks were talking about liberating Gwangju and making it into a free city. An official request for help was being drafted to be sent to the US Embassy. A country so enamored with freedom would for sure help you.

Freedom.

That’s what you longed for.

A horn outside let you know that your transport was there. Chanhwan was already out the doors, you stalled a second to grab your mother’s hand.

“Believe in us, mom. We will be back, victorious,” you said with emphasis. The world was yours to take and you wouldn’t hesitate. You run outside, not waiting for her to answer, and jump into the waiting taxi.

What an odd vehicle to be driving to a fight.

*

City was cordoned off and outside communications were cut. It didn’t scare you off. Nothing could, really.

Taxi was slowly rolling down the street, Chanhwan laying low in the driver's seat. He knew that as soon as he raised his head, he’d be dead. You knew that there were forces on the other end of the street aiming at you with their guns, hidden behind covers.

You and Chanhwan’s friend Sunwoo were slowly creeping along the car, using it as a moving shield. You could see a body that you were tasked with retrieving. You hoped the girl was alive. You all knew that not moving after being shot increased your chances of surviving if you couldn’t move on your own.

Suddenly you heard a loud bang and sounds of automatic fire.

“Run!” yelled Chanhwan and you didn’t need to be told twice. With Sunwoo you lurched forward trying to match Chanhwan’s accelerations. You kept your head low as smoke filled the street. Sunwoo was the first to reach the body.

Dead.

Boy opened back doors and together you pushed the lifeless body inside – not caring for decency you jumped inside as Sunwoo closed doors behind you. You heard him get in and Chanhwan was speeding off.

Girl’s hair smelt of flowers.

*

A helicopter was flying overhead. You’ve never would have guessed that you’d learn how to make Molotov’s cocktail. But there you were pushing a rag into a bottle. Sunwoo was in the field hospital, chances of saving his leg quite high. Which was more than could be said about many of your friends.

Casualties were high, but you weren’t ready to give up. The uprising cost the city too many lives to be so easily abandoned.

How could your government do that? You didn’t know. But you hoped for those soldiers to spend the rest of their lives knowing that they killed their own.

Chanhwan was on the other side of the street, giving you signs. You focused on him and he started slowly counting down with his fingers. As soon as you saw him countdown to zero, you threw your bottle.

There was an explosion and a sudden yell. You didn’t stay put to see the effect, you needed to escape as fast as possible. On your left you could see a group of fifteen or so students running the other way. There were fires and smoke and it could be hard to realize what was happening.

You lost your footing as you realized that Chanhwan was not running parallel to you. It seemed like eternity as you looked back to see him lying on the corner of the street. You could see his dark uniform jacket slowly dampening with even darker liquid.

It wasn’t conscious. Nor your scream, nor your leap.

The first bullet going through your arm was more surprising than painful. Second one caught your leg, tripping you down, the third one pierced through your clavicle as you fell. You saw smoke, and soldiers moving forward with riot shields, and your brother laying on the street, and an abandoned taxi. You saw another group of students running somewhere to your right.

Pavement was hot from the sun as you fell down. It didn’t hurt, or maybe it was so painful that you couldn’t feel it.

You saw a blue butterfly flying away.

***

Kim Shin forced his way into the fighting city. Through fields and through the army, he walked into the fray. No one knew. A village ten kilometers away? No one knew what was happening in the city. There were rumors, but not one could have prepared him for the riots he saw.

He saw students organizing, he saw local militias forming, he saw field hospitals being erected, he saw taxi and bus drivers using their vehicles to help the cause.

Had he done everything he could? No. Was it resignation? Maybe.

How many times had he seen her fighting? Why every time he saw her she was either suffering or leading a good fight. Why was she always selfless, and always right in the center of a turmoil ailing his nation. Just once couldn’t she be selfish and live?

Seeing her protest against authoritarian government barely half a century after she did the same against occupation filled him with unfamiliar annoyance. Rage. Why her. What did she do to be always reincarnated into such circumstances.

Was it even worth pursuing her?

Was it his atonement for not killing his king eons ago, even when she sacrificed herself. Was she destined to be laying her life for a cause while he watched her do it?

Defiance. That was what stopped him from acting. He could have gone on a rampage. Just like when he was a general, fighting with Gaya’s warriors. It wouldn’t have been hard, decimating troops. Those already stationed in the city, and those that would undoubtedly come to reinforce them.

He felt old. He was old. Looking at the fighting city he felt like it wasn’t his fight.

In the city he saw a foreigner. A foreigner with a camera. Documenting what was happening, what atrocities were committed on Gwangju’s streets.

Instead of watching her die once again he decided to protect the foreigner. To make sure that his recordings would be seen by the world.

As Kim Shin protected the foreigner, he didn’t realize that he could no longer hear prayers.