#he's a goldsmith he can make it

[vita-divata]

Expression practice with my favs <333

[neriyon]

I mentioned to my fc last week that I kinda wanna make an fc room for Yulan, and I guess my retainers heard me talking about it - they've brought me mostly housing items since then.

Monday I got tabletop orchesterion, yesterday a roof, today a tier 4 aquarium. + Like, a pile of bom bokos and alpha blushies but those always drop.

[vintage1981]

The Life and Deaths of Christopher Lee Kickstarts Deluxe Blu-ray Edition

The Life and Deaths of Christopher Lee mixes traditional documentary with a dash of fantasy. It is narrated by Christopher Lee himself... in the form of an elaborate marionette, voiced by Peter Serafinowicz. The marionette was custom designed and built by Arch Model Studios, who made all of the puppets for Wes Anderson's Fantastic Mr. Fox, Isle of Dogs and Asteroid City and Tim Burton's Frankenweenie. 

The film combines new, exclusive interviews with filmmakers, including Peter Jackson, John Landis and Joe Dante, friends and family members with animated flights of fantasy from a wide variety of artists including 2000AD's Simon Coleby, award winning stop-motion animator Astrid Goldsmith and the legendary illustrator Dave McKean who directed, scored and animated a whole chapter of the film himself. 

Spanning eight decades and almost three hundred films, Christopher Lee became famous for his iconic performance as Dracula. But he was so much more than just the Hammer Horror roles he is so fondly remembered for. His career took him from uncredited parts in 1950s swashbucklers with Errol Flynn, through famous performances in 007 and Star Wars films, cult hits like The Wicker Man and The Return of Captain Invincible, right up to a lead role in cinema's biggest event - The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Along the way, he worked with everyone from Orson Welles to Mario Bava, Jess Franco, Tim Burton, Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg. 

Yet his story is so much richer than just his career. Lee was born into Italian aristocracy, with a military career shrouded in secrecy and kept his private life closely guarded. Some of his ventures and adventures seem highly improbable yet, as the film reveals, he often found himself in unexpected situations - he witnessed the last ever death by guillotine, was cousins with 007 creator Ian Fleming, he met Tolkien, performed with the classic Saturday Night Live line-up, was a friend and neighbour of Boris Karloff, he was the oldest person to ever get on the Billboard music charts (with his own Heavy Metal album), was an expert knife thrower, professional opera singer and a Nazi hunter. And somehow, he also managed to appear in almost 300 films of both the highest and lowest quality imaginable. 

The film is finished and producers Jon Spira and Hank Starrs want to share it with you by producing a top quality Blu-Ray with great extra features and a really amazing LIMITED/NUMBERED EDITION COFFIN-SHAPED BOX SET, full of goodies, which will look killer on the shelf of any discerning cineaste. The jewel in the crown of this box-set will be a 3D 'death mask' of Christopher Lee designed and produced by Arch Model Studio exclusively for this set. They also want to host some screenings - both online and in real cinemas - so we can all experience it together and you can get to meet some of the people behind it.

Making this film has been a fascinating journey - producers excavated the British Film Institute archives where they hold Lee's personal collection of scrapbooks detailing his career in his own hand, been given access to personal photos from the family archive, they met and interviewed his closest friends and family from all over the world and we've worked with some incredible artists, puppeteers, animators, musicians and filmmakers to bring his story to the screen in the most cinematic way. Whether you're a fan of Horror, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings or just cinema history in general, we think you'll be delighted by this revealing and eclectic documentary.

Risks and challenges

The film is fully edited and ready to go. This Kickstarter is to fund the final bits of post-production and the production of a fantastic Blu-ray and deluxe collectors edition box set as we're all still committed to physical media. Please note that all illustrations of rewards are designs/prototype images. The final items might differ - we hope they'll actually be better.

[racefortheironthrone]

What did you think of X-Men Blue Origins?

(I may turn this into a People's History of the Marvel Universe later today, so keep an eye on this space.)

X-Men Blue: Origins and the Power of the Additive Retcon

(WARNING: heavy spoilers under the cut)

Introduction

If you've been a long-time X-Men reader, or you're a listener of Jay & Miles or Cerebrocast or any number of other LGBT+ X-Men podcasts, you probably know the story about how Chris Claremont wrote Mystique and Destiny as a lesbian couple, but had to use obscure verbiage and subtextual coding to get past Jim Shooter's blanket ban on LGBT+ characters in the Marvel Universe.

Likewise, you're probably also familiar with the story that, when Chris Claremont came up with the idea that Raven Darkholme and Kurt Wagner were related (a plot point set up all the way back in Uncanny X-Men #142), he intended that Mystique was Nightcrawler's father, having used her shapeshifting powers to take on a male body and impregnate (her one true love) Irene. This would have moved far beyond subtext - but it proved to be a bridge too far for Marvel editorial, and Claremont was never able to get it past S&P.

This lacuna in the backstories of Kurt and Raven - who was Kurt's father? - would remain one of the enduring mysteries of the X-Men mythos...and if there's one thing that comic writers like, it's filling in these gaps with a retcon.

Enter the Draco

Before I get into the most infamous story in all of X-Men history, I want to talk about retcons a bit. As I've written before:

"As long as there have been comic books, there have been retcons. For all that they have acquired a bad reputation, retcons can be an incredibly useful tool in comics writing and shouldn’t be dismissed out of hand. Done right, retcons can add an enormous amount of depth and breadth to a character, making their worlds far richer than they were before. Instead, I would argue that retcons should be judged on the basis of whether they’re additive (bringing something new to the character by showing us a previously unknown aspect of their lives we never knew existed before) or subtractive (taking away something from the character that had previously been an important part of their identity), and how well those changes suit the character."

For a good example of an additive retcon, I would point to Chris Claremont re-writing Magneto's entire personality by revealing that he was a Jewish survivor of the Holocaust. As I have argued at some length, this transformed Magneto from a Doctor Doom knockoff into a complex and sympathetic character who could now work as a villain, anti-villain, anti-hero, or hero depending on the needs of the story.

For a good example of a subtractive retcon, I would point to...the Draco. If you're not familiar with this story, the TLDR is that it was revealed that Kurt's father was Azazel - an evil ancient mutant with the same powers and the same appearance (albeit color-shifted) as Kurt, who claims to be the devil and is part of a tribe of demonic-looking mutants who were banished to the Brimstone Dimension, and who fathered Nightcrawler as part of a plot to end this banishment.

I don't want to belabor Chuck Austen, because I think that Connor Goldsmith is right about his run actually being a camp cult classic in retrospect. However, I think we both agree that the Draco was a misfire, because of how the retcon undermined Kurt's entire thematic purpose as established in Giant-Size X-Men that Nightcrawler was actually a noble and arguably saintly man who suffered from unjust prejudice due to the random accident that his mutation made him appear to be a demon, and because of how the retcon undermined the centrality of Mystique and Destiny's relationship.

X-Men Blue Origins

This brings us to the Krakoan era. In HOXPOX and X-Men and Inferno, Jonathan Hickman had made Mystique and Destiny a crucial part of the story in a way that they hadn't been in decades: they were the great nemeses of Moira X, they were the force that threatened to burn Krakoa to the ground by revealing the devil's bargain that Xavier had struck with Sinister (and Moira), they were the lens through which the potential futures of Krakoa were explored, and they ultimately reshaped the Quiet Council and the Five in incredibly consequential ways.

This throughline was furthered after Hickman's departure, with Kieron Gillen exploring the backstories of Mystique and Destiny in Immortal X-Men and Sins of Sinister, and both Gillen and Si Spurrier exploring their relationship with Nightcrawler in AXE Judgement Day, Sins of Sinister, Way of X, Legion of X, Nightcrawlers, and Sons of X. One of the threads that wove through the interconnected fabric of these books was an increasing closeness between Kurt and Irene that needed an explanation. Many long-time readers began to anticipate that a retcon about Kurt's parentage was coming - and then we got X-Men Blue: Origins.

In this one issue, Si Spurrier had the difficult assignment of figuring out a way to "fix" the Draco and restore Claremont's intended backstory in a way that was surgical and elegant, that served the character arcs of Kurt, Raven, and Irene, and that dealt with complicated issues of trans and nonbinary representation, lesbian representation, disability representation, and the protean nature of the mutant metaphor. Thanks to help from Charlie Jane Anders and Steve Foxe, I think Spurrier succeeded tremendously.

I don't want to go through the issue beat-by-beat, because you should all read it, but the major retcon is that Mystique turns out to be a near-Omega level shapeshifter, who can rewrite themselves on a molecular level. Raven transformed into a male body and impregnated Irene, using bits of Azazel and many other men's DNA as her "pigments." In addition to being a deeply felt desire on both their parts to have a family together, this was part of Irene's plan to save them both (and the entire world) from Azazel's schemes, a plan that required them to abandon Kurt as a scapegoat-savior (a la Robert Graves' King Jesus), and to have Xavier wipe both their memories.

