#like those were their epithets

[astrababyy]

Tamlin and Nesta for the character bingo!

tamlin and nesta in order :DDD

[username8746489]

So what is Sylvie and Rick's relationship? What made them connect

I'm gonna be honest, I 100% know little to NOTHING about their canon relationship

There was this period of time like a week ago where I drove myself insane trying to look for the confirmation that Sylvie and Rick were gonna be the POV investigation duo of Horizontal Pilot Command (The fifth novel in the series) because there was nothing listed in the wikis and I was staying up until 2am every night listening to streams to find it (This is relevant for later).

At 2:51:55 in the Prison of Plastic - CAST LIVESTREAM [PART 2], the Sylvie and Rick POV duo is brought up. A little while later, their dynamic is described as

Sylvie: Follow me, I know exactly what to do! (Has watched a lot of Detective Conan and is going to do his best)

Rick: Ah, okay! I have no idea what I'm doing but will copy you exactly!

During the period of time when I was trying to find that, I resorted to straight up closing my eyes and trying to skim through the Anime Campaign wiki without spoiling myself upon which I learned their relationship was meant to be brotherly but they didn't really get to explore that.

So from that, I assume that'll carry over into epithet erased, but there is the possibility that it won't.

[riggedbones]

see the thing about the explosion of indie animation that’s happening right now is that it still isn’t really… like. with a lot of indie games things are often more “retro” because the increase in tools and processing power etc means that making a simpler game like that is a lot easier nowadays and can be reasonably accomplished with a small team. animation however has always been very resource intensive in ways that have often just switched out for different strategies that may lessen that workload in some ways but be just as intensive in other ways or just depend on context. so just being “retro” and making something that comes off as just a bit older and not as advanced doesn’t really do much. so in order to lessen the cost and workload instead something new has to be done and while that does happen occasionally, it’s not the sort of thing that’s catching on atm

[blackvahana]

[seasaltdevotion]

King Poseidon appreciation post!

I feel He is often very under appreciated, misunderstood (thanks myth literalism 😒) and just… not talked about enough. So it’s my job, legally, to yap about Him.

Epithets

Poseidon Asphalios - Secures Safe Voyage

Poseidon Basileus - King/Lord

Poseidon Domatites - Of the House

Poseidon Epoptes - Overseer/Watcher

Poseidon Gaieochos - Holder of the Earth | Poseidon Ennosigaios - Shaker of the Earth

Poseidon Genesios - The Father | Poseidon Genethlios - Of Kin/Kindered

Poseidon Hippios - Of the Horses | Poseidon Hippokourios - Horse Tender

Poseidon Laoites- Of the People

Poseidon Patrus - Ancestral Father

Poseidon Pelagaios - Of the Sea/Marine

Poseidon Phytalmios - Plant Nurturer

Poseidon Prosclystius - Who Dashes Against

General Information

Most people know Poseidon as the god of the ocean, but of course when looking at his epithets, he is the god of fathers/fatherhood, of the house, horses, earthquakes, and even the nurturing of plants.

His Family

He is married to Amphitrite, Queen of the Oceans. They have a son together Triton.

He is also known to be the father of Aeolus, of the winds, Despoena goddess of specific Arkadian Mysteries, and Proteus, an elderly god seal herder.

Some other offspring of note include: Charybdis the giantess whirlpool who is mothered by Gaia, Polyphemus the cyclops born of Sea Nymph Thoosa, and Thesus an Athenian hero born of Aithra.

His Symbols/Attributes

Obviously, the trident is His main symbol.

His sacred animals consisted of bulls, horses, and dolphins. Being the god of the ocean other sea creatures were also used in reference to Him.

Plants related to Him are pine trees and wild celery!

Homeric Hymn to Poseidon - Hymn 22

“I begin to sing about Poseidon, the great good, mover of the earth and fruitless sea, god of the deep who is also lord of Helkion, and wide Aegae. O Shaker of the Earth, to be a tamer of horses and savior of ships! Hail Poseidon Holder of the Earth, dark-haired lord! O blessed one, be kindly in heart and help those who voyage in ships!”

Orphic Hymn to Poseidon - Hymn 17

"Hear, Poseidon, ruler of the sea profound, whose liquid grasp begirds the solid ground; who, at the bottom of the stormy main, dark and deep-bosomed holdest they watery reign. Thy awful hand the brazen trident bears, and sea's utmost bound thy will reveres. Thee I invoke, whose steeds the foam divide, from whose dark locks the briny waters glide; shoe voice, loud sounding through the roaring deep, drives all its billows in a raging heap; when fiercely riding through the boiling sea, thy hoarse command the trembling waves obey. Earth-shaking, dark-haired God, the liquid plains, the third division, fate to thee ordains. 'Tis thine, cerulean daimon, to survey, well-pleased, the monsters of the ocean play. Confirm earth's basis, and with prosperous gales waft ships along, and swell the spacious sails; add gentle peace, and fair-haired health beside, and pour abundance in a blameless tide."

Poseidon & Myths

I’m someone who is big on how terrible Myth Literalism is. Poseidon is not his myths. No god is their myths.

Myths are stories that teach lessons, nothing more. He is not some terrible god or mean man. So imma get into my experience with Him!

Poseidon to Me

Poseidon has a very fatherly energy to Him, and I attribute that to His fatherly epithets as well as His many children.

At times His presence is very soft and gentle. Like a tender pat on the back for a job well done. A warm laugh of an enthused fatherly figure. Other times it can almost be suffocating. A tight chest pressure and weight on your shoulders, the gaze of a disappointed father.

However, He always means well.

Why pray to Poseidon?

Poseidon came to me while I was researching epithets, actually looking to see if there were any fatherly epithets. I was in the middle of combing through King Zeus’s epithets before I my brain focused on Poseidon. Writing Zeus’s list, all I could think about was checking Poseidon’s even though I wasn’t finished with my previous one. So I checked. Surprise surprise.

Since then I have consistently prayed to Him for things you’d ask a father for. Advice, comfort, just… His presence. All of which He provides. I live inland so I don’t see the ocean, but I spend plenty of time playing in rivers or lakes occasionally. I thank Him and King Zeus for the rain. I love horses, so I research them and learn about them. I thank Him purely for their beauty and existence.

Even if their domain doesn’t fully involve you, you can still worship a god. And it’s still so gratifying.

Ty for coming to my Poseidon Ted-talk. I just adore Him a lot and decided He needed a post on my page solely dedicated to teaching people about Him.

[astrogre]

Aphrodite(1388) Beauty Indicators

What counts as Aphrodite(1388) beauty indicators:

Aphrodite in 1st house (YOU are appealing, this asteroid is simply who you are as this house represents you as a whole, physically and personal identity)

Aphrodite in 10th house (this is how you publicly appear to others at large, so if you have an asteroid here it kind of shows those themes come to mind in general when people think of you and what your reputation is associated with, imagine yourself as a concept, you perceived as a brand)

Aphrodite Conjunct Venus (your beauty and the way you style express yourself, you express your love and sense of beauty in similar ways, Venus also shows where we are most beautiful therefore the things that make you most beautiful are like Aphrodites)

VERY Strong indicators:

Aphrodite Conjunct ASC (it further amplifies because you become the physical embodiment of Aphrodite, no longer just a hint but may even be mistaken for her your form of expression and how you come across to all and most importantly yourself is just like Aphrodite)

Aphrodite Conjunct MC (same as 10H however it’s even more prominent, your Aphrodite characteristics may manifest or be needed for the job you do as well)

Aphrodite conjunct is at 0-2 orbs. Closer the orb more exactly like your appearance. 0 orb means Aphrodite is YOU to a T. Your physical appearance/public image/expression of oneself, if described with an adjective would be the asteroid itself.

2 or more of any of the previous Aphrodite indicators this asteroid is far too prominent in your chart to be an adjective to describe your beauty, it’s more like an epithet.

What kind of beauty you have:

- You embody the ideal beauty standards

- You shapeshift to appeal to the senses and pleasures of individuals who look at you

- People may struggle to define you by your appearance because you come across so differently to each person

- The allure (the buzz and positive talk of you) stands out more than what you put out to reality especially for Aphrodite asteroid in 10H/conjunct to MC

- You’re beauty is so rare that it’s unbelievable, people that hear of you described by others who know you may think you’re a myth or not real like a catfish or someone pretending to be real. Eg someone looking at your instagram may think you’re not real or if a guy is explaining you to his friends you sound too good to be true especially from the male gaze. That is until they meet you and realise you live up to their expectations and then the rumours of you further amplify as even MORE talk of you. If you start dating around jumping from man to man, people will gush over you

- You may pretend to be modest, demure and coincidentally sexually attractive yet your sexual attractiveness is purposefully intentional

this is based on aphrodites Greek and Latin scholars who wrote about the famous statue at Knidos on which it is based, says that Aphrodite’s facial expression and gesture show ‘false modesty’. She purposefully displays false modesty to look like her nudity and sexual allure is unintentional and just happens to be on her

- You show your beauty through your clothing perfumes and hair accessories. Aphrodite wore perfumed and silken garments, a crown of gold or flowers in her hair, and had expensive jewellery covering her body

- As time goes on you are more sexualised, no joke if you guys made a sex tape in your elder years you’d be like a trending milf dilf, especially with Capricorn, Saturn and 10H Aphrodite

Aphrodites depictions were always fully clothed until as centuries progressed the men that idolised her wanted to make her wear less and less, become sexier and sexier, they project their lustful thoughts on her and Aphrodite viewed it as compliments

- No matter what people may say about you, they cannot shake or change the fact that you are beautiful, they may also bring that up when talking about you behind your back if in 12H conjunct ascendant

- You have feminine curves which are shown best through draped clothing, you look best in clothes that drape to your skin and hug your curves

- No matter what you wear people will always see you nude or want to, they may sexualise you and you may subconsciously enjoy it because you feel desired and it feels good to know you’re making others feel pleasure just from looking at you

- You look best naked, your breast and hips may be most prominent and something men recognise you for and what garners admiration from women too. Women may look up to you as the standard and what they wished the looked like

Source: the idealization of womanhood in all her femininity; the Aphrodite sculpture, Praxiteles was mainly responsible for establishing the type-sensuous in its soft curves and voluptuousness.” (Morford 180). As told by Morford, the exaggeration of body parts, breasts mostly, became Aphrodite’s spotting mark in art

- You could have long hair, or your hair can be styled in a different way to other women, very distinct, it can be different from what others expect, your hair may be “immodest” like it looks like it’s uncovered, not domestic, you may put a lot accessories on it or do something specifically that makes it stand out and look better, it’s kind of “unintentionally” erotic.