Now, I'm not the right person to write about what this story means on a representational level; I'll leave it to my LGBT+ colleagues on the Cerebrocast discord and elsewhere to discuss the personal resonances the story had for them.

What I will say, however, is that I thought this issue threaded the needle of all of these competing imperatives very deftly. It "fixed" the Draco without completely negating it, it really deepened and complicated the characters and relationships of both Raven and Irene (by showing that, in a lot of ways, Destiny is the more ruthless and manipulative of the two), and it honored Kurt's core identity as a man of hope and compassion (even if it did put him in a rather thankless ingénue role for much of the book).

It is the very acme of an additive retcon; nothing was lost, everything was gained.

I still think the baby Nightcrawler is just a bad bit, but then again I don't really vibe with Spurrier's comedic stylings.

[bestiarium]

Who was Davy Jones? [Nautical folktales]

This is something completely different from my usual posts. The nautical folk character of Davy Jones isn’t really a mythological creature in the same way as Mesopotamian demons, Inuit spirits or medieval European monsters.

In fact, it turns out the exact origin of the name is hard to pin down. ‘Davy Jones’ Locker’ was nautical slang for the bottom of the ocean, a euphemism used in the context of sinking ships and drowned sailors (as in, he went to Davy Jones’ Locker). As far as I can tell, this term for a seaman’s grave predates any reference to Davy Jones as a separate, actual character. Sailors who died at sea were said to ‘be keeping watch with Davy Jones now’.

As for the name, it’s not entirely clear where it came from but there are some theories. ‘Davy’ might be directly derived from ‘devil’, and according to other authors it might have come from ‘Duppy’, a Caribbean term also meaning devil, though this seems to be less supported. ‘Jones’ most likely comes from Jonah, the Biblical character and later nautical slang for a sailor who brings bad luck to the ship he is on.

It's not impossible that Davy Jones was (based on) a real person but it's not likely.

So, who is Davy Jones and what does he look like?

The oldest physical description of Jones as a being comes from ‘The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle’, a mid-18th century fiction novel by Tobias Smollett. I normally don’t use fiction novels as sources, but we don’t have anything else here and Smollett’s description of the creature seems to have become the basis for iterations of Davy Jones in media, so we might as well. In the book, Davy Jones is said to be a horrible fiend presiding over the wicked spirits of the oceanic depths. He is a monster with blue smoke billowing from his nostrils, a tail and a horned head with large saucer-like eyes and three rows of teeth.

And this is the description Davy Jones was stuck with until 2006, when Disney released Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest, which featured the antagonist that you thought of when you saw the title of this post. This version of Davy Jones became so cemented in our collective consciousness that it’s hard to imagine him in any other shape or form. And, to be fair, it makes sense, because it was a good movie.

(Although it’s hard to beat the first one.)

Sources:

Norton, L A., 2016, Folklore, Superstitions and the Sea, The Northern Mariner/Le Marin du Nord, 26(1), p. 21-30.

Foster, J., 1969, Varieties of Sea Lore, Western Folklore, 28(4), pp. 260-266.

Archibald, M., 1998, Sixpence for the Wind: a Knot of Nautical Folklore, Dundurn, p. 45, 143 pp.

Smollett, T., 1751, The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle, London, p.71, 372 pp., text cited via Greensdictofslang.

(image 1: Davy Jones on his locker. Illustrated by John Tenniel for issue 103 of ‘Punch, or the London Charivari’, 1892)

(image 2: a character from ‘The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle’ disguises himself as Davy Jones to scare others, illustration by George Cruikshank in ‘Illustrations of Fieldeing, Smollett and Goldsmith, in a series of forty-one plates’)

[cressidagrey]

Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours- Chapter 3: Eris Vanserra, Heir to the Autumn Court

Summary:

5 Times Cassian thought that Azriel had feelings for somebody and then 1 time he finally met the girl his brother was in love with.

Warnings:

Rhys Bashing

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

Sadly, trying to find out who Azriel’s secret lover was…turned out to be a bit of an impossible feat. 

There wasn’t anywhere Cassian could follow along to that Azriel wouldn’t find out about. There was nothing that Azriel was doing that was making it obvious who he was seeing. 

It was so annoying that Cassian had no clue what he was supposed to be doing anymore. Why couldn’t it just be easier?

But he wasn’t the General of the Night Court Armies to give up that easily. He was not. 

Cassian was going to figure this out. 

One way or another. 

First things first: Badger Azriel about the stupid Siphons. 

“So can I have the name of the blacksmith that you are using?” he asked Azriel without preamble, watching him attentively. Maybe that was gonna give him a hint of what was going on with his brother. Maybe that would be helpful…

“I am not using a blacksmith,” Azriel answered, after a moment. Cassian took in the way the shadows seemed to swirl around him more like they were telling him something and how his hands tightened nearly imperceptively. Azriel didn’t have many tells, but Cassian could see them. He knew him for long enough to know him that well. 

So that was the truth. He wasn’t using a blacksmith. But it wasn’t the whole truth. Of course, it wasn’t. 

“Then who else did the whole thing with the siphons for you?” he asked curiously. If it wasn’t a blacksmith…though he had snuck a peek of the mechanism that held the siphons in place. It seemed too delicate for a simple blacksmith. More something a goldsmith would use. Definitely not Illyrian by origin. 

But where would Azriel have found a goldsmith…

“A friend,” Azriel answered, looking decisively shifty. Interesting. 

“The same friend who made Nesta’s hairpins?” A stab in the dark but a good one. Azriel looked less than pleased about it…maybe his friend had something to do with whoever he was seeing… “Where did you meet that friend?” Cassian kept pushing. 

“Since when do you care how I spend my time?” Azriel gave back with a sigh. 

“Since you got new toys to play with and aren’t sharing,” Cassian shot back immediately. 

“I gave Nesta the hairpins, didn’t I?” Azriel defended himself. 

He had. Hair pins that Nesta absolutely adored and wore nearly every day these days. Azriel had come through with another set after the first, that one set with moonstones of all things. Nesta loved them just as much as the first set. 

“You aren’t answering the question,” Cassian pointed out and Azriel gave him a very pointed look that seemingly told him, Oh really? 

“You aren’t going  to, are you?” Cassian said with a sigh before he grinned.  “Worried he’ll like me more than you?”

The flinch was the last thing he had expected. Yeah, he had hit the bullseye. Unintended though.

“No. Just that I won’t get any more new toys,” Azriel gave back, crossing his arms. 

So whoever that friend was…he was important to Azriel. Very important. 

“Fine, keep your secrets,” Cassian agreed, even when he was already plotting his next steps. “But I want first dibs whenever he figures out something really cool.”

Next step: Once again get on Rhys’ nerves. Maybe Azriel had told him more than he had told Cassian. 

“Do you happen to know the friend that made the siphons for Az? ” he asked Rhy at the next family dinner. Even Lucien and Elain had come over from Day Court, with Elain happy to catch up with her sisters, the Archeron sisters secluded in one corner, milling about before they would all sit down for dinner. 

“A friend?” Rhys asked him curiously. 

“Not a blacksmith apparently. But with the siphons he got new toys to play with and I don’t get any. So I wanna know,” Cassian admitted easily. 

“Well, if Az doesn’t want to share…” Rhys gave back with a shrug. Well, that was helpful. Cassian looked around the room, the inner circles dotted around, but no glimpse of Az. 

“Is he coming to dinner?” he wondered. 

“He is.” Rhys sounded so sure when he said that. 

“Are you sure?” Cassian asked, doubtful. These days, Azriel didn’t come to all of them. Not even half. Sometimes he went but then didn’t stay for dessert or one of his shadows whispered something in his ear and off he went to do something . 

It was just another thing in a long line of them that had changed through the years. 

Cassian never said anything, because to be the only one in a room full of people that were in happy relationships while he wasn’t probably wasn’t very fun to Azriel. 

And then there was that ELeain and Lucien were coming and…putting Azriel in the same room as the female he had been in love with and her mate, just seemed especially cruel. 

“He didn’t want to but I changed his mind,” Rhys said evenly. 

Oh for cauldron’s sake. 

“Do I want to know how you did that?”  Cassian asked, holding back a grimace. 

He didn’t know what exactly had gone down between Azriel and Rhys…but ever since that one solstice…something had changed. He had never dared to ask, because neither of his brothers had seemed inclined to not rip off his head for daring to voice his thoughts. 

So he had hope that it would go away with time. Well, three years on…and it didn’t seem like that was the case. 

Azriel came to some family dinners, took part in the annual snowball flights, played with Nyx, treated Rhys with all the respect benefiting a High Lord…and also seemingly turned even quieter. He did his job just as well as he always had, Cassian didn’t doubt it but…there was a distance there that hadn’t been there before. 

“I told him that moping around his house didn’t count as plans,” Rhys quipped. “He was not amused.”

Right. 

Maybe Az had just wanted to get out of seeing Elain and Lucien. 

“Maybe he wasn’t moping around,” Cassian offered. Maybe Azriel had somebody else to spend time with. Somebody that he loved and wanted to court and…

“Ah yes. His secret lover,” Rhys said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Nesta was complaining to Feyre about how that’s all you were talking about,” he answered Cassian’s unspoken question. 

“You don’t believe it?” Cassian wondered. 

“You think he would be able to keep it a secret from me ?” Rhys asked him, arrogance seeping into his tone. “Besides, he needs to get over himself eventually. I think he can sit through a single dinner.” 

Cassian held back a grimace. 

Did he think that Azriel would be able to keep a secret from Rhys? 

If Azriel thought he had a very good reason for it? Yes. Absolutely. Cassian didn’t even doubt that for a second . 

Azriel would go to the end of the world if he thought he could protect somebody he loved. 

Cassian just wondered why his brother thought he needed to protect them from Rhys of all people. Why he didn’t tell his family about what was going on?

Cassian would be happy for him. If Azriel showed up tomorrow and told him that he had found somebody he loved and who treated him like he deserved to be treated, Cassian would be happy for him. He wouldn’t fucking care who it was. As long as Azriel was happy, he was happy. 

Azriel did show up finally. Quiet and withdrawn, sitting down next to him and more playing with his food than actually eating, but he did show up. 

Sitting through that dinner, doing what Rhys demanded of him. Not voicing a word of protest. 

What’s he thinking about? Cassian asked Rhys, curious at how Azriel seemed far, far away, lost in thoughts.

Table linens, Rhys gave back. 

Tell me that’s a joke.

No. Azriel is thinking about table linens.

Table linens? What was that about now? 

The plot thickened. 

The table linens didn’t stay the most interesting thing though. That was the sharp repartee Lucien provided while Azriel tried not to be anything but helpful. 

Cassian was one more pointed comment away from interfering. 

All that Azriel had been doing was trying to help, for cauldron’s sake. 

He kept calm for longer than Cassian had thought he would. And then he came around the corner with: “I also know that you are related to one.” Meaning an enchanter and Lucien seemed not happy at all about this. 

Lucien’s knife hit his plate, the sound loud in the suddenly quiet room. “How do you even know that?” he hissed. 

“I am the spymaster of the Night Court,” Azriel said, his voice quiet but even.  

“So what, you care about gossip from 3 centuries ago?” Lucien demanded. “Do you have nothing better to do?” 

Cassian opened his mouth but Elain laid a hand on her mate’s. “Luce,” she said, her voice soft, calming him. 

“If it’s useful, yes ,” Azriel said, voice quiet.  

“How could it possibly be useful to you? Also, he’s dead. Has been dead, for over a century,” Lucien snapped. Azriel stayed quiet. “That didn’t show up in your research, did it?” Lucien sneered. 

This was unlike Azriel. If Azriel used something like that, then he would have already known that whoever he had meant was no longer living. This was just…weird. 

This was weird. 

But what seemingly wasn’t these days? 

One of Azriel’s shadows came darting a few moments later, doing that weird thing they sometimes did, where they became nearly bodily for a moment or two and left something for the shadowsinger. 

Even after over 500 years of being around Azriel, the shadows were still a mystery to Cassian. 

They left a simple note for Azriel, dropping it next to his plate. He reached out to open it without hesitation. 

Cassian was curious enough to try and sneak a peek. The only thing he could read was absolute gibberish. 

That didn’t seem to be the case for Azriel though. He removed a second sealed note, placed it on the table and then without hesitation put his own note in his empty water glass.

Seconds later, it burst into fire with a bright flame. 

Cassian just stared at it. 

He had seen that a few times. It was how the Autumn Court sends correspondence, making sure that nobody else but the intended recipient could read it. Destroying the evidence, after it had been seen. 

And suddenly…it all made sense!

The reason why Azriel kept a secret from Rhys because it wasn’t just some random female that he had met in Velaris that he was seeing. 

It wasn’t a female at all! 

It was Eris Vanserra. 

That it must be. That would give Azriel a reason to keep the relationship quiet, away from every single one of them, because all of them would have tried to talk him out of that. 

Him, Rhys, Mor…

“By the cauldron, you are seeing Eris!” His mouth moved on his own accord, the words leaving his body without his input. It was the pure shock of that realisation that made him spit out the words. 

“Cassian!” Nesta complained, long sufferingly, rubbing a hand over her forehead.  He could feel her annoyance over the mating bond but he couldn’t help himself. 

“The letter just went up in flames! That’s how the Autumn Court sends correspondence!” Cassian defended himself. “You are seeing Eris!” he accused Azriel wide-eyed, who sat frozen in place, still staring at his water glass. 

How could Azriel even…How? When had that happened? How had that happened? What had happened? 

Cassian had so many questions.

“And because of that, you are now thinking that Azriel has a love affair with Lucien’s half-brother?” Feyre asked haltingly. 

“Yes!” It made perfect sense! It did!

Azriel was in love and didn’t want to admit to it! And he was in love with Eris Vanserra.

“No.” Azriel’s voice put a halt to his speculation. It was icy. 

“But…” Cassian started, but he didn’t even get out more than the first word because Azriel cut him off. 

Azriel could have cut glass with how sharp his voice was. 

“Cassian, I have absolutely no idea what makes you think that I am in some kind of romantic relationship with Eris Vanserra but I’ll gladly swear to you on my own life, that that is not happening in a million years. And Eris was not the one writing me.” 

Oh. 

“Who was writing to you then?” Rhys asked, curiously. “Must be somebody from Autumn.” 

True. Maybe it was Eris after all!

“I know somebody that knows somebody,” Azriel repeated, picking up the other note and handing it to Cassian with a glance at Lucien. Cassian handed it over. The handwriting was elegant and loopy, the note closed with a wax seal, showing a stylised O surrounded by…something that he couldn’t place. “An enchantress is willing to meet you tomorrow. Bright and Early,” Azriel explained to Lucien.

That wasn’t what Cassian had expected. It was the exact opposite, to be honest. 

No secret relationship with Eris after all? Just some message from Azriel to get Lucien the enchantress he needed? 

After how snippy Lucien had been with Azriel, Cassian was surprised that Az had even bothered to do that. It would suit Lucien fine if Az didn’t even bother helping him. He could just keep his whirring eye. 

Especially when Azriel had never even done anything . He had been nothing but supportive of Lucien and Elain’s relationship. Hadn’t said a single thing against it. Done nothing. Attended their wedding quietly and then left as soon as it was polite to do so. 

Whatever Lucien’s problem with him was these days…Azriel had done nothing to deserve his ire. 

Lucien hesitated at taking the note. Cassian wanted to roll his eyes. Like Azriel would curse it. 

“If I wanted you dead, the plan would be a lot less convoluted. Just for your information,” Azriel pointed out, his tone even. 

Lucien finally took the note, glanced at it, and Cassian watched him swallow. 

“Where did you meet her?” he demanded, his voice hoarse. 

“I know somebody that knows somebody,” Azriel repeated. “That’s my job. And that reminds me, I have to go.” And there he was, already standing up, not even having eaten half a plate. 

“So soon?” Feyre asked, sounding surprised. 

“I have plans,” Azriel didn’t seem willing to share more than that. Still, Feyre watched him, curiosity painting her gentle features. 

“What kind of plans?” She asked. Feyre and Nesta were probably the only two who could ask him a question like that and not get their head bitten off. 

“The kind of plans that I am not willing to change.” 

He had never heard Azriel’s voice quite like that. There was no use to argue with him. Not when he sounded like that. 

And off he went, disappearing again. 

The mystery was still unsolved. 

“ Eris ? Really, Cassian?” Rhys asked with a sigh.

“Excuse me, it made perfect sense!” Cassian defended himself. It did! It made sense! 

“It did not,” Nesta snorted, for once agreeing with her brother-in-law. “Why, Cassian?”

He pouted.  

“What enchantress did he find for you?” Rhys asked Lucien curiously. 

“My cousin,” Lucien answered with a sigh. “She has been living around here for…a hundred years, I think. Give or take a few.” He turned to Cassian. “Though I still wonder how did you come up with Azriel seeing my brother?”

“Cassian thinks that Azriel has a secret lover,” Nesta answered the question. “Eris is the latest of his theories. Disproven once again.”

He glared at his made. 

“I’ll figure it out,” he said tightly. 

He would. 

So it wasn’t Eris Vanserra. It must be something or somebody else. The question was just who.