- You look best in bodies of water, playing with your hair in water, when you’re showering, wringing your hair dry, you may get a lot of stares when you go to the beach just relaxing, or if you’re swimming. It’s something people could watch for a long time

- You love to accessorise excessively

- Men change the way they see you physically from your body to your face and hair, all just to fit their imagined ideal beauty standards. For an example: say a man may prefer brunettes, if you’re blonde, that man will imagine you with brown dark hair and romanticise it, from that point onward he can no longer see you as blonde no matter how blonde you are because the fantasy of an idolised you is so overwhelming

- Men fantasise about you a lot, women too. You invoke fear/admiration into women because of your appearance

- You represent the most ideal physical traits, you can be compared as the standard for others and people may put you on a pedestal so high that makes others want to be where you are but knowing they simply cannot as it’s not in their nature. Because competing against you would destroy them and they do not compare

- You may make people feel ashamed of themselves because you’re so uplifted and idealised by many

- You can adapt to the taste of the target/person you’re trying to seduce

- Your clothes and the way you style yourself enhance your features and make you look like someone who is wealthy and important of high status/nobility

- You are one of the most physically desired people to others

- Your physical appearance isn’t the only thing that makes you so beautiful, it’s the fact that everyone finds you desireable no matter who is looking.

Honestly when I think of Aphrodite I think of someone who is overly sexualised by men. Like they collectively came together and said THIS is what we like. She is the image of sex and desire because they put her there. And she likes it, which is probably why she is labelled as the god of sex, pleasure, love and beauty, it’s because she accepts all kinds of admiration from anyone. No matter how degrading or intensely it manifests. Do you too also accept love no matter how sexually degrading or intense it is? Do you have a tendency to expect to be glorified?

Source:

Link to the historical study of Aphrodites physical appearance

Homer, for example, said that the goddess could be recognized by her shining eyes and ���desirable breasts.” Other writers gave her the epithet “Smile-Loving,” indicating that she often had a happy expression. More often, writers described Aphrodite’s beauty through her clothing. She wore perfumed and silken garments, a crown of gold or flowers in her hair, and had expensive jewelry covering her body. most of what we know about Aphrodite’s looks must be drawn from the art of the period.

gain, the representations leave much room for interpretation. The one aspect they have in common is that, fittingly, Aphrodite was shown as beautiful.

This usually meant that she had feminine curves, which were often accentuated by closely-draped clothing. When she was dressed it was often only partially, but the goddess was just as often shown in the nude.

She usually had long hair that was left at least partially down, in contrast to the more demure, covered hair of matronly and domestic goddesses. A favorite subject of classical artists was the emergence of Aphrodite from the sea, in which she was sometimes shown wringing the water out of her long hair.

Sculptors had more freedom than painters to imagine the goddess in different poses and situations. Often these poses emphasized her feminine shape and attractiveness to the male gaze. As the goddess of beauty, she represented the most desirable female form possible.

She often changed her appearances to suit her purposes.

This shape-shifting also allowed artists to portray her in a way that reflected the physical idea of their own time and place. Aphrodite could have dark hair in one place and be blonde in another.

Thus, our modern interpretation of Aphrodite has been filtered through the ideals of female beauty from not only Greece and Rome, but long after as well. Medieval artists gave her a high forehead and Renaissance painters showed her with flowing blonde hair because those were the ideals of their times. The written descriptions of Aphrodite were open-ended enough to allow artists to show her in a way they thought was beautiful for centuries. While later artists were influenced by the paintings and sculptures of Rome and Greece, they had the license to show the goddess of beauty in a way that made sense within their own cultures.

Most often, Aphrodite’s clothing and jewelry were described in greater detail than her body or facial features. The richness of her garments and adornments both enhanced her features and signalled her nobility.

The lack of written detail meant that artists were able to portray Aphrodite in a way they felt was beautiful. While these typically followed certain conventions, these conventions could vary between regions and time periods. Aphrodite/Venus was therefore shown with certain marks of beauty that had persisted from the ancient world, but also with the features and clothing considered ideal in the artists’ own times. She could be recognized not by a specific feature, but by her desirabilithy.

[genericpuff]

Hi, So one of my Characters was inspired by two goddess: Meilone and Despoina (Another Daughter of Demeter) and I've been trying to get more information on Despoina, I've used a Greek mythology site that I'm familiar with I even had some help from A.I search. Any tips?

Aahh, first tip, don't use AI ! At least in its current state, there's literally nothing it can factually offer you that normal Google searches can't. I know for some folks it's tempting because it kind of "summarizes" everything and makes the process of research a lot less intimidating, but the drawback to summarizing - especially through AI - is that it picks and chooses what information it thinks is helpful to you, not information that actually is accurate or true. And a lot of that information it presents to you is skimmed from other pre-existing sources that aren't necessarily accurate or true either - it skims from Reddit, Wikipedia, and other popular discussion sources to come up with an approximation of information, but approximations can and often are still made up of weak parts. Plus, at the end of the day, the AI is still pulling from things that exist, so even if it's telling you stuff that's factually true, it isn't anything you couldn't have found on your own.

The reason you're struggling to pull up anything on Despoina is because "Despoina" doesn't really exist, at least not as some concrete deity the same way Zeus and Demeter do. "Despoina" only has a handful of sources mentioning her, and a good chunk of them refer to her not as Demeter's daughter, but as an epithet.

Understand that sometimes not finding enough information isn't a fault of our own for "not looking hard enough" - sometimes it's because that information just currently does not exist, especially when it comes to the matter of ancient cultural studies, where what's available is strictly limited to what we've discovered and what's been made publicly accessible. In those situations, you really just gotta work with what you've got, and do your best in digging up information outside of the most popular sources, because you never know what you could be missing out on simply because Google decided not to show you.

I'm gonna go on one of my classic tangents here but it's a topic that's very interesting to me! So I'm just gonna dive into it, but I'll include a jump for those who don't want this clogging up their feed :>

-----

When you really get into the meat of studying Greek mythology - or really any cultural mythology - it's unfortunately not as cut and dry as reading up on lore or skimming a Wikipedia page. There are thousands of years of cultural interaction, trading of oral stories, re-interpretations through cultural adoption and/or colonization, political satirizing and/or re-tooling to suit specific sociopolitical views, and religious influence at play (among MANY other influences) which make up what we now understand as "Greek mythology" in its simplest terms.

Much of what we still study today is debatable as to what is truly "Greek", because of all the cultural mixing that was happening between the Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, Africans, etc. that resulted not only in its adopters creating new versions of older Greek stories, but "Greek myth" in and of itself being influenced by the societies that came before it. I've mentioned this before, but even Homer is a hot topic of debate, mostly discussing whether or not he was a real person, or if - like Despoina - the name "Homer" is just an epithet to refer to one or more poets whose works were preserved as culturally relevant interpretations of the stories and beliefs that were being passed around at that time. These are what make up the Homeric Hymns, but think about this - those hymns were in and of themselves retellings. Homer - whether one tangible person or many ambiguous voices as a collective - was simply putting stories that were already being told orally to paper, from their own perspective, which we managed to uncover and preserve over the course of thousands of years, during which we would continue to re-interpret it based on new translations and discoveries that would shift our context of knowledge.

With all that in mind, now think of all the stories that were lost, either because modern scholars haven't uncovered them, or because Homer just never thought to include them, or possibly didn't know of them himself. Think of all the stories that we assume to be true which could have had entirely different meanings when told as bedtime stories over the fire, or as epics of war to inspire soldiers, or as romantic poems sung to an audience.

I know everything I just said is a lot and is, in and of itself, wholly interpretive and subjective. But think about all that, and then understand why I'm so wary about using AI to do the work of the analysis for you. Not only does it remove so much necessary context from discussion that's already missing context in many areas, it undercuts the joy of discovery.

All that said, Despoina is, as far as we currently know, theorized to be one of two things:

1.) A daughter of Demeter who may or may not have been born during The Hymn to Demeter, who was worshipped as a deity within the Eleusinian Mysteries but - due to her nature as a deity of a secretive cult - does not have much evidence to support what she could have been specifically worshipped for, as her worshippers were sworn to secrecy. "Despoina" may not have even been her real name, just a name used to refer to her among cultists or anyone who wasn't a part of the congregation to ensure her true name was protected (similarly to Kore and Persephone, she could be a deity with "two names" that serve two different purposes and interpretations).

2.) An epithet, meaning "mistress", to refer to one or several different women, usually fertility goddesses, including Demeter, Persephone, and even Aphrodite and Hecate. This doesn't necessarily mean that "Despoina" as a goddess didn't exist, just that the word "Despoina" can also be used to refer to goddesses within the cult to keep their names a secret. And if Despoina did exist as her own deity... again, we don't know her true name, just the title that was used to refer to her, whoever "she" was.

The thing is, there is tangible material that supports either or both arguments. And even if more evidence came out to support one over the other, it doesn't invalidate either of them - this is just how it is with mythologies and religion, different cultures and tribes and groups would hold different beliefs, and the beliefs that reign supreme are often determined by the highest power. This is obviously why so many Roman interpretations of the Greek gods are now the "default" interpretations, because Rome was a very powerful empire that had the ability to absorb other mythologies, create their own adaptions of them, and then enforce them as the natural order. The popularity of Catholicism as an organized religion is owed to the Roman Empire, and even it still has its divided subgroups who have separated from the main doctrines of Catholicism due to having different beliefs.

Even think of the Bible, which many people hold up as the "gold standard" despite never having even read it. They subsequently don't understand that what we know as "the Bible" is a curated library of works that were preserved over hundreds of years, first documenting the trials and tribulations of the Jews and the building of Israel, and eventually leading to Jesus Christ and his fellow fandom mutuals (the apostles) coming in and deciding "nah that Old Testament blows, let's make a new one! No more circumcisions! Bread and wine and bacon for everyone!" (<<< I am obviously paraphrasing here for the sake of efficiency and a little bit of levity lmao) This is why, to this day, we get so many people still arguing over whether or not Jesus hated gay people, because some point to specific scriptures written by apostles like Paul and Matthew, while others point to scriptures from the Old Testament which pre-existed Jesus by centuries.

As much as we may refer to a "canon" within Greek mythology, those commonly known facts are still based on previous interpretations that in and of themselves were constantly debated and fought over. People even went to literal war over this shit, because it turns out, human beings haven't really changed all that much - we're loyal to our most favorite fandoms, and crucify anyone who disagrees with our established canons. And none of that is to patronize the cultural, spiritual, and political importance of these stories - more so just to point out why it's so hard to track down clear cut information for certain myths, because how legitimate those myths even were within their own context and time is unsubstantiated and debatable.