[katerinaaqu]

I think Homer was in love lol 😆 (He definitely went for it and left no crumbs with this description from the 23rd Rhapsody of Odyssey!) - a little analysis

"And so Athena poured plenty of beauty over his head, making him look taller and bulkier/thicker: while down upon his head she made his wholly curls bloom like hyakinths. And just like the skillful craftsman/goldsmith, to whom Hephestus and Pallas Athena taught all sorts of arts, pours gold, in order to perfect his work: thus she poured beauty over his head and shoulders. He got out of the bathtub, looking like a god"

(Translation by me)

Like....Homer my dude! 😆 easy there with the descriptions hahahahaha 😆 🤣 😂 Like yeah we get it he is a goddess-magnet but like come on! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

***

But on a little more serious note, his descriptions are amazing.

I love it how he describes his curly hair looking like hyakinths.

The comparison to hyakinths made me even more intensely imagine Odysseus having long hair (for example shoulder-lenth at least)

I also love the way he uses words! The word "οὖλας" for example can be translated in many ways! it can come from the word "ὅλοξ" which stands for "entire" or "complete" however it also comes from "οὖλος" which means "whooly" or "fleecy". In the Iliad Odysseus was described "looking like a ram" so the translation could either be "all his curls" or "his whooly, curls" and both are a wink to Odysseus's thick, curly hair.

Ironically though the same word is used to signify "cruel" or "destructful" which is what Odysseus was a few second before.

The same word also is sounding similar to the word "οὐλάς" which means "crisped" or "crinkled" which signifies how wounded Odysseus was by his whole 20 year old ordeal so Athena basically renews his body!

Last but not least sounds the same with the word "ουλή" which means "scar" so in a way again seems that it signifies Odysseus's body being so abused by time and harsh life! And Homer does that by just describing his hair!

The description of beauty rolling over him like molted gold perfects an artifact is simply perfection *chef kiss*

So...yeah Odysseus gets a glow-up! Hahahaha!

[the-blood-dripped-crown]

Gather/trader- This would lead to Duke having an wide range of knowledge of stuff from medicines to wepons and jewelry, he would be more familiar with the woods then most people giving him a tactical advantage, he would also be really good at figuring what people want/need and how much they're willing to do for it. He would be really good at selling stuff including Ideal such as freedom and Justice. He also would have a assortment of skill sets he learned to get stuff to sell. For example he would be a good climber to get rare fruits but he'd also know how to get snake venom without being bite or how to tell the value of gems. He could also help Wally and Tim by gathering herbs and plants that are used to heal.

Goldsmith- This would lead to him being good at noticing details often seeing things others don't/can't , while he would have a basic knowledge of wepons he would know more about crowns and symbols. He would work close to Royalty and develop a unique understanding of Kings and Queens. Duke would be less likely to trust someone who wore symbols of power than someone who wore symbols of humbleness or kindness. He and Jason could discuss their shared knowledge of symbolism.

Blacksmith- this would give him a good understanding of different kinds of weapons and armor. He be able to most likely predict his enemy's fighting style and personality based on their wepons and Armor. Many people would believe that Duke could see in the future because of how good he was at reading people. Damian would be impressed by Duke's understanding of wepons.

Scout-suggest by millylotus "A scout maybe, he was spending a lot of time looking for his parents around Gotham in canon & his dad(Doug not Gnomon) would take him around to buildings he's worked on" this would give him a good knowledge of the land and the relationship between kingdoms as well as his own people. He could help navigating for the knights once he moves to shadow birds.

Farmer- he would be good at surviving off the land and devople skulls that could help the kingdom during times of crisis such as famine or plauge, most farmers are also very self efficient. Duke would also be good at reading the land and knowing the weather. He could predict draughts, bad storms, or drops in temperatures. This would make him a good Allie during times of war as he could help forge battle plans around the weather.

Tavern Worker- This would lead to him having good people skills, also a tavern is a great place to over hear information and most revolutions are started in bars or Taverns. He would als be a good person to share your problems with. This would also lead to Duke being good at telling when someone was hiding something. Plus this is another job that may cause some people to believe he can see in the future because of how good he was at reading people. Damian probably wouldn't be to big of a fan because of how good Duke is at reading people.

Grosser- similar to the trader but less traveled and more into tuned to the economics of the kingdom and what the people need. It would led to him talking with Bruce and Damian a lot but I could say the same with Gather/Trader.

Whatever trade was probably taught to him by his step father Doug. Dukes bio dad was a noble under the twisted king. Duke is a Revolutionary so what ever skills he has developed will go into helping him with that.

More on this version of Duke here

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Wise Pair of Fools: A Retelling of “The Farmer’s Clever Daughter”

For the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge at @inklings-challenge.

Faith

I wish you could have known my husband when he was a young man. How you would have laughed at him! He was so wonderfully pompous—oh, you’d have no idea unless you’d seen him then. He’s weathered beautifully, but back then, his beauty was bright and new, all bronze and ebony. He tried to pretend he didn’t care for personal appearances, but you could tell he felt his beauty. How could a man not be proud when he looked like one of creation’s freshly polished masterpieces every time he stepped out among his dirty, sweaty peasantry?

But his pride in his face was nothing compared to the pride he felt over his mind. He was clever, even then, and he knew it. He’d grown up with an army of nursemaids to exclaim, “What a clever boy!” over every mildly witty observation he made. He’d been tutored by some of the greatest scholars on the continent, attended the great universities, traveled further than most people think the world extends. He could converse like a native in fifteen living languages and at least three dead ones.

And books! Never a man like him for reading! His library was nothing to what it is now, of course, but he was making a heroic start. Always a book in his hand, written by some dusty old man who never said in plain language what he could dress up in words that brought four times the work to some lucky printer. Every second breath he took came out as a quotation. It fairly baffled his poor servants—I’m certain to this day some of them assume Plato and Socrates were college friends of his.

Well, at any rate, take a man like that—beautiful and over-educated—and make him king over an entire nation—however small—before he turns twenty-five, and you’ve united all earthly blessings into one impossibly arrogant being.

Unfortunately, Alistair’s pomposity didn’t keep him properly aloof in his palace. He’d picked up an idea from one of his old books that he should be like one of the judge-kings of old, walking out among his people to pass judgment on their problems, giving the inferior masses the benefit of all his twenty-four years of wisdom. It’s all right to have a royal patron, but he was so patronizing. Just as if we were all children and he was our benevolent father. It wasn’t strange to see him walking through the markets or looking over the fields—he always managed to look like he floated a step or two above the common ground the rest of us walked on—and we heard stories upon stories of his judgments. He was decisive, opinionated. Always thought he had a better way of doing things. Was always thinking two and ten and twelve steps ahead until a poor man’s head would be spinning from all the ways the king found to see through him. Half the time, I wasn’t sure whether to fear the man or laugh at him. I usually laughed.

So then you can see how the story of the mortar—what do you mean you’ve never heard it? You could hear it ten times a night in any tavern in the country. I tell it myself at least once a week! Everyone in the palace is sick to death of it!

Oh, this is going to be a treat! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a fresh audience?

It happened like this. It was spring of the year I turned twenty-one. Father plowed up a field that had lain fallow for some years, with some new-fangled deep-cutting plow that our book-learned king had inflicted upon a peasantry that was baffled by his scientific talk. Father was plowing near a river when he uncovered a mortar made of solid gold. You know, a mortar—the thing with the pestle, for grinding things up. Don’t ask me why on earth a goldsmith would make such a thing—the world’s full of men with too much money and not enough sense, and housefuls of servants willing to take too-valuable trinkets off their hands. Someone decades ago had swiped this one and apparently found my father’s farm so good a hiding place that they forgot to come back for it.

Anyhow, my father, like the good tenant he was, understood that as he’d found a treasure on the king’s land, the right thing to do was to give it to the king. He was all aglow with his noble purpose, ready to rush to the palace at first light to do his duty by his liege lord.

I hope you can see the flaw in his plan. A man like Alistair, certain of his own cleverness, careful never to be outwitted by his peasantry? Come to a man like that with a solid gold mortar, and his first question’s going to be…?

That’s right. “Where’s the pestle?”

I tried to tell Father as much, but he��dear, sweet, innocent man—saw only his simple duty and went forth to fulfill it. He trotted into the king’s throne room—it was his public day—all smiles and eagerness.

Alistair took one look at him and saw a peasant tickled to death that he was pulling a fast one on the king—giving up half the king’s rightful treasure in the hopes of keeping the other half and getting a fat reward besides.

Alistair tore into my father—his tongue was much sharper then—taking his argument to pieces until Father half-believed he had hidden away the pestle somewhere, probably after stealing both pieces himself. In his confusion, Father looked even guiltier, and Alistair ordered his guard to drag Father off to the dungeons until they could arrange a proper hearing—and, inevitably, a hanging.