-----

TL ; DR: If you're making characters inspired by an ambiguous deity who doesn't have a lot of evidence to support them, just do what you can to find the evidence that exists, and maintain your own level of understanding and transparency that you can't possibly accurately depict a character who's either directly based off a Greek myth deity or simply inspired by one when what is and isn't accurate is still often up for debate by people who are actually trained and paid to debate these things. On the one hand, it means someone will likely be bound to argue with your interpretation and it may leave you searching for ways to improve upon any misrepresentations; on the other, know that this is just passing on the torch of a tradition that has been practiced by humans ever since the first cave drawing and we are all, by and large, doing what we've always been naturals at doing - expressing our views and perspectives of the world that make sense to ourselves, and then getting yelled at when it doesn't make sense to others LMAO

Be earnest and humble in your attempts to tell a story that feels true to you, and remember that the process of discovery - the research - is half the journey, and half the fun :> Even if you get things wrong, be willing to take ownership of it and view it as an opportunity to learn even more. Therein lies the true joy of creating - the endless potential for discovery.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Boccob, the God of Magic for Magic's Sake

Artsource

It is strange (especially for those who view their relationship with the gods as transactional) that one might offer up prayers to a figure known widely by the epithet " The Uncaring". Why perform oath and ritual for a being that will not intercede on your behalf? Or grant you good favour in exchange for your sacrifices? Those that study the words of Boccob understand they have no need to beg for miracles when they have magic at their command.

Known to commoners as a god of magic, foresight, and balance, Boccob is not so much a deity as he was a great teacher, a philosopher-sage who's now ancient treatise on magic and council on it's use are as much an object of faith for many as a more ordinary god's scripture. In instructing his students how to be wizards, Boccob taught his students how to be good wizards, and these lessons form the ironshod foundations of innumerable magical traditions practised to this day.

Central to Boccob's teachings was the idea that magic was a path that must be walked to gain greater understanding, and that an adherent of this path should study, experience, and witness as much of its wonders as possible in order to become better arcanists, leading to the adoption of the open and unjudging eye as his symbol. Boccob himself followed this path to the outer planes and beyond, never to be seen again, leading many to credit Boccob with being the first mortal to climb the fabled infinite staircase, or perhaps even its architect.

Adventure Hooks:

Millennia after his (literal or figurative) ascension, a scroll containing hitherto unseen passages of Boccob's writings have been discovered in a crumbling library, setting off a disastrous chain of events as jealous archmages scrabble for the text like seagulls after a frenchfry. Their clashes are frequent, leaving the surrounding area scattered with hastily summoned servitors and all manner of misfired magic. Perhaps if the party is quick and clever they could sneak in and take the text for themselves, learning its wisdom or using it as a bargaining chip with one of these powerful spellslingers.

If it’s one thing Boccob’s Acolytes like almost as much as uncovering the arcane secrets of the universe, it’s proving their intellectual superiority by hiding their findings behind inscrutable riddles and logic games, the way The Uncaring did for his first pupils. Ledoran’s Labynthical Libram is an infamous example of this practice, a spellbook containing all manner of useful rituals and genuinely brilliant insights hidden behind a gauntlet of ciphers, mazes, and "gotcha" enchantments. Any self styled master of the arcane is likely to have a copy on their shelves, meaning that' it's only a quick looting spree away from ending up in the party's possession.

If "a wizard did it" is the answer to the age old question of "how?", "because they were listening to Boccob?" is the answer to the inevitable follow up of "why". Arcane crossbreeds, inexplicable puzzle dungeons, magical items amounting to bad jokes with bodycounts, all of these are created by The Uncaring's followers as a means of testing and expanding their abilities.

More of my adventures involving Boccob and his followers can be found HERE

Lets get into some philosophy...

While Ioun promotes the study of arcana for the sake of furthering knowledge, Mystra maintains and obscures the secrets of the weave, and Corellon glories in the wonders spellcraft might create , Boccob focuses on the pursuit of magical ability as a means and end of its own.

To Boccob, " I want to learn magic so I can be great/help people/make life easier" is a false start, because it ties the acquisition and understanding of magic to an external metric, encouraging the practitioner to take shortcuts with the magic to achieve their worldly desires.

Greatness, beneficence, and ease of living are but some of the infinite virtues that follow from being a great mage. Indeed, a reoccuring theme in Boccobian writing (especially in the ensuing literature made by his followers) is the idea of the Panexplicatic endstate of magic, where the perfect mage (and the body of wisdom they represent) has an answer for all things, specifically a magical awnser.

While some followers have taken this to mean that a mage's pursuit should always be towards omnipotence (Vecna's grasping eye motif can be seen as a direct response to Boccob's unjudging one) the largely more accepted thought is that arcanists should specifically dream small, creating a self sufficient life for themselves withdrawn from the world while focusing on the inward path towards enlightenment. That's why you'll so often find wizards at the top of spires in remote areas, interacting only with their apprentices or whatever travellers have gone far afield to seek them out for magical guidance.

This leads into one of the main critiques of Boccobian thought, which is that it alienates the practitioner from the world at large, not only focusing on magic to the exclusion of all else but also contextualizing magic as something that exists only to help the practitioner along their individual path, other people and consequences be damned. A hedgemage living a simple life in the forest may seem like they're hurting no one when they create a tree that grows a full crop of apples every day so they don't need to worry about stocking their larder... but what happens to the local ecosystem when these everladen trees start cross pollinating with others, to say nothing of the drain/disruption to nearby laylines and how such magic might have downstream consequences. To take a completely different tack with the same problem, the poor in the village nearby might LOVE to have a bottomless supply of apples, but the Boccobian adherent would say that because they haven't devoted the years of study required to create the tree, they're not entitled to its fruits.

Titles: The Uncaring, the Master of all Magics, Archmage of the Infinite

Symbols: An eye in a pentagram, often crowned with a crescent arc.

Signs: Light through a cracked open door, stars that seem longer than they should be, the appearance of inexplicable magical text.

Worshippers: Sorcerers, wizards, and any with an access to magic innate or otherwise. Adherents usually worship in private practice but occasionally band together into temples or schools.

[thekatebridgerton]

HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT THEY DID TO MICHAEL STIRLING?!

I haven't seen part 2 yet but I definitely saw the spoilers on my dashboard. And for all that its worth, I'm really sad about it right now.

I've seen a lot of posts invalidating the feelings of book fans by saying things along the lines of 'if you don't like Michaela Stirling you're ...you guessed it a #BadPerson' and I'm trying to process which person's feelings matter and don't matter in a world where those same people preach acceptance and support. I want my feelings to matter, I want to be allowed to be sad about the fact that this character I was looking forward to seeing is no longer going to be on screen. But the truth is a lot of people keep saying that my sadness and sorrow is invalid shaming people who feel like I do with all the self righteousness of a pastor in church. because apparently not liking the genderbeding of Michael Stirling makes me a #RaginghaterOfMinorities.

And lets be clear, everyone can say what they want, but book Michael Stirling is not going to be on screen, his story was too emeshed with the gender roles of the era, for a genderbent take to not strip and reorder the character's motivations and major plot lines in order to make him a woman. Michaela Stirling is for all intents and purposes a new and improved character. More power to her.

Still that doesn't take away the fact that I am sad and disappointed that Michael Stirling won't be on screen and that it will take me time to process this in a healthy way.

So in case nobody has said this to the crowd who is heartbroken over the genderbeding of Michael Stirling, those who feels upset and disappointed over the loss of a beloved character and don't feel brave enough to express it. Let me be the first to tell you that your feelings are valid, disliking the change in direction that was taken for a fictional character doesn't make you racist or homophobic or anti feminist or any other of those ' you are a raging hater of minorities ' epithets. ( Some of you may even be the kindest people I've met on the site) In my opinion, those feelings just make you human, and you should be allowed to feel it and process the loss in a healthy way without being told youre selfish and a bad person.

Does being heartbroken over this give anyone the right to go and harass actors like Masali Baduza for doing a job they were hired and paid to do? No. Does it give anyone the right to go send nasty harassment anons to people who actually liked the change? Also no. In fact it doesn't give the right to people who have a different opinion to harass you either. Boundaries are a two way street. Don't harass others and don't consent to receiving harassment is a rule we should all follow

But it does give you the right to feel your emotions, process them, accept the change and move on with a healthy mindset.

Its going to take me a while to get there myself, but that's what I'm doing.

And that's the tea

[fuzzynightmares]

another one of those days where I am cursed and/or blessed with the overconfidence to post all the things I made when the drawing demons possessed me

here are a couple epithet au doodle things I did while taking notes instead of being a responsible student (forgot one, just added it)

also got this silly thing I’ve named Castle Vampires going on but it’s not really an official au thing

+ a couple bonus things of jekyll with an egg (I kept giving shane eggs in stardew valley) and what life would be like if there were a jekyll charm in the tgs shop

I’m definitely exposing myself on here because of this image spam

paper is very papery

[kaeso4ka]

You've learned something about Cybertronian culture. You got to have a nasty conversation with Optimus

Pairing: yandere Optimus Prime x reader

The thought that kept you awake was, of course, the theme of freedom.

The theme of freedom permeated every inch of your life: your core, your essence, your mind. You were woven from the desire to be free. Just like any other person who has been held captive.

But thinking about it always led you to strange paradoxes. Unsolvable paradoxes. Like this one.

You sat on the platform, sawing the back of the working Optimus with your gaze, and couldn't decide where to begin your claim.

You had many complaints about Prime, but this one in particular...

You've never noticed Optimus Prime's arrogance. Quite frankly, you were the more arrogant of the two of you. By right of forced servitude, you tried to respond to Prime's superior strength with aggression.

And yet there was a much deeper issue. Unresolved, making her feel even more insecure.

“Optimus.”

“My Spark?”

“We need to have a serious talk,” it just so happened that you rarely spoke to Optimus. Usually he did the talking. Or you yelled at him. But this wasn't a conversation. It wasn't a discussion, and you knew - according to Megatron - that Optimus was hellbent on talking.

Prime didn't need to be told twice to have his full attention on you. Optimus lowered himself onto the platform next to you, his whole demeanor radiating a willingness to listen.

But instead of starting, you stared at Optimus for a few seconds. It was as if she were trying to find answers to her questions without voicing them.

“I'm not a slave,” the subject opened with a direct statement. You didn't like to voice the obvious, but you had to often, “do you agree?”

Optimus' optics flashed brighter. Prime was almost confused. Almost.

“Y/N...”

“Answer. Do you agree with those words?”

“Yes. You are not a slave,” Optimus accepted the rules of the conversation: he decided to wait for clarification.

“Good,” it became easier. At the very least, “indeed, I am not a slave. I am not a pet. Is that right or wrong?”

“Yes, my Spark. You are not a pet,” Optimus tried to find answers in your gaze, but you weren't looking at him. You weren't looking at anything.

“You're not above me...” you splayed your hands, ”physically, of course I am. But not socially. You're not my king, you're not my God. Your word is not more important than mine. I am your equal. Are you?”

Now Optimus was slow to answer.

“I don't want to lie to you, but let me ask you this: where are you going with this conversation?”

“Ratchet recently shared some articles with me... Cybertronian science articles. He told me to embrace my future culture. And I learned a lot: both that organics up until the war - and even now - were considered almost animal-like; and that Prime always towers over everyone... Even his own Bondmate,” you could barely contain your anger. The disgusting epithets bestowed upon billions of sentient metal fools in their pseudo-scientific articles were infuriating, “I understand my perspective perfectly well. I will be with you. You have and will continue to limit me. But I will not allow you to carry around in your CPU the idea that you are above, better, and more in charge than me. And it's not about the strength of your guns or the processing power of your CPU.”

The fact that Cybertron society has always been divided into stupid classes because of altmode didn't bother you... Until you admitted to yourself: one day you yourself will live in that society. You'll live, but you won't let anyone look down on you from the height of your own ignorance.

On Earth, that was easy. On Cybertron, hardly at all.

“I understand,” Prime's mechanisms sounded quieter, calmer. Even the tone of his voice became even more subdued, “I know how important this is to you. I have always treated you as an equal. Even if there were disagreements between us.”

“Disagreements.” You always had other terms for that, but there wasn't time for them now.

“That makes me happy,” you actually felt better. It would be doubly unpleasant if, somewhere inside, Optimus thought of you as nothing more than his toy. You longed for an equal confrontation, “I was relieved.”

The revelation burst out and hung in the air with a pleasant understanding silence. For the first time in forever.

[littlesparklight]

Got the (foolish lol) idea to go through some of the works I know give physical descriptions of at least some Trojan war characters and collate them. They aren't in alphabetic order, sorry, but the works/authors are colour coded, at least!

I'll do this in two parts; this one for Achaean characters, the next one for Trojans. Watch Philostratus fanboy over Palamedes and Protesilaos (why????) and marvel, when compared to basically everyone else's description, across all works!

Helen The Iliad: 'terribly does she seem like the immortal goddesses to look on' (spoken of her, not narration), divine/shining/noble among women In Hesiod and other works she is given the xanthos = blond/auburn/etc epithet Dares: Helen resembled Castor and Pollux. She was beautiful, ingenuous, and charming. Her legs were the best; her mouth the cutest. There was a beauty-mark between her eyebrows. (Castor and Pollux: they were twins, blond haired, large eyed, fair complexioned, and wellbuilt with trim bodies.) Malalas, Chronographia: full-grown, well-dressed, with fine breasts, white as snow, with beautiful eyebrows, a beautiful nose, shapely, curly-haired, blonde-ish, with big eyes, charming, with a beautiful voice, a formidable sight among women. She was 26 years old. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: white, with soft skin and beautiful eyebrows and nose. Her skin was so white and bright as if it was made of snow. She had lovely breasts and a pretty face; she had languishing and large eyes and a melodious charming voice; she had long, curly, blond hair; she was well-behaved and perfect in everything she did; she was a lot more beautiful than all the other women, just like the moon is brighter than all the stars in the sky. At that time she was twenty six years old.

Agamemnon The Iliad: '[…] tell me the name of this gigantic man. […] To be sure there are other men even greater in height, […] handsome, nor so majestic, for he seems a kingly man.' Dares: blond, large, and powerful. He was eloquent, wise, and noble, a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: Agamemnon and Menelaos were alike neither in appearance nor strength. […] He looked majestic and magnificent and like the sort of person who offered sacrifice to the Graces. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: white, big, of a wide chin and dark hair. He was well-bearded, well-educated, resembling the blessed ones.

Menelaos The Iliad: xanthos = blond/auburn/bright, 'standing towered with his broad shoulders. Dares: moderate stature, auburn-haired, and handsome. He had a pleasing personality. Philostratus, Heroicus: Agamemnon and Menelaos were alike neither in appearance nor strength. […] [he] wore his hair boyishly long, as was the Spartan custom, and the Achaeans made allowance for him when he was visiting, since they did not mock those who came from Euboea even though their hair was ridiculously long. He says he conversed most easily and very concisely, mixing pleasant speech with his discourse. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: the bodily frame smaller [than Agamemnon]; he had a breadth, though. He had a red skin, dense beard and blond hair.

Odysseus The Iliad: 'lesser in height than Agamemnon […], but he seems broader in the shoulders and chest.' (Also shorter than Menelaos.) Dares: tough, crafty, cheerful, of medium height, eloquent, and wise. Philostratus, Heroicus: extremely skilled in public speaking and clever, but he was a dissembler, a lover of envy, and praised malice. His eyes were always downcast, and he was the sort of person who engages in self-examination. He appeared more noble than he was in military matters; surely he was not well versed in preparing for war, in commanding naval battles and sieges, or in drawing of spear and bows. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: middle-aged, pot-bellied, white, with plain hair, nose looking down and fiercely glaring.

Achilles Dares: a large chest, a fine mouth, and powerfully formed arms and legs. His head was covered with long wavy chestnut-colored hair. Though mild in manner, he was very fierce in battle. His face showed the joy of a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: For Achilles' physique appeared startling and divine […] When he became an ephebe, a brightness radiated from his face, and his body was beyond natural size, since he grew more easily than do trees near springs. […] hair is thick, lovelier than gold, and becoming no matter where and how either the wind or he himself may move it. His nose is not quite aquiline, but almost so; his brow is crescent-shaped. The spirit in his eyes, which are bluish-gray, casts off a certain eagerness even when he is still; when he is rushing on, they spring out along with his purpose, and then he seems more lovely than ever to those who cherish him. (long hair until Patroklos dies) Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall, of a beautiful chest, graceful in everything, white, of blond curly and thick hair. He had a big nose, melodious voice and the eyes of a woman. His glance was terrible, in a race was swift-footed; he had long legs and scanty beard.

Patroklos Dares: handsome and powerfully built. His yes were gray. He was modest, dependable, wise, a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: Patroklos, although he was not much older than Achilles, was a divine and sensible man, […] In size and bravery he was between the two Ajaxes. He fell short of the son of Telamon in all things, but he surpassed both the size and bravery of the son of Locris. Patroklos had an olive complexion, black eyes, and sufficiently fine eyebrows, and he commended moderately long hair. His head stood upon his neck as the wrestling schools cultivate. His nose was straight, and he flared his nostrils as eager horses do. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: middle-aged, potbellied and well-bearded. He had blond hair, red skin and lovely face.

Ajax, the son of Telamon The Iliad: 'outstanding among the Argives in height and broad shoulders' ; repeatedly called only second to Achilles in everything but looks. Dares: powerful. His voice was clear, his hair black and curly. He was perfectly single-minded and unrelenting in the onslaught of battle. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: brave, great, quick, with a nice nose and curly hair; He had a dark skin; he was well-bearded and grim-looking. He was more beautiful than everybody, except for Achilles.

Ajax, the son of Oileus The Iliad: lesser [than Ajax the great] by far, for he was a small man […] Dares: stocky, powerfully built, swarthy, a pleasant person, and brave. Philostratus, Heroicus: appeared less intelligent [than Diomedes and Sthenelus] […] looking fierce, and throwing his long hair back Malalas, Chronographia: tall, strong, tawny, squinting, good nose, curly hair, black hair, thick beard, long face, daring warrior, magnanimous, a womanizer. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall and had bright eyes. He was nice, had long face and dark curly hair.

Diomedes Dares: stocky, brave, dignified, and austere. No one was fiercer in battle. He was loud at the war-cry, hot-tempered, impatient, and daring. Philostratus, Heroicus: steadfast and having eyes that are blue-gray and not black at all and a straight nose; his hair was woolly and dirty. […] modest upon rebuke, checked the eruption of his anger, and refused to insult the troops or to be disheartened. He himself considered it appropriate for an army to appear unwashed, and he commended sleeping in any opportune place; his provisions consisted of what was available, and he did not take pleasure in wine unless troubles came upon him. Diomedes and Sthenelos were the same age. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: [he had a] body that was worth of four young men. He was in good shape with a flat nose, narrow neck and blond hair.

Sthenelos Philostratus, Heroicus: a good size and towering, gray-eyed, with an aquiline nose, fairly long-haired, ruddy, and hot-blooded. […] lacked Diomedes' insight, his power of speech, and his patient endurance which belong to both soul and body. He gave way to anger, was contemptuous of the throng of battle, was savage upon being rebuked, and was prepared for a more delicate lifestyle than was needed for a military camp.

Nestor Dares: large, broad and fair. His nose was long and hooked. He was a wise adviser. Philostratus, Heroicus: (statue, but also the real man?) with a beard that is majestic and well-proportioned; his ears display what he went through at wrestling school, and his neck is restored to its strength. In truth, Nestor stands upright, not defeated by old age, with black eyes and without a drooping nose. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: big, had a nose looking downwards and a fiercely glaring. He had a long face, flame-coloured skin, blond hair and he was wise.

Antilochos The Iliad: Younger than the rest. Philostratus, Heroicus: Because Antilokhos was still young and not mature enough for war when they assembled at Aulis, his father did not agree to his wish to serve as a soldier. (he arrives in the fifth year.) For Achilles' physique appeared startling and divine, but that of Antilokhos seemed to all to be pleasant and gentle. […] Antilokhos resembled Nestor, but that he was swifter, trim in physique, and paid no attention to his hair. He gave me the following details about Antilokhos: He was most fond of horses and hunting with dogs. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: younger than the other Achaeans. Almost a boy, he was white, with a beautiful neck and a big nose. He was storm-footed, provoked fear with his eyes and a beard just sprouting. He was blond with beautiful hair and grey eyes.

Neoptolemus Dares: large, robust, and easily irritated. He lisped slightly, and was good-looking, with hooked nose, round eyes, and shaggy eyebrows. Philostratus, Heroicus: he was good-looking and resembled his father, but was inferior to him in the same way that beautiful people are inferior to their statues. Malalas, Chronographia: of good stature, good chest, thin, white, good nose, ruddy hair, wooly hair, light-eyed, big-eyed, blond eyebrows, blond beginnings of a beard, round-faced, precipitate, daring, agile, a fierce fighter. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: red hair, that's why many had called him Pyrrhus. He was of young age, white or somewhat grey, the colour of the milk; He had beautiful nose and chest, hair curly and was daring; He hadn't ever been hurt, embittered, reckless and of a too wild temper; Thin tiny hair was growing from his beard.

Palamedes Dares: tall and slender, wise, magnanimous, and charming. Philostratus, Herocius: So then in height he was the same as the greater Ajax; in beauty, Protesilaos says, he vied with Achilles, Antilokhos, Protesilaos himself, and with the Trojan Euphorbus. His soft beard was springing up and with the promise of curls; his hair was cut close to his skin; his eyebrows were noble, straight, and came together above the nose, which was perfect as a square and stately. The resolve of his eyes appeared unshaken and fierce in battles, but when he was at rest their gaze was full of comradely affection and affable; he also is said to have possessed the most marvelous eyes among mortals. And in truth, Protesilaos also says that when he was naked, Palamedes weighed halfway between an athlete and a lithe person, and that he had a toughness about his face that was much more pleasant than the golden locks of Euphorbus. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: He was tall, white, with his hair blond and filthy; he was slim and had a long face; he was a servant of wisdom and of Ares. His hair was blond and visibly dirty, because he didn't trouble himself with stupidities like his hair.