As they dragged him to his doom, my father had the good sense to say one coherent phrase, loud enough for the entire palace to hear. “If only I had listened to my daughter!”

Alistair, for all his brains, hadn’t expected him to say something like that. He had Father brought before him, and questioned him until he learned the whole story of how I’d urged Father to bury the mortar again and not say a word about it, so as to prevent this very scene from occurring.

About five minutes after that, I knocked over a butter churn when four soldiers burst into my father’s farmhouse and demanded I go with them to the castle. I made them clean up the mess, then put on my best dress and did up my hair—in those days, it was thick and golden, and fell to my ankles when unbound—and after traveling to the castle, I went, trembling, up the aisle of the throne room.

Alistair had made an effort that morning to look extra handsome and extra kingly. He still has robes like those, all purple and gold, but the way they set off his black hair and sharp cheekbones that day—I’ve never seen anything like it. He looked half-divine, the spirit of judgment in human form. At the moment, I didn’t feel like laughing at him.

Looming on his throne, he asked me, “Is it true that you advised this man to hide the king’s rightful property from him?” (Alistair hates it when I imitate his voice—but isn’t it a good impression?)

I said yes, it was true, and Alistair asked me why I’d done such a thing, and I said I had known this disaster would result, and he asked how I knew, and I said (and I think it’s quite good), that this is what happens when you have a king who’s too clever to be anything but stupid.

Naturally, Alistair didn’t like that answer a bit, but I’d gotten on a roll, and it was my turn to give him a good tongue-lashing. What kind of king did he think he was, who could look at a man as sweet and honest as my father and suspect him of a crime? Alistair was so busy trying to see hidden lies that he couldn’t see the truth in front of his face. So determined not to be made a fool of that he was making himself into one. If he persisted in suspecting everyone who tried to do him a good turn, no one would be willing to do much of anything for him. And so on and so forth.

You might be surprised at my boldness, but I had come into that room not expecting to leave it without a rope around my neck, so I intended to speak my mind while I had the chance. The strangest thing was that Alistair listened, and as he listened, he lost some of that righteous arrogance until he looked almost human. And the end of it all was that he apologized to me!

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather at that! I didn’t faint, but I came darn close. That arrogant, determined young king, admitting to a simple farmer’s daughter that he’d been wrong?

He did more than admit it—he made amends. He let Father keep the mortar, and then bought it from him at its full value. Then he gifted Father the farm where we lived, making us outright landowners. After the close of the day’s hearings, he even invited us to supper with him, and I found that King Alistair wasn’t a half-bad conversational partner. Some of those books he read sounded almost interesting.

For a year after that, Alistair kept finding excuses to come by the farm. He would check on Father’s progress and baffle him with advice. We ran into each other in the street so often that I began to expect it wasn’t mere chance. We’d talk books, and farming, and sharpen our wits on each other. We’d do wordplay, puzzles, tongue-twisters. A game, but somehow, I always thought, some strange sort of test.

Would you believe, even his proposal was a riddle? Yes, an actual riddle! One spring morning, I came across Alistair on a corner of my father's land, and he got down on one knee, confessed his love for me, and set me a riddle. He had the audacity to look into the face of the woman he loved—me!—and tell me that if I wanted to accept his proposal, I would come to him at his palace, not walking and not riding, not naked and not dressed, not on the road and not off it.

Do you know, I think he actually intended to stump me with it? For all his claim to love me, he looked forward to baffling me! He looked so sure of himself—as if all his book-learning couldn’t be beat by just a bit of common sense.

If I’d really been smart, I suppose I’d have run in the other direction, but, oh, I wanted to beat him so badly. I spent about half a minute solving the riddle and then went off to make my preparations.

The next morning, I came to the castle just like he asked. Neither walking nor riding—I tied myself to the old farm mule and let him half-drag me. Neither on the road nor off it—only one foot dragging in a wheel rut at the end. Neither naked nor dressed—merely wrapped in a fishing net. Oh, don’t look so shocked! There was so much rope around me that you could see less skin than I’m showing now.

If I’d hoped to disappoint Alistair, well, I was disappointed. He radiated joy. I’d never seen him truly smile before that moment—it was incandescent delight. He swept me in his arms, gave me a kiss without a hint of calculation in it, then had me taken off to be properly dressed, and we were married within a week.

It was a wonderful marriage. We got along beautifully—at least until the next time I outwitted him. But I won’t bore you with that story again—

You don’t know that one either? Where have you been hiding yourself?

Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you that one. Not if it’s your first time. It’s much better the way Alistair tells it.

What time is it?

Perfect! He’s in his library just now. Go there and ask him to tell you the whole thing.

Yes, right now! What are you waiting for?

Alistair

Faith told you all that, did she? And sent you to me for the rest? That woman! It’s just like her! She thinks I have nothing better to do than sit around all day and gossip about our courtship!

Where are you going? I never said I wouldn’t tell the story! Honestly, does no one have brains these days? Sit down!

Yes, yes, anywhere you like. One chair’s as good as another—I built this room for comfort. Do you take tea? I can ring for a tray—the story tends to run long.

Well, I’ll ring for the usual, and you can help yourself to whatever you like.

I’m sure Faith has given you a colorful picture of what I was like as a young man, and she’s not totally inaccurate. I’d had wealth and power and too much education thrown on me far too young, and I thought my blessings made me better than other men. My own father had been the type of man who could be fooled by every silver-tongued charlatan in the land, so I was sensitive and suspicious, determined to never let another man outwit me.

When Faith came to her father’s defense, it was like my entire self came crumbling down. Suddenly, I wasn’t the wise king; I was a cruel and foolish boy—but Faith made me want to be better. That day was the start of my fascination with her, and my courtship started in earnest not long after.

The riddle? Yes, I can see how that would be confusing. Faith tends to skip over the explanations there. A riddle’s an odd proposal, but I thought it was brilliant at the time, and I still think it wasn’t totally wrong-headed. I wasn’t just finding a wife, you see, but a queen. Riddles have a long history in royal courtships. I spent weeks laboring over mine. I had some idea of a symbolic proposal—each element indicating how she’d straddle two worlds to be with me. But more than that, I wanted to see if Faith could move beyond binary thinking—look beyond two opposites to see the third option between. Kings and queens have to do that more often than you’d think…

No, I’m sorry, it is a bit dull, isn’t it? I guess there’s a reason Faith skips over the explanations.

So to return to the point: no matter what Faith tells you, I always intended for her to solve the riddle. I wouldn’t have married her if she hadn’t—but I wouldn’t have asked if I’d had the least doubt she’d succeed. The moment she came up that road was the most ridiculous spectacle you’d ever hope to see, but I had never known such ecstasy. She’d solved every piece of my riddle, in just the way I’d intended. She understood my mind and gained my heart. Oh, it was glorious.

Those first weeks of marriage were glorious, too. You’d think it’d be an adjustment, turning a farmer’s daughter into a queen, but it was like Faith had been born to the role. Manners are just a set of rules, and Faith has a sharp mind for memorization, and it’s not as though we’re a large kingdom or a very formal court. She had a good mind for politics, and was always willing to listen and learn. I was immensely proud of myself for finding and catching the perfect wife.

You’re smarter than I was—you can see where I was going wrong. But back then, I didn’t see a cloud in the sky of our perfect happiness until the storm struck.

It seemed like such a small thing at the time. I was looking over the fields of some nearby villages—farming innovations were my chief interest at the time. There were so many fascinating developments in those days. I’ve an entire shelf full of texts if you’re interested—

The story, yes. My apologies. The offer still stands.

Anyway, I was out in the fields, and it was well past the midday hour. I was starving, and more than a little overheated, so we were on our way to a local inn for a bit of food and rest. Just as I was at my most irritable, these farmers’ wives show up, shrilly demanding judgment in a case of theirs. I’d become known for making those on-the-spot decisions. I’d thought it was an efficient use of government resources—as long as I was out with the people, I could save them the trouble of complicated procedures with the courts—but I’d never regretted taking up the practice as heartily as I did in this moment.

The case was like this: one farmer’s horse had recently given birth, and the foal had wandered away from its mother and onto the neighbor’s property, where it laid down underneath an ox that was at pasture, and the second farmer thought this gave him a right to keep it. There were questions of fences and boundaries and who-owed-who for different trades going back at least a couple of decades—those women were determined to bring every past grievance to light in settling this case.

Well, it didn’t take long for me to lose what little patience I had. I snapped at both women and told them that my decision was that the foal could very well stay where it was.

Not my most reasoned decision, but it wasn’t totally baseless. I had common law going back centuries that supported such a ruling. Possession is nine-tenths of the law and all. It wasn't as though a single foal was worth so much fuss. I went off to my meal and thought that was the end of it.