Podalirius Dares: sturdy, strong, haughty, and moody.

Nireus The Iliad: the most beautiful man to come beneath Ilion of all the Danaans, after blameless Achilles. Iphigenia in Aulis: repeats the 'most beautiful after Achilles' description.

Machaon Dares: large and brave, dependable, prudent, patient, and merciful.

Idomeneus The Iliad: Older than most of the rest, gray-haired. Malalas, Chronographia: above average height, dark-skinned, good eyes, well set, strong, good nose, thick beard, good head, curly hair, a berserker when fighting. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: quick, had a dark skin, of middle age. He had a short curly hair, wide chin and beautiful nose.

Meriones Dares: auburn-haired, of moderate height, with a well-proportioned body. He was robust, swift, unmerciful, and easily angered. Malalas, Chronographia: shortish, wide, white, good beard, big eyes, black hair, curly hair, flat face, bent nose, quick-moving, magnanimous, a warrior. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: short; he had wide shoulders and beautiful curly hair. He was white; he had crooked nose, nice chin, wide face.

Philoctetes Philostratus, Heroicus: his hair was gray because of age (he was about sixty years old), he was more vigorous than many of the young men, his gaze was most fearsome among mortals, his words most brief Malalas, Chronographia: a good height, well set, dark skinned, eyebrows meeting, brave, good eyes, good nose, black hair, hairy, sensible, accurate archer, magnanimous. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall, beautiful, of dark skin and with meeting eyebrows

Protesilaos Dares: fair-skinned, and dignified. He was swift, self-confident, even rash. Philostratus, Heroicus: He is about twenty years old at most. Because he sailed to Troy at such a young age, he has a full, splendid beard and smells sweeter than autumn myrtles. Cheerful eyebrows frame his eyes, which gives him a pleasant, friendly manner. When he exerts himself, he looks intense and determined. But if we meet him at ease, ah, how lovely and friendly his eyes appear! He has blond hair of moderate length. It hangs a little over his forehead rather than covering it. The shape of his nose is perfect, like the statue's. His voice is more sonorous than trumpets and comes from a small mouth. It is most enjoyable to meet him naked, since he is well built and nimble, just like the herms set up in race courses. His height is easily ten cubits, and it seems to me that he would have exceeded this had he not died in his early twenties. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: a lovely face and courage in his eyes; his hair was blond and long; his skin was smooth and dark; he was bold, graceful, with beautiful body and beard; he was vigorous, although much younger than Antilochus.

Calchas Malalas, Chronographia: short, white, all grey, including the beard, hairy, a very fine seer and omen-reader. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: small, white, thin and shaggy-haired. He had his hair grey in the front and white the rest of it.

[mochiajclayne]

Marineford Law is no question interesting to me because he pulled off a surprise, motherfucker moment and the timing was so good to the point that both pirates and marines least expected it.

Before I proceed with this self-indulgent lawlu meta post, I will go ahead and say that everything that happened between them in Marineford is a catalyst of establishing their connection later on in the future arcs. I am a firm believer that those feelings™️ started to truly bloom in Punk Hazard and went downhill in a good way in Dressrosa.

Long post ahead. Enjoy!

When I was rewatching Marineford arc, the part where Buggy was already carrying an unconscious and injured Luffy and Jimbei, their conversation sparked my interest.

Highlighting the bit where Buggy was confused about Law's verbal tic of using the suffix -ya in referring to anyone, overall doubting him, then asking for Law's name. Don't forget that Law is a little shit (affectionate) so he proceeded to ignore all of those questions to say this:

Interestingly enough, this part is tricky to translate. I found two translations that closely encapsulate what Law wanted to say here but mind you, and I will sound redundant about this with everything that has got to do with Trafalgar Law's speech patterns: he likes speaking in runarounds, purposely using terms with double meanings and connotations on them, and he's both reticent and cryptic. (I wouldn't say not to trust on his words but don't take them at face value.)

Law described his connection with Luffy as 悪縁 (akuen) which directly translates as evil destiny or connection.

Forgive me for a bit of sidetracking but the kanji used for akuen is the same with Robin's epithet which is "Demon Child" (akuma no ko). To further elaborate, 悪 (aku) means evil--both as intent and violating a moral code. It is also used to refer as the direct opposite of good.

Going back to 悪縁 (akuen), in true Law fashion, this word doesn't only mean evil destiny or connection. Depending on the context, it can also mean unfortunate love.

(It sounds tragic coming from him, isn't it? If your mind was blown after this part, no worries, I am too. This part gave me so much whiplash when I was researching about it.)

So, considering these two interpretations of 悪縁 (akuen), that begs the question, what is Law's connection with Luffy?

On surface-level, they are enemies as Law said so himself. They're rivals when it comes to One Piece. Their common ground, which is only known among people that Law trusts the most, is sharing the same secret name of D. However, I will take one step ahead and say that they both went through the same tragic fate of losing their loved ones, for being weak and powerless to protect them. They were both involved in circumstances where if they were capable enough, they could've saved the person they loved the most. Doomed by the narrative and subjected to trauma that breaks their heart and spirit should they be lesser men to handle such misery and grief. It is unfortunate, disastrous, and cursed to love fully knowing the fact that the other person could die like the ones before them but these two have the biggest heart.

Of course, Law will never say it directly. Thus, settling for 悪縁 (akuen).

It gets better. He did say 悪縁も縁 (akuen mo en) and 縁 (en) itself means fate or destiny (especially a mysterious force that binds two people together). Additionally, も (mo) is also a particle that is used for emphasis.

The implication, in turn, of what Law said to Buggy can be translated this way: Strawhat-ya and I (will) eventually be enemies, but an evil connection is (the futuristic possibility of Luffy becoming his enemy) is fate (that binds them).

Law made sure to emphasize that their "evil connection" is fate: specifically, that mysterious force brought them together and compelled him to be there, that he was meant to sail to Marineford, and help Luffy escape.

These two translations are the closest that I found to be accurate but it's still scratching the surface of what Law said:

This entire panel between Ivankov and Law makes it funnier because he clocked him IMMEDIATELY.

Ivankov asked if he's friends with Luffy to which he replied: no.

He also emphasized that that he doesn't have any obligation to help him but then went on to say this:

親切 (shinsetsu) means kind, generous, gentle, considerate. 不安 (fuan) refers to anxiety, uneasiness, worry, apprehension. These are surprisingly direct words but of course, Law had to go back and be cryptic again when he followed up with 理屈 (rikutsu), which could mean two things: theory, reason, logic or (unreasonable) argument, excuse.

I think this panel did a good job for translating it.

Law himself is providing Ivankov here the benefit of the doubt. To reiterate, Ivankov beats him to the punch which makes their entire interaction so funny.

Again, brilliant translation for directly calling out Law's bullshit. Lmao. Ivankov says 直感 (chokkan) here. It means intuition, instinct, hunch. Please take the next statement that I will say with a grain of salt but "instinctively moving your body" is usually associated with the context of being reckless to the point of directly exposing oneself to danger, consequences be damned, in order to protect someone.

Even Law himself acknowledged that he's not obligated to be there, so why?

Unfortunately, this is the elephant in the room that Law will never address. Several characters even made sure to point out that he helped Luffy two years ago and he purposely dodges that topic.

One thing I can guarantee is that Law never did it to get Luffy to agree for the alliance. Hell, he thought of the alliance after reuniting with Luffy! He adjusted his plans by then. Additionally, he never used the fact that he saved Luffy's life as his bargaining chip and leverage to get him on board the alliance.

Lastly, this is too much for saving a life on a whim, isn't it, Law?

[sunshinescribes]

Between Your Name and A Prayer

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+), MDNI!

Summary: There are few who can say they elude Dracule Mihawk, and even fewer who have held his heart. You’ve done both, and it only serves to complicate things when Mihawk seeks to collect your bounty…or so he tells himself.  

Warnings: SMUT! Ex!Mihawk, Angst, Yearning, Fingering, Emotional Sex, Rough Sex (PinV), Reader is a little petty/bratty

Mihawk knows he shouldn’t be doing this. Not again.

He shouldn’t be slipping through a sleepy port town in search of you.

He tries to blame it on your wanted poster, a reminder that you continue to evade the world government—evade him, but the lie is hardly convincing.

Not when he had spent more time than necessary staring down at your new wanted poster, his sharp eyes following the curve of your playful smile and catching on to your eyes, as bewitching as he remembers, and with that familiar glint of mischief shining in them. The look you give is reminiscent of the one you used to grace him with, just before you stole a kiss, or persuaded him back to bed—what feels like a lifetime ago now.

Mihawk tries to shake the aching feeling that blossoms in his chest. Your bounty has gone up significantly. Vice Admirals hiss your name over snail responders; wonder why you haven’t been caught yet. Mihawk is quick to retort sharply that he isn’t at their beck and call, despite what the Admirals might think, and that they can send someone else to catch you, or better yet, find her yourself.

He knows they won’t. It’s as difficult for them to track you down as it is for him, maybe even more so. Besides, they have an…inkling of an idea of what you two once shared. Feelings once held that they think he can use to draw you from the shadows. If only they knew how wrong their assumptions were.

He may be a hunter of sorts, but you are no prey. Mihawk has come to realize that he only finds you when you let him. You leave little clues—hints dripping with nostalgia. You tease him, dare the world’s greatest swordsmen to come and find you, and he accepts the challenge every time with the eagerness of an undisciplined child.  

He has only found you twice, and on both occasions, you looked far too pleased, not surprised in the slightest to see his dark figure slipping from the shadows. You had smiled and teased him in a way only you (and a certain red-haired pirate) would be brave enough to.

You finally showed up, Hawk Eye.

Mihawk despises the epithet from you—the distance it creates, but it’s necessary, isn’t it? It makes it easier to fall into a night of ravenous bliss without considering that you two once shared a home and your hearts.

Mihawk continues to shift through the lifeless town, the chilly midnight air working like a balm to his tortured soul, allowing him a moment of respite as his eyes flit between dimly lit shops. This venture started nearly a week ago with Mihawk idly flipping through the newspaper, curious to see what troubles were brewing in the Grand Line. Little caught his interest as he read, but when he turned to the last page, his eyes lingered on a single photo. An unexpected offering.

You, disguised well and hidden in a crowd, your face was obscured by the hat you wore, similar to the ones donned by those beside you. To anyone else, you were nothing more than another spectator, but the necklace that rested against your collar screamed your identity—the same one Mihawk had placed around your neck a year prior.