I’d forgotten all about it by the time I returned to the same village the next week. My man and I were crossing the bridge leading into the town when we found the road covered by a fishing net. An old man sat by the side of the road, shaking and casting the net just as if he were laying it out for a catch.

“What do you think you’re doing, obstructing a public road like this?” I asked him.

The man smiled genially at me and replied, “Fishing, majesty.”

I thought perhaps the man had a touch of sunstroke, so I was really rather kind when I explained to him how impossible it was to catch fish in the roadway.

The man just replied, “It’s no more impossible than an ox giving birth to a foal, majesty.”

He said it like he’d been coached, and it didn’t take long for me to learn that my wife was behind it all. The farmer’s wife who’d lost the foal had come to Faith for help, and my wife had advised the farmer to make the scene I’d described.

Oh, was I livid! Instead of coming to me in private to discuss her concerns about the ruling, Faith had made a public spectacle of me. She encouraged my own subjects to mock me! This was what came of making a farm girl into a queen! She’d live in my house and wear my jewels, and all the time she was laughing up her sleeve at me while she incited my citizens to insurrection! Before long, none of my subjects would respect me. I’d lose my crown, and the kingdom would fall to pieces—

I worked myself into a fine frenzy, thinking such things. At the time, I thought myself perfectly reasonable. I had identified a threat to the kingdom’s stability, and I would deal with it. The moment I came home, I found Faith and declared that the marriage was dissolved. “If you prefer to side with the farmers against your own husband,” I told her, “you can go back to your father’s house and live with them!”

It was quite the tantrum. I’m proud to say I’ve never done anything so shameful since.

To my surprise, Faith took it all silently. None of the fire that she showed in defending her father against me. Faith had this way, back then, where she could look at a man and make him feel like an utter fool. At that moment, she made me feel like a monster. I was already beginning to regret what I was doing, but it was buried under so much anger that I barely realized it, and my pride wouldn’t allow me to back down so easily from another decision.

After I said my piece, Faith quietly asked if she was to leave the palace with nothing.

I couldn’t reverse what I’d decided, but I could soften it a bit.

“You may take one keepsake,” I told her. “Take the one thing you love best from our chambers.”

I thought I was clever to make the stipulation. Knowing Faith, she’d have found some way to move the entire palace and count it as a single item. I had no doubt she’d take the most expensive and inconvenient thing she could, but there was nothing in that set of rooms I couldn’t afford to lose.

Or so I thought. No doubt you’re beginning to see that Faith always gets the upper hand in a battle of wits.

I kept my distance that evening—let myself stew in resentment so I couldn’t regret what I’d done. I kept to my library—not this one, the little one upstairs in our suite—trying to distract myself with all manner of books, and getting frustrated when I found I wanted to share pieces of them with Faith. I was downright relieved when a maid came by with a tea tray. I drank my usual three cups so quickly I barely tasted them—and I passed out atop my desk five minutes later.

Yes, Faith had arranged for the tea—and she’d drugged me!

I came to in the pink light of early dawn, my head feeling like it had been run over by a military caravan. My wits were never as slow as they were that morning. I laid stupidly for what felt like hours, wondering why my bed was so narrow and lumpy, and why the walls of the room were so rough and bare, and why those infernal birds were screaming half an inch from my open window.

By the time I had enough strength to sit up, I could see that I was in the bedroom of a farmer’s cottage. Faith was standing by the window, looking out at the sunrise, wearing the dress she’d worn the first day I met her. Her hair was unbound, tumbling in golden waves all the way to her ankles. My heart leapt at the sight—her hair was one of the wonders of the world in those days, and I was so glad to see her when I felt so ill—until I remembered the events of the previous day, and was too confused and ashamed to have room for any other thoughts or feelings.

“Faith?” I asked. “Why are you here? Where am I?”

“My father’s home,” Faith replied, her eyes downcast—I think it’s the only time in her life she was ever bashful. “You told me I could take the one thing I loved best.”

Can I explain to you how my heart leapt at those words? There had never been a mind or a heart like my wife’s! It was like the moment she’d come to save her father—she made me feel a fool and feel glad for the reminder. I’d made the same mistake both times—let my head get in the way of my heart. She never made that mistake, thank heaven, and it saved us both.

Do you have something you want to add, Faith, darling? Don’t pretend I can’t see you lurking in the stacks and laughing at me! I’ll get as sappy as I like! If you think you can do it better, come out in the open and finish this story properly!

Faith

You tell it so beautifully, my darling fool boy, but if you insist—

I was forever grateful Dinah took that tea to Alistair. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the loophole in his words—I was so afraid he’d see my ploy coming and stop me. But his wits were so blessedly dull that day. It was like outwitting a child.

When at last he came to, I was terrified. He had cast me out because I’d outwitted him, and now here I was again, thinking another clever trick would make everything well.

Fortunately, Alistair was marvelous—saw my meaning in an instant. Sometimes he can be almost clever.

After that, what’s there to tell? We made up our quarrel, and then some. Alistair brought me back to the palace in high honors—it was wonderful, the way he praised me and took so much blame on himself.

(You were really rather too hard on yourself, darling—I’d done more than enough to make any man rightfully angry. Taking you to Father’s house was my chance to apologize.)

Alistair paid the farmer for the loss of his foal, paid for the mending of the fence that had led to the trouble in the first place, and straightened out the legal tangles that had the neighbors at each others’ throats.

After that, things returned much to the way they’d been before, except that Alistair was careful never to think himself into such troubles again. We’ve gotten older, and I hope wiser, and between our quarrels and our reconciliations, we’ve grown into quite the wise pair of lovestruck fools. Take heed from it, whenever you marry—it’s good to have a clever spouse, but make sure you have one who’s willing to be the fool every once in a while.

Trust me. It works out for the best.

[hastalavistabyebye]

Okay let's see if Tumblr let's me post it this time...

I have come to a terrible, horrible, no good revelation.

The Coruscanti high society is Nobleness and the rich elite. Which means they would commission lots of art and it would often be to the same famous artists. Which always means there's going to be bad taste crimes in the sake of displaying their wealth.

That means Space Bernard Palissy and Benvenuto Cellini have a way too high, nightmarely high, probability of existing.

And since this is way too niche, have an explenation as to why I hate my mind for this revelation under the cut.

See, I might hate drama and being mixed into it, but I'm also an art history student and have beef with long dead artists, as any scholar/student is bound to have at least once with their subjects of study.

Now, let me explain to you why I despise Bernard Palissy with a burning passion. I usually don't care much for esthetic if it's interesting : I hate this. It's that bad.

Tumblr, you're going to love this.

Warning : jumpscare

This is terrible. This is also a Renaissance era ornamental plate that was proudly displayed on French Nobles tables during banquets. This was made by molding clay on living animals (yes, snakes, frogs, lizards and all).

Edit : okay lil explanation on how this was made because it's indeed confusing. There is no animal bodies inside that plate. The living animals were used as molds to then create forms in plaster. Those forms were reused to recreate clay animals that were then disposed on a plate or other object, and were reusable multiple times. So molding clay on living animals was a step before in the process and not directly in there. Makes things a lil bit better I suppose but still so gross.

You can't tell me Coruscanti High society is not going to dig this. Because they would. And it's going to be made with space animals too. Awful. Terrible.

Now, Cellini is quite similar really. He didn't make pottery but was a goldsmith. He was also italian because French Nobles didn't have the monopol of bad taste. I have a friend who hate Cellini more than I do Palissy. I understand them.

Sometimes I think, personnaly, that Cellini is like a bad Michelangelo. A very drunk, very, very bad Michelangelo.

It might look innocuous but it's terrible.

The first image is a salt shaker. Yes, it's in gold. Yes, I know it looks like a cheap, tourist goodies. I warned you.

The other does represent Diana (alright it was for the french king, but Cellini is still italian ! And he was also very much liked in Italy !). Her body hurts to look at and it's just no good all around but it's mAnNeRisM (I promise you, there's artists of this movement that did things that look good).

And I can just tell Star Wars elite loved those kind of display of wealth (and awful taste). There's no way around it.

I hate this revelation.

[russellsppttemplates]

Elodie gets her ears pierced (blurb)

Note: I don't know how this works these days, but all of the four times I've had my ears pierced (it's a very dramatic series of stories as to why I had to get them done all of those times), I always got them done at a goldsmith/jeweller shop. I know you can do them in pharmacies now, too, and maybe some other places, I'm sure.

Tw: mentions a piercing gun

"Are you ready?", you asked, walking inside the shop with your daughter, sitting in one of the sofas they had in the waiting area

"Will it hurt, mama?", she asked, suddenly feeling nervous about it. It was her idea to get her ears pierced after she asked to wear a pair of earrings you had and having not been able to as they weren't clip-ons, "it's a little pinch on your ear, it usually stings a little but they usually put a spray or a cream to make the ear a bit sleepy so you don't feel it too much", you comforted, "but if you don't want to do it today, we can come here another day, okay?", you knelt in front of her, holding her hands in yous and rubbing the top of her palms, "I know, mama, but I can do it", she smiled, looking up at the older man.