What fun you must have finding new ways to reel him in.

The first time Mihawk sought you out, he had been certain of catching you. His objective left him the second your warm eyes fell on him, and your mouth ventured where his body had missed you most. The second time, he had sworn he would not be tempted, but his will had shattered easily. Mihawk lost himself as he pressed you up against the wall of a cramped room in a seedy hostel, your nails digging into the flesh of his bare back while he took you apart as he had done so many times before.

What would he do this time? Mihawk had tried to reason that he would not be so weak-willed—so foolish as to let you reduce him to a man incapable of thinking beyond the flesh—but the certainty he once held was steadily slipping out of reach with each encounter.

A frustrated sigh escapes Mihawk’s parted lips as he stops in front of a shabby tavern. His eyes follow the curves of the poorly painted sign, faded and scuffed from lack of proper upkeep. It’s lifeless. No music pouring out the doors or cheery carols of drunken men. No heady scent of rum or grog. The tavern is completely devoid of life, save for the soft, flickering candlelight that paints the windows in a warm orange hue, and a single slippery patron Mihawk knows is inside.

He ignores the warring voices in his head as he pushes the door open, and there you are.

You sit perched on the counter, legs crossed, and head tilted slightly as you cradle a bottle in your hand. You hum a soft tune, your eyes downcast and far off in thought. Mihawk thinks perhaps your thoughts might be of him, because he recognizes the melody. It’s the same one he used to whisper against your skin in the dead of night, ushering you into a peaceful sleep—just as it had been used for him, back when he was young and hopeless in the arms of a tender-hearted nun.

Your hushed singing halts when the floorboard creaks under the weight of his boots. Your eyes lift, and the somber expression on your face is gone so fast that Mihawk thinks he might have imagined it.

An impish smile graces your features, and your eyes lower as you take in the sight of his lean body, shameless and hungry.

“And here I thought you’d stood me up.”

You’re always quick to crack a joke, dispelling some of the uncertain tension that always brews at the beginning. You want this to be as uncomplicated as possible.

And Mihawk realizes suddenly that he complies, says little beyond your name, and takes what you offer, lying to himself that it is enough—that he will hunger no more afterwards…but his appetite is endless, vicious in how much it craves something it can never have again.

Mihawk takes a step forward, and you uncross your legs instinctively, spreading them in a way that would make the nuns he grew up with faint. Ramera, they would whisper harshly, before slipping into prayer. They would surely have some choice words for him as well.

Your smile slips when he settles on the stool beside you, instead of between your parted legs.

You want this to be uncomplicated, and Mihawk can oblige, as he always does—he can steel his unruly heart and silence the voice that reminds him of better days, sweet and silent moments in a drab castle that seemed to burst with life with you in it. He can do all this, but why should he give you what you want right away?

You sigh disapprovingly, before taking a swig from your bottle.

“So, you’re here to collect my bounty, then?”

Your voice is flat and unamused. Mihawk can’t tell if it’s a display of false bravado or if you believe he wouldn’t be able to manage it.

“I haven’t decided,” he lies.

Of course he has. He always decides. Before he even sets off to find you—before the clues bare themselves before him—deep down, he knows he’ll never raise Yoru against you. Never bring you to the admirals who have hunted you for as long as he can remember. He can play the part of the heartless hunter, but he never truly fulfills the role.

Your sly smile returns. You lean towards him, positioned in a way that makes your collarless shirt dip, exposing the soft flesh of your breasts. Mihawk is quick to look away, but you’re just as perceptive as him. Your eyes catch everything, no matter how minuscule.

You reach for his hat, placing it on your own head.

“How can I convince you to spare me?” You ask sweetly, setting your drink aside.

Stop running away.

The words catch in Mihawk’s throat. He knows why you’re running, why you won’t come back to him, not even if he swallows his pride and asks. The moment the words pass his lips, you’ll pull away. Stop being a warlord, would be your quick reply, and it would spiral into the same argument that had created the impossible distance between you two.

Neither of you would let up. You both would tear open tender scars. It would complicate something already too fucking complicated—shatter the delicate peace you both allow in moments like this.

It will do no good to start a fight he can’t win.

Instead, Mihawk lifts from the stool, reaching to unsheathe Yoru. Your eyes go soft for the briefest of seconds when they fall on the decorated black sword—such a stark contrast to others who have seen him wield it. There’s always fear, sometimes envy, but never fondness. Then again, only you know his sword as intimately as he does.

“You don’t need to convince me,” Mihawk starts, leaning Yoru against the counter, far enough so that it doesn’t become a nuisance. “You only need to take what I give you.”

You raise a curious brow. You’re used to leading these little liaisons, quick to chase pleasure you’ve been deprived of, but this time Mihawk needs something different. He needs you to want just as badly as he does, to see you as helpless as you make him feel.

“And if it’s not enough?” You taunt, always so eager for a reaction.

Mihawk doesn’t humor you with a response. Instead, he positions himself between your spread legs. A myriad of images flash in his mind—delicious ways to break you apart that almost make him shudder in anticipation.

He notices your pert nipples through your collarless shirt, untended. Desire takes him hostage, makes his hands almost shake as he works quickly to unclasp the delicate buttons that keep your skin hidden from him.

“Someone’s excited.”

Mihawk rolls his eyes when you chuckle, low and lovely. You think you have him in the palm of your hand, and you’re not exactly wrong for believing so. Though you’ll learn soon enough how easily he can turn your smart remarks into desperate pleas.

You let out a shaky gasp when you feel Mihawk’s warm mouth kiss your collar, slowly trailing down while his rough hands cup your exposed breasts, kneading the soft flesh. He whispers your name against your skin—perhaps a warning or a promise—before he takes your sensitive nipple in his mouth. A pretty moan rips from your throat when he adds the soft pressure of his talented tongue.

You try not to picture Mihawk between your legs, lapping at your needy cunt with fervor. If the wetness between your thighs is anything to go off of, you’re doing a piss-poor job.

Mihawk breaks away from your tit, a string of saliva following him as he tends to the other. It’s a lovely sensation, but you want more.

You snake your hands downward, attempting to unbutton your pants and slip your fingers where you need them most, but Mihawk denies you. His hands catch your wrist the second you finish with the buttons. Your breast falls from his mouth, and he fixes back to his full height, peering down at you with those piercing eyes of his.

“Hard of hearing, are we?” Mihawk arches a sharp brow, ignoring the murderous expression you wear. He can feel the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “What I give you. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

You glare up at him like a petulant child…such a shift from the confident, easy smile you displayed only minutes before.

Mihawk revels in it for a moment longer before choosing to be altruistic.

He leans close, his soft lips grazing your ear as he whispers, “If you want my fingers inside of you, you’ll take off those pants. Quickly.”

He practically purrs in your ear, his voice richer and deeper than you remember it being. You want so desperately to defy him. His words drip with arrogance that makes you want to bare your teeth at him, regain a modicum of control, but you also burn with such torturous lust—and maybe something sweeter.

You school your emotions, look as irritated as you can manage when you slide down from the counter, quickly pushing your pants down the length of your legs. Mihawk mirrors you, peeling his black coat off, before neatly placing it near Yoru.  

Damn him and his stupid, perfect body.

You kick your pants to the side, tossing his hat along with it for added measure—just in case he thinks you’re happy to do as he says.  

Your faux frustration dissipates the second you’re back on the counter, and Mihawk’s fingers glide across your cunt, coating his digits with your slick. You hear the words he doesn’t speak when he pushes a finger into your hungry hole—who’s excited now?

You shake, eagerly watching the way his finger disappears inside of you.

“Mihawk—”

He shushes you before adding another digit. You hiss—oh god—andhe pushes a little deeper, fucks you a little faster, desperately seeking that soft spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

Mihawk curls his fingers suddenly and knows he found it, because you make the most wrecked noise he thinks he’s ever heard.

Your lashes flutter, sharp curses spill from your plump lips, incoherent and crude. Magnificent…Mihawk muses, transfixed on your micro-expressions—the way your brows pinch together, the subtle tremble of your bottom lip after each pretty sound.

You clench around his fingers, teetering on the edge of your release. Mihawk’s free hand moves as if it has a mind of its own, finding your neglected clit.

Your fingers weave into his hair, pulling him closer. "Fuckfuckfuuuck," you practically cry into his shoulder. You shudder beneath him while a pool of pleasure builds in your core, so dangerously close to bursting.

“More,” you choke out.

The tortuous circles that he rubs against your aching clit are divine, but it isn’t enough. You want to feel full—fuller than his fingers alone can provide.

“Wanna c—hmmmng—c-come on your dick.”

You’re thankful you catch the plea that tries to crawl up your throat.

Mihawk swears under his breath, pulling his fingers out of your sopping pussy. His eyes are heavy, his expression is like that of a drunken man as he glances downward. He groans, watching the way you clench around nothing.

Mihawk doesn’t make you wait long. He’s quick to undo his dark trousers, works with speed even he might not know he possesses to free his aching cock—it’s so lovely, pale with the prettiest shade of pink dusting his thick head. Evidence of his own arousal pours from the slit, mixing with your own slick when he wraps his fingers around the base.

You watch him pump into his hand, getting his dick nice and wet for you. It’s such a beautiful sight, so fucking obscene. You can’t stop the desperate moan that pours from your lips. Can’t stop yourself from calling his name with a hint of urgency in your tone.

“Impatient—” Mihawk hisses, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He gives no warning as he buries himself in your soaking heat. You all but shriek as you feel the brush of his wet fingers against your clit again. “You have what you want. Now come.”

You try to hold out—you don't want him to think that he can make you shatter with a simple command, but your body betrays you. Pleasure rips through you before you can even consider a snide remark, making you cry out loud and cling to his lean frame. You shudder through your orgasm, curse between gasps, and Mihawk can’t look away—can’t stop the way his hips jerk reflexively when your walls flutter around him.

It feels so good, it almost makes him lose what little self-control he has left. Mihawk stills, grits his teeth painfully until his desire becomes just a little manageable. He won’t let this be another quick, meaningless fuck.

Mihawk lifts you with his dick still buried deep inside you. It almost takes you by surprise until you remember just how strong he is. He wields Yoru as effortlessly as one wields a dagger. He has taken down entire fleets with a single attack. Maneuvering from the bar counter to a booth is hardly work.

And you’re thankful for the change, feeling the cushion beneath you. It’s not the softest you've ever felt, but it’s certainly more comfortable than the damn counter.

Though it hardly matters, you don’t get much time to relish it once Mihawk cages you in with his powerful body.

“Missed me—” He thrusts into your heat, his pace downright brutal as his hips slam into yours. “Oh—OH, can’t you feel how much you missed me?”

God, you hate how right he is. Despise the way your cunt sucks him in and clings to his length. You feel the sweet spasms that wrack through you with each vicious thrust—how your walls pulse with a need to be filled in more ways than one.

It feels so fucking good—always does with him—and you’re past trying to deny it. Would you even believe yourself if you tried?

You blink up at him, watching the way Mihawk’s face contorts with pain and pleasure. How his long, dark lashes flutter. The way his delicate lips part and a sound that goes straight to your core escapes. He’s so beautiful—it almost drives you mad thinking about how effortless it is for him, as if he is something divine and otherworldly.

Is this the same way he sees you? When his eyes linger and he looks a little dazed?

His golden eyes lift suddenly, finding yours. Your breath catches at the expression you see hidden in their depths—the unguarded adoration. It’s so different from how he looks at anyone else—a gift only ever meant for you.

Mihawk slows the roll of his hips, moving his hand from where it’s positioned near your head. You can’t anticipate what he’s planning—can’t think beyond the tender look in his eyes.

And then you feel it.

The warmth of his palm as his fingers laces with yours. 

The act is intimate, full of loving intent.

Your heart bursts as you blink up at him. Countless emotions flood through you—unceasing affection that you try to bury, the pain that still lingers, loneliness, frustration, desire—it’s overwhelming in its intensity, chases away the unrelenting conviction you’ve nurtured for months.

“Mihawk,” you call out desperately, “kiss me.”

Mihawk stills, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. He considers it for a moment, leans in ever so slightly before pulling away, cursing in his mother tongue.

He tries to focus on the feeling of you beneath him. Your warm skin, the rhythm of your erratic heart—but your request snags his like a twisted vine. It takes every ounce of defiance to deny you this.

Not unless you tell me you still love me.

Not unless you come back home.

“Mihaawk…”

You hate how your voice comes out in a low whine, but the need to feel his lips against yours is paramount. One final request to satisfy your heartsick soul.

“Too much.” His voice is tight, pained. “You want too much.”

His golden eyes find yours again. You expect his notorious glare, maybe even a sneer for good measure, but you receive neither. His eyes are soft…and a little sad, as if he wishes he could give you everything you desire, but to what end?

Hot, frustrated tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You try so hard to blink them away, but they fall without your permission, running down your cheeks all while Mihawk watches, his sharp brows lifting slightly in surprise.

“I hate you,” you whisper, but there’s no venom in your voice, no spite. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate yo—”

You taste his lips before you feel them—ripe plum from a silver chalice, salt from the sea.

Mihawk melds his mouth with yours, reminding you both of just how perfectly you always fit together. You melt into him, feel lightheaded when he pries your mouth open with his tongue, desperate and hungry, as if he’s trying to siphon the air from your lungs.

Your nails scrape against his scalp, tufts of his dark hair curl around your fingers, and Mihawk breaks.

He rocks his hips suddenly, harshly fucking into you with renewed fervor.

“I hate you,” you say again when he finally breaks away, a string of glistening saliva still connecting you two. The sight alone rips a breathy moan from his throat, and he nods.

“I know,” he dips down, pressing phantom kisses to your lips.

Mihawk knows what you really mean. What you won’t allow yourself to say aloud.

You still love him. You never stopped loving him.

He tries to show you how much he still loves you, pushes himself as deep as he possibly can. Mihawk nearly collapses from the way your velvety walls hug him—so tight and snug that it almost hurts. He knows he’s hitting something delightful inside of you—something that makes you convulse and sob beneath him.

“Please, please—” he hears your voiceless plea.

Mihawk groans, resting his forehead on yours as he pounds into you. He hits so deep that the head of his cock collides with a gummy cluster of nerves, and you tip over the edge with a sharp cry.

Mihawk captures your lips again, swallowing your moans. You tremble, fresh tears slipping from your eyes, while your second orgasm rips through you, so violent and demanding that it feels like it wants to take your soul along with it.

“My heart—” Mihawk grits as your walls massage his tortured cock, take him hostage until he’s pushing impossibly deep. “fuckI’m—"

Mihawk doesn’t finish his sentence—barely even starts it before he’s flooding you. He comes hard, pumping your sweet cunt full of his seed, filling it like it deserves. Your walls squeeze him, milking him for all he’s worth. It’s too fucking much. He shakes through it, euphoria splitting through his body until every ounce of strength is drained from him.

Mihawk collapses, as boneless as you, though he does his best to refrain from resting his full weight on you. He offers you sweet praise. A soft kiss on the corners of your lips, your cheeks, your chin.

“I love you,” Mihawk murmurs against your skin, so low you nearly miss it.

You’re too spent to react, though you’re uncertain of what you would do even if you could. You want the warmth of his touch, his kisses, and honeyed words. You want that fond look in his eyes and the tender care he offers only to you.

But are you willing to forgive? To forget how you two ended up here?

You ignore your mind’s inquiry. You allow yourself to crave, to fall deeper into this pleasant mirage as your eyes grow heavy.

When the sun rises, you will have to face this, but for now, you let yourself slip into a fantasy where you can love him without consequence.

divider credit @/cafekitsune

[marwyn]

When she slid Oathkeeper from the ornate scabbard, Brienne’s breath caught in her throat. Black and red the ripples ran, deep within the steel. Valyrian steel, spell-forged. It was a sword fit for a hero. When she was small, her nurse had filled her ears with tales of valor, regaling her with the noble exploits of Ser Galladon of Morne, Florian the Fool, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and other champions. Each man bore a famous sword, and surely Oathkeeper belonged in their company, even if she herself did not. “You’ll be defending Ned Stark’s daughter with Ned Stark’s own steel,” Jaime had promised. (AFFC, Brienne I)

[George R. R. Martin] creates Valyrian steel and describes it so clearly that it resembles Damascene steel. […] The epithet derived from the name of Damascus, the capital city of Syria, and this kind of steel was used to manufacture swords in the Near East from antiquity through the early modern era. The swords had distinctive patterns of mottling reminiscent of flowing water. Their blades were legendary: tough, resistant to shattering, and capable of being honed to a razor-sharp edge. In the case of Eddard Stark’s sword Ice, however, Martin ensures that we know it was created using magic along with smithwork. Ice is clearly a sword of power, wielded by heroes. It fits a mythical concept of a sword for heroes. Heroes have special abilities; no ordinary warrior is capable of fighting with such a sword. The medieval equivalent would be a sword like Roland’s Durendal in the French epic La Chanson de Roland. Durendal is imbued with a very medieval power: it contains a holy relic. Thus Game of Thrones relates more strongly than usual to a past recognizable by historians, alluding both to the swords of crusaders and to those of medieval legendary figures. Martin is not in fact giving us either history or a reinvented Middle Ages; he is using aspects of medieval legend to create pageantry and drama. Ice is magical, like King Arthur’s Excalibur. (Gillian Polack, “Setting up Westeros: The Medievalesque World of Game of Thrones,” in Game of Thrones versus History: Written in Blood)

“Ser Galladon was a champion of such valor that the Maiden herself lost her heart to him. She gave him an enchanted sword as a token of her love. The Just Maid, it was called. No common sword could check her, nor any shield withstand her kiss. Ser Galladon bore the Just Maid proudly, but only thrice did he unsheathe her. He would not use the Maid against a mortal man, for she was so potent as to make any fight unfair.” (AFFC, Brienne IV)

[madamealys]

Imagine Aemond seduces you.

(+21)

***

You and Aemond are friends for a very long time. In fact, you know him since the day you were admitted to Princess Helaena’s retinue. At first you and him didn’t see eye to eye—both of you were shy and silly, as most toddlers are. Then something started to change… whatever that was neither of you can tell even to this day, but it is probably that books have something to do with it. After all, both of you always liked to read.

As years begin to pass and you and him start to grow, affinities flow and now here you are. You’ve become his trusted friend, probably the only one worthy of such a privilege. Specially because you tended him when he needed the most—that day where he lost an eye certainly played its part.

But now… as your curves become more visible and reinforced by the gowns you wear, as you gladly share dances with Princess Helaena, Aemond has come to realize that he doesn’t like when you are the center of others attention.

Oh no. He wants to keep you to himself.

Possessive by nature, he cannot conceive losing the only one he trusts to a stranger—that he’s heard his mother already planning to marry you off has annoyed him and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

Then… then maybe an idea, a selfish idea comes to his mind. If he ruins you, then no one else will want you… thus you’ll be his to keep. What he doesn’t know is that this game may be deadlier than he knows.

For you too have been noticing what a handsome prince he’s become, how strong he is, every inch a desirable match. But due to your position, regardless of the nobility running in your veins, are you a proper match for a royal liege? To shut these unwelcoming thoughts, you opt to live far from this reality. So you flee to your books.

*

It is in the gardens that he finds you. Reading in that secretive spot that only he knows, little surprises him that you are there. Aemond stops for a moment to admire your heart shaped face, with so angelical and delicate features that earns the epithet of innocent.

The mere idea of corrupting you, kissing your red-ish lips and running his hands over your breasts and your womanhood already make him feel warm inside. He’s always wondered what’s like to have you crying out his name… and to think he fucked a whore the other day thinking of you is almost blasphemy.

You are lying down in the grass, believing to be unseen. Today you’ve picked a book that rather writes in improper details the ways a knight treats his damsel.

And then his hand runs over her waist, fingertips grabbing every piece of skin, moving to cup those firm, loose, round breasts that…

“What are you reading there?”, Aemond’s voice comes out as a whisper, and he’s very amused by how startled you are.

“N-Nothing”, you are quickly to sit and hide the book.

Aemond is now sitting at your side and you’ve noticed suddenly that his shirt is partly open. You blush before looking away. He’s so close to you now that you can smell his scent and something about this proximity makes you wet.

And yet you are forced to repress your desires. Again.

“Aemond, don’t”, you snap at him for trying to get your book.

“Come now, you have nothing to hide from me”, and here he flashes you a seductively smirk when holding your gaze. “We have no secrets, do we?”

Seeing how crimson your face is, Aemond is now assured of his influence over you. In a moment of weakness he thus grabs the book and when opening the page you’ve been reading, he quickly raises his eyebrows.

“My Gods, Y/Nickname. And here I thought you were such a holy creature”, now he’s sitting closer to you like a snake surrounding its prey. “What has come to awaken you such sinful thoughts?”

“You cannot accuse me of it when you have been fucking whores, Aemond”, you know you cannot hold your tongue longer and the unexpected sincerity makes the prince smile genuinely at you.

“Y/N….”, and gently he makes you look at him, his longer fingers holding your chin as he gazes very indecently at you. “I fuck them thinking of you. For I could not conceive the mere idea of being worthy to your affections.”

You freeze before the confession and whilst you are chewing its meaning, Aemond starts to kiss your neck slowly and softly all the whilst his hand slips to your waist.