"Bonjour, Élodie! Are you ready to get your ears pierced?", he saw her smal nod, "it's okay to be scared, but I'm going to do my very best so you don't even notice it, okay?", he said, holding his hand out and gesturing for her to follow him, "let's pick your studs first then, I have some new ones that arrived this week!".

His work experience was noticeable, whether it was in his grey hair, the way he pointed facts about each piece and his patience as your daughter kept changing her choice of studs, "yes, these ones, please!", your daughter beamed. The pair was simple, gold stars with rounded edges so they wouldn't hurt her ears too much.

Sitting in the chair, the older man warned her, "I'm just going to spray this here, okay? So it doesn't hurt too much, it's going to feel cold though", he said, spraying the product and massaging her earlobe, "now I'm going to draw a dot so I know where to pierce", he grabbed the marker and placing the ink.

"Okay, Élodie", he said, grabbing the small piercing gun, "this is how I do it, and this little gun is going to make a big noise, but you don't have to worry, okay? I know it can be scary, but I'm letting you know so you know it is coming", he said. Élodie looked at you, "can I sit on my mama's lap while you do it?", she asked shyly.

"Of course, whatever you need to feel more comfortable", he smiled, seeing her jump out of her seat as you sat, getting comfortable yourself as you found the best position to be in.

"Okay, here I go, Élodie", he said as he pierced her right ear, "are you okay?", he asked, seeing her squeezing her eyes, "yes, I was expecting it to be louder", she admitted, looking up at you with a small smile, "That's good, amor, you're very brave".

"They're a lot quieter these days, I'm sure that when your mama had her ears pierced, they were way louder", he added, moving to the other side, "ready for the other one?", he asked as she nodded before staying still.

"Do you like them?", he asked as he grabbed the mirror, "I love them! Thank you", she smiled at him as she got off of your lap.

After paying and getting the supplies you needed so they would heal nicely, you met up with Pierre and the boys at the Karting track since they preferred to spend their free afternoon there.

"Did you get them done, chérie?", Pierre said as he saw his daughter run up to him, "yes! Look, papa!", she said, pulling her hair away so he could see them, "they're very pretty, Élodie!", he inspected them carefully, knowing her skin would be sensitive, "mama also got me a pair of hoops for when these heal, so I can match her!".

(Thank you for submitting an ask 🤍)

[grecoromanyaoi]

ok decided to post this publicly. the current name is 'when in rome' but im not sure i like it. it will ideally b a sitcom/comedy but unfortunately i keep putting in terrible and horrendous things into the plot that make it kinda hard to b a strictly comedy. like theyre a rich family in 1st century bc rome (60 bc to b exact). theyre imperialists. they have slaves. im trying to b as respectful as i can + trying to b comical so more under the cut. the characters r v basic for now.

so basically its abt the avianii, a rich patrician family. the parents are lucius avianus honorinus (sr) and cantilia. they have 5 children- lucius (jr), tiberius, aviana the elder, gaius and aviana the younger.

Lucius Avianus Honorinus (jr) is one of the main characters. he is kind of a loser.  He hates doing what he’s told. He hates not fitting in, but he also hates everything fitting in requires, because it's just not him. He’s neurotic, obsessed with getting positive reassurance. He can’t find it in society or his family, so he looks for it in sexual partners. He wants to be loved, to be desired, to be appreciated in any way. He’s desperate for it. Wants to please his parents and society but knows he never truly will. He wants to be a poet. His poetry is not great. hes got a working class greek immigrant bf and theyre being weird and gay abt it. he doesnt identify as nonbinary bc that label or idea didnt rly exist yet, but if he were alive today hed probably identify as nonbinary.

Lysandros (said bf) is realistic, sometimes borderline pessimistic. Grounded in reality. He’s sarcastic (deadpan snarker). He’s hilarious. He is a stonemason? smith? goldsmith? baker? builder? He’s good at his job, whatever it is. His wife, Laodike, and mother are back in Boeotia, and he sends them money. He doesn’t particularly like his wife, and she doesn’t like him either. They have a kid, Aristokles, who Lysandros figures isn’t his.

Aviana (the elder) is also a main character. she is a bit odd. Kind of a goofball. She says whatever she thinks all the time, never once stopping to think whether it’s appropriate or what the consequences will be. An autism diagnosis will do her a great good. She’s far from stupid, but people often think she is because they don’t understand the way she thinks. Often oblivious to situations around her, but sometimes understands/figures out more than she lets on. she dreams of a great love, but gets married to a man who turns out to b rly shitty and abusive, so she cheats on him w Adiantunnos, her gaulish (gaelic? idk. from gaul) bf who actually respects her (who is the only good parisian perhaps to this day).

Tiberius Avianus Honorinus is way too into the military and makes it his entire personality bona dea Tiberius shut uppppp nobody wants to hear abt ur siege in germania for the umpteenth time. He definitely takes after his father (i need to continue this im lazy)

Gaius Avianus Honorinus doesn’t talk at all. He is a high support autistic, and very likely has some sort of an intellectual disability as well. He likes listening to music, but only to very specific music. He only likes women’s singing, not men’s singing. his siblings (aside from Tiberius) love him very much, but Diotima (enslaved character) is the only one who understands him and knows how to care for him.

Aviana (the younger) is like 9 so i havent really thought about her yet.

Cantilia is a bit of a bully. She wants all her children to present as perfect, and for them to look like the perfect family. The fact that she rarely cares about her children’s feelings, wants or needs, and even Gaius’ mere existence makes it impossible for her to present them as the perfect family. Often jealous and especially mean to young women in her husband’s vicinity, especially to Boudilatis (enslaved character), because he pays them more attention than he does her.

Lucius Avianus Honorinus (father) is high key a terrible person. He definitely has autism but he displays it in ways that pass it off as his “man traits”, for example how he talks about politics and the military almost nonstop. He doesn’t understand his wife nor his children and doesn’t care to. Can be very cruel to his wife and children, and even worse to the slaves. He wants his children to be perfect, and for his sons, when he says ‘perfect’ he means ‘just like him’. He is only proud of Tiberius because he follows in his footsteps and succeeds at a military career. He is very disappointed in Lucius, but claims that “at least he’s not Gaius”. Highly misogynistic and homophobic, and quite a womanizer.

im trying to avoid anything controversial n racist so im keeping all the enslaved characters "white" (not how they saw race but whatever), mostly greek and gaulish, which were v common. Diotima will probably b a main character. she is the oldest one, and practically raised the children. she doesnt give a fuck anymore. she literally says to lucius one time 'theres nothing ur parents can do to me that they havent already done' (after he said they would get mad at her). her father was a prominent scholar in Greece, and he named her after a character in plato's symposium. he and his family were enslaved after he tried to lead a rebellion against the romans. she is extremely intelligent and has a vast range of knowledge about philosophy, literature, history, etc. its just that nobody knows this bc they didnt care to ask.

[princeofthecornfield]

Bluebelle and her tall son Belcar! My dungeon meshi ocs whom I love dearly!

Lore ⬇️

Belcar’s first mother was Bluebelles first and best friend when she first moved to the city they loved having similar names. (Her name was Carabelle)

And his name is a combination of their names as Bluebelle was with her the entire pregnancy after her husband unexpectedly died. Unfortunately due to a sickness that swept the city Carabelle passed when Belcar was 11 months old.

They live with Blue’s sister Yellowjack and her husband Clive who run an apothecary together. (They also sell spices). Bluebelle and Belcar collect herbs, roots and other plant parts to be taken back to the shop to be dried and processed.

Bluebelle and Belcar are pretty well known in half foot circles and he is usually referred to as Bluebelle's boy or her Tall son. Which unfortunately sometimes gets shortened to Talson and people think it's his name. He is prepping for a jewelry making and goldsmithing apprenticeship which will start when he is 18 (he's currently 16).

Belcar is like a very responsible teen much to bluebelle's dismay he has no desire to do any reckless teen stuff like drinking, smoking, sneaking out etc. She parented too well and now has a responsible nerd son (affectionately).

Her favorite bit is to convince new people that he is her biological son. Especially when they say they can see her in his face (they look nothing a like). She also likes calling him her bag when she makes him go shopping with her. And she has even taken over one of his pants pockets to hold her purse.

She has a slew of nicknames for him Bel bel, baby bel, muscles, Belly boy, car car, and tall son. He is also very protective of her as she’s so much smaller than him and someone has attempted to pick her up before. (They claimed it was a joke but that was after Belcar spear tackled him so who really knows)

He’s is now biased against other races due to mistreatment he’s seen towards half foots. Meaning he tends to come off as standoffish and rude. Bluebelle wishes he wasn’t like this but he’s pretty firm in his belief of arms length until proven otherwise.

[mrslittletall]

As someone who headcanons her WoL to get seasick, I made sure to note down how many canonical boat rides are there in Dawntrail so far. (Also Wuk Lamat, you are the real MVP for getting seasick too! Rispale loves you for it.) 1) Boat ride from Sharlayan to Tural. Rispale first said that he might get over his sea sickness finally only to fail spectacularly. Krile later asks him to talk to Wuk Lamat for playing her sea sickness down but that also fails spectactularly. And that scene where he is a badass in the storm? Yeah, that did NOT happen. It was bumbling around and later throwing up on deck. 2) The boat ride that is in the first dungeon where you have to fight. Haha, I love that scene. Alphinaud is like "Don't worry, we leave the deck to Krile and Rispale." with Rispale going "Alphinaud, are you nuts?!" "You are still packing a punch even if you are nauseous." So yeah, both Rispale and Wuk Lamat had to keep it together on there. I like to think they took a bit of medicine to make it more bearable but because Rispale takes it more often he got nauseous quicker. He needed a moment before the first boss. 3) And then after the dungeon ended Erenville gets you with the boat again. Rispale did not manage to hold the contents of his stomach. It was all too much. 4) They then have a boat ride back to the capital of Tulliyolal (argh, I am sure I am mispronouncing that city all the time). That was the one where Wuk Lamat finally admits to her obvious sea sickness, so Rispale just told her "We got this." only for both of them to again fail spectacularly. Boats are just not their forte. 5) The next boat ride is not seen but I am pretty sure it happened because we have the Elezen goldsmith with us (forgot his name, but it started with F, I think?). I guess our two sea sickies weren't too happy about so many boat rides in such short succession. 6) And that one is also offscreen I guess, but during the kidnapping arc we fix the boat so we probably used it to go to the island where Wuk Lamat was held. I guess Rispale did his best to keep it together because of the seriousness of the situation. Doesn't mean he was not nauseous. Loooong break after that. No boat rides at all. Just a balloon ride. The next boat ride we have... 7) To reach the Level 99 dungeon you use something that is not a boat but still is on the water and looks rough as hell in the cutscene. I guess Rispale and Wuk Lamat had to comfort each other after it was over. 8) And that one is my favourite! The gondola ride that G'raha Tia invites you to! It is set at this romantic ride just the two of us, but all I can see is Rispale making a face of horror upon invited and his thoughts going wild "Your crush just invited you to a gondola ride. You cannot say not to that! But you are so going to throw up. Don't you dare say no! Don't throw up!" Inner turmoil galore. It even goes so far in my head that G'raha Tia notices (obviously he has to know about Rispale's sea sickness) and goes like "Oh, but because you get seasick so easily, we don't have to..." where Rispale then goes "No no no no, I can handle a little nausea." And then it makes it feel VERY canon that the WoL is not uttering a single word while G'raha Tia talks because Rispale is just too busy trying his hardest to keep his nausea in check and not throw up. I hope there are more boat rides in the continuation. They are fun to imagine with my poor seasick Warrior of Light.

[iliothermia]

Hi! I love your art so much, I was wondering if you had a favourite OC? Either in terms of characterisation or one that’s your favourite to draw.

Ohh it's always shifting!! Right now it's Ajnur, my goldsmith.

He's a soft, lonely man with a curse and I self-admittedly buried a lot of my own feelings into. It's been really good finally giving him his love, Vedad and letting him be happy. Right now I'm drawing his first kiss and it makes my heart full.

I'm also working on making his jewelry right now so I can do a little sort of cosplay I guess. 👉👈 I think his affinity for eggs is very cute and it's made me appreciate little egg art so much more hehe Thank you anon, I hope you'll have a good day 💛

[aqua-the-smiter]

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦୨୧✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ ℑ𝔯𝔬𝔫 ℌ𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰 Ferrus Manus x female oc (Argena Seeva) Other parts in the reblogs Ferrus, in a bid to one up his pain-in-the-ass brother Fulgrim, takes up drawing. Gets some reference help from his long suffering friend and senechal, Argena. Part of my AU I have cleverly called the Primarch Wife AU. Happy endings, the boys get the help they need, Big E is a good dad and, most importantly, everybody gets a wife. Because big husband and small wife makes brain go brr

Sexual content/NSFW after the cut - Very lewd-but-not-lewd touching, Ferrus jacking off to his future wife while trying to get work done, idiots in love. @thevoidscreams @pringles-plaguehaus ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦୨୧✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊ “Gena?” Ferrus asked, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “I have a…strange favor to ask of you.” Argena put down the loop of silver she’d been polishing and turned around on her stool to face him as she heard him out. Throne, he even looked uncomfortable, and she wondered what exactly he needed that he was looking so hot under the collar. Ferrus Manus was many things, but wavering was not one of them. Actually he was kind of cute like that. She mentally slapped herself almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind. HE. IS. YOUR. BOSS. She’d been with him for over a year and half at this point. It felt like it should have been longer. Falling into the role of his senechal had been so easy after a while. Especially after they’d started spending more time simply enjoying each other’s company. He was a surprisingly layered man once he opened up enough to show it. And, she heavily suspected, a lonely one too. So they’d gotten close more easily than she would have first thought. It even showed in the way he addressed her. Gena, a more tender nickname than her given. “Does it have anything to do with your ongoing attempts to one up your brother?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It does, yes. Look, I can’t help it. Fulgrim has been driving me mad recently, so I want to pay him back in kind.” “I know, I know. And if you pull it off you’ll make him absolutely seethe.” “It” in question was Ferrus putting a serious effort into learning how to draw. He could already, but it was an entirely different kind. Technical drawings, machine blueprints, weapon schematics. Nothing really artistic, although it could be counted as a form of art in its own right if you asked her. Watching him work was hypnotic, the movement of the pencil or stylus in his metal hands impossibly graceful. Elegant even. But most people didn’t see it that way. Resident artsy fuck, Fulgrim, certainly didn’t. Constantly making little jabs and jokes at his best friend’s inability to produce anything else than purely practical drawings. Finally, Ferrus had enough and announced to her in private that he was going to produce a piece of actual art better than anything Fulgrim could do (and he wasn’t as good as everyone thought he was, including himself) out of pure brotherly spite. The early results were rough, but promising. Argena herself had quite a bit of skill, picked up from her goldsmithing hobby, and he’d come to her with practice sketches, rudimentary shapes and simple three dimensional objects. It took him a while, but he was definitely getting it. His talent for technical drawings was beginning to shine through with the clean linework. In short, it seemed he might actually do it. “That is the goal.” He said, just a little smug. “So what do you need me for, pray tell my lord?” She prompted. The Primarch seemed to steel himself for a moment. “Well…I feel I’m ready to move on to…organic materials now. I can only draw my own tools so much before I cease to learn any more from the exercise. I was going to ask if I could study you. Your anatomy, I mean.” And it already sounded like that would involve less clothes than she started with that day. “...Study my anatomy? How so? Moreover, why?”

“Feel up your body. Your muscles, skeletal structure, general build. How everything connects and moves together. I find that I learn best when I am up to the elbows in it so to speak, so being able to touch it would be the best thing. You are the only person I feel comfortable coming to with this. It is, ultimately, quite a petty thing I’m after. You have been very understanding of me. More than I thought would be possible.” Ferrus paused for a moment, wondering if what he had to say next was even a good idea before deciding he’d take that chance. “Also, you are objectively a very beautiful woman. Whatever someone’s personal tastes may be, nobody could look at you and deny it. And subjectively, I think you are a beautiful woman. For those reasons you’d make the best subject for what I’m trying to accomplish. If the goal of art is to create something pleasing to the eye, something that captures the beauty of the world and the enthusiasm of the creator in a still image, you would be a perfect basis. Not like the mess of colors and lines Fulgrim throws on his canvases.” He spoke so frankly. Ferrus was always a very no-nonsense type of person, but to have that direct, blunt nature used in such a glowing description of her was something else entirely. Because you knew for a fact when he said something, he meant it. It made her feel very warm inside. “And this is purely for research, right?” She asked tentatively. “Purely objective.” He swore. “And I won’t go any farther than you want or touch you anywhere you don’t want to be touched. I’ll fill in any gaps in my knowledge with an anatomy book. Just tell me where to stop, and I will.” Somehow a Primarch who’d grown up in the wilderness eating sand had a better concept of boundaries than many people. “Well...I trust you, so I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” She said after a moment, rubbing her upper arm. “I’m willing. Let’s do it.” He gave her one of his rare smiles (that seemed to be becoming less rare nowadays come to think of it), genuinely grateful. It made her feel more at ease with the agreement. Who knows, it might even be fun. ₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