You shiver, unsure what to do. You tilt your head to the right unconsciously, then when looking for his eyes, you say:

“I am unworthy of you, my prince. But you know I’ve always been attached to you. Such attachment has grown to…”

You leave a moan out of your lips when he bites your neck gently, and you find yourself in the very happy spot of the protagonist of the book you’ve been reading.

“I am ruining you”, he warns you in his husky voice, as his right hand begins to pass over your breast and then quickly going to the skirts of your gown,lifting it so he caresses it over your thighs. “Do you understand me? You will be…”

And his voice is cut by the moment you turn your head and kiss his lips. The clash of it dissolves every tension at last and makes his domineering presence almost irrelevant by yours when you took the courage to pursuit his lips.

Tongues now mix together, pairing perfectly and intently, until that is his finger finds way to your core.

“Aemond”, you moan out his name the way he wants you to.

“Sopping aren’t you?” He hisses at your ear, making you aroused as he pumps his finger inside of you. “Dripping wet. Scandalously horny for me.”

When were limits crossed? When innocence was so swiftly corrupted? You have no answer for this question and you find no resistance to be pulled from his embrace.

Yet it is so tender to experience his touch, to be under his skillful fingers.

“My little wench”, he groans against your ear, biting your earlobe, pleased to detect in you the exact reaction he’s been dreaming. “Mine and mine alone.”

You throw your neck back against his shoulder, digging your fingers to his thighs as you spread your legs further.

“Oh Gods! Aemond!”, you cry out loud, wishing he could just take you there.

And he sees in you, the moment your eyes meet and your gazes lock, how reciprocal is this lust, this desire, fueled by something deeper. Aemond wraps his free hand around your neck, going faster in his pull-in-and-out finger, twirling it around your clitoris and before you know when you’re about to scream, levitating your heavy legs, he kisses you passionately.

Though he burns with you, his manhood dripping wet in his pants; though he moans with you, feeling your juices, Aemond is patient.

“Trapped you are in my nest, princess”, says he, so seductively that you pout.

Aemond smiles and when the heat cools down, you dare to break any barrier… You kiss him slowly and he is surprised to read in it the deepest longing of his heart which is to love you the way a wife deserves to be loved by her husband.

However, the wayward prince is not ready yet to profess his feelings.

*

You try to act in a nonchalant manner when, days after he fingered you just as he explored your naughty sentiments towards him, you don’t spot him at the court anymore.

You dance and smile because it is best to play the rules of court than being so open about it, as you’ve been instructed by dear Helaena. But it is so difficult.

So damn difficult.

Tonight you are in your private chambers, which are sided with Princess Helaena’s. You are wearing only a line nightgown and you are warm, too warm in fact.

Just as you toss away the blankets and begin to stroke yourself, your nipples unbearably hard at the thought of your mischievous prince, a knock on the door scares you out.

Blushing, you are about to leave your bed when y the door opens. You fear for yourself but the candle lights the unexpected visitor. It’s Aemond.

“For the love of Gods! Why coming out in this wolf hour, Aemond?”

“I see you are angry at me for disappearing”, he muses it rather amused, much to your consternation.

Aemond steps forward and what he sees making him ache for you. He spots these full large breasts underneath the line nightgown and how it shows your well shaped legs.

Fuck.

But he keeps composed.

“Apologies, dove. I’ve been busy.”

You fold your arms, not minding how a breast slipped out of your lose nightgown as you do so.

“Busy? Busy doing what? Chasing after your whore?”, and suddenly you are angry and far from sleepy.

“I quit with it”, he whispers under his breath, gently leaning his body over yours, his slender fingers running over your thighs.

“Please”, you try to flee out of his touch, but his firm grip prevents you to. “Aemond…”

“My sweet Y/Nickname…”, he whimpers so sensually that you find yourself aroused. “Come here. Don’t play coy with me.”

“I don’t play… coy with you…”, you speak in short breath as he starts to remove your nightgown and knocking your pride so easily. “Aemond!”

“Yes?”, the prince bites down your lip, eyes locked still as he places his hands over your shoulders, going down to your breasts. “So good to me. My lady.”

You moan so hotly that Aemond struggles to keep himself under control. Eyeing you like a hunter about to capture his prey, his slender fingers take time in cupping each breast, caressing it slowly, playing with your nipples until they harden under his touch.

You throw your head back, spreading your legs almost unconsciously as you are invaded by a lascivious sentiment too strong to be repulsed. Aemond side smirks as you subdue to him easily, the way he’s always wanted.

“Aemond”, you moan his name out like the devoted mistress you are, eyeing now at him with utmost desire. “Aemond…”

You’d gladly explore his body had you known how, so almost moved by instinct your hands go to his chest and slowly go down his belly and…

“No. Not now”, he whispers, stopping you right there even if he has an erection. “Wait.”

And then he lies you down, moving his body to match with yours. He lifts his nightgown and you feel the tip of his erection so close to your entrance. Aemond smirks as you rub your womanhood against his, desperately needing him, forgetting every moral as he overpowers you.

“My lady is in need, uh?”, the prince bites down your bottom lip before kissing your jawline and going to neck. As he leaves traces of kisses in your skin, he begins to mumble very dirty words that make you shiver.

When his tongue finally gets to the tip of your nipple, you moan loud in desperation.

“Aemond, this is torture!”

“Torture is, my dear, to be daily tempted by your presence and never be able to fully enjoy you”, then he turns his head only to capture your gaze. “I fucked a whore because I wasn’t certain of how you felt for me.”

As a response, you grind against him. Aemond smirks.

“Possessive now are we?”

“Aemond Targaryen, don’t you dare.”

“I have not finished with you yet”, and here he slides a hand to your core, groaning as he feels your inner walls so soaked. “No other woman possesses your virtues nor shares your vices. No body is a temple like yours is, and fuck… I want to fuck you so good. I shall never let any other man to owe you.”

And as you roll your eyes, he finally does what he’s dreamed of doing: sucking your nipples. It is when desperation has turned this private room dangerously loud.

How can it be when his tongue so eagerly pursuits each hard nipple, biting it gently all the whilst his fingers fuck you nice and… fast? Aemond smiles as you enjoy this sinful pleasure, and though he wants to make you as naughty as he is, he needs still to do something first.

His lips move now to your belly and, still not letting go of his fingers inside of you, his eyes are now looking for yours. The transformation is almost complete. And you know you are ruined.

But it doesn’t feel any wrong. On the contrary, you realize this is better than your wildest dreams.

One sweet smirk of his is enough. Aemond has you. Aemond possesses you.

And when his tongue runs to your clit… you are damned. He buries his mouth to your womanhood, eating you out like no other—if yet you’d dare to draw any comparison. No other man has been the center of your desires and lusts. No one but him.

His thirsty mouth drinks your juices as his hands slap your bum and dig their fingers right to your skin. And you ride his face, wet and horny, belly completely out in the air if yet it is possible to say so.

You bury your nails in the sheets, legs beginning to levitate. You burn, your chest is heavy, your belly is with butterflies. You try to shut your moans, but something inside you wills to break free, wills to be let go.

And so suddenly you arch your back and you pull a pillow to cover your face all the whilst Aemond holds your legs and drinks a river pouring to his mouth as you shake not once, but possibly thrice.

Only then he lifts and removes the pillow out of your head.

“Aemond…”, you don’t mind rules, you want him, you pull him for a kiss, tasting yourself in the process.

“Fuck”, he groans.

The kiss is slow and with different tons that Aemond knows he should part. Reluctantly as it may. But when he does so, when darkness embraces the emptiness provoked by a sudden separation, he knows not that you are planning to get in his trap.

***

It is afternoon and the castle is empty. At least only partly since the prince has been tasked in guarding it on behalf of the king. These are trying times and tensions are managing to keep Aemond separated of you. But this is the opportunity for you to ascend once for all and reclaim him for you.

Dressed in a very tight and sensuous green gown, your hair is let loose in two separated braids. Aemond has noticed how you’ve been turning many men’s heads which only fuels his jealousy. So he retires earlier to the office, where he can discount his frustration at work.

But what is he surprised when seeing you are already there? And dressed in such a way that he’s automatically aroused.

“Y/N.” His voice comes out colder than intended.

“Aemond”, you walk to his direction. “You fucked me in many ways and now am I nothing but a dust memory? Do you think I am Alys Rivers?”

He at least has the decency to blush. Leaning against the table he cannot look at you for a moment.

“So you’ve heard.”

“Indeed”, and you stop right in front of him. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Y/Nickname…”, he sighs, when looking at you, seeing a little too late where this is going. “I could never play with you.”

“I am too proud to be messed with. So…”, and here you start to touch him. Aemond is surprised, gasping as you unlace his pants and pull out his hardened manhood, feigning a confidence that he knows you lack. “What is going to be?”

Aemond is also aware that you are his weakness. He cannot look away of your breasts and not remember the night he suck each nipple and the sounds you made. He cannot forget the taste of your pussy. And he cannot fight the urge of being pleasured by you.

As you stroke his cock up and down, Aemond realizes he’s been trapped.

“Y/N…”, he moans.

To his frustration, you stop.

“What?”

“It’s me or her.”

Aemond blushes again. He didn’t count on your bluntness. But he doesn’t need to think too much either.

“You. My little wench.”

It’s when he’s surprised again by you. He didn’t count on how naughty you’ve been this entire time. He corrupted you, and the thought in fact pleases him.

So you stroke him good before sliding to your knees.

“Fuck me”, you smirk at him. “I know you want this.”

“So good to me…”

And dominant as he is, Aemond now regains the room. He lets his pants being completely pulled out before sliding his cock right to your mouth. And the sensation is so good. He holds your hair and caresses your face as you engulf his large length. Aemond guides you, but you are so naturally good that he sometimes forgets himself.

“My Lords”, he groans. “Fuck! Ah! Fuck me, Y/N! Yes, my lady! So good to me! So naughty, my little whore!”

All these dirty names make you wet and when your eyes meet, when he pulls your hair firmly , when his length reaches your throat and defies your self control, both of you know nothing ever will be the same.

It’s so good to feel his power, you want to be fucked, you want to be ruined, but so far… all you have is… his seed.

And thankfully it is well spent for a few minutes later, you two are almost caught by a very distressed Queen Alicent.

*

Aemond marries you following the old rites of Ancient Valyria. It is only then you are finally deflowered.

To feel his cock straightening inside you before pumping almost to your uterus is too good to be true.

“My beautiful wife”, he whispers in your ear, holding you near as he fucks you nice and slow. “Finally mine to claim.”

“Finally yours to belong.”

With legs now wrapped around his waist, you instigate him to go further. Now holding his face whilst two bodies tangle as one, you know this couldn’t be different.

As each smiles, a soul recognizes the other.

“My very half”, you whisper in between moans as you kiss. “I love you.”

“And I love you, my lady Targaryen. Mine own lady wife.”